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Elemental	By : AngelaBlythe Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Ginny Views: 3286 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
A/N: Pronunciation � Cassian (KASH-un), Ignatius
(ig-NAY-shus)

ELEMENTAL

~by The Labris~

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

Five Years of Fire
and Wind

Wizarding History
202

Hermione wasn�t a student any more. Well, she reminded herself, she
would always be a student of knowledge. It was part of her main goal now. Not
to collect as much knowledge as possible, her real dream, but to find a
specific amount of knowledge. The fact that she worked for the Order, the
biggest anti-Voldemort resistance in England, only secured the fact that she
would have little supplies and limited time.

Of course, Victoria was a big help. The two of them worked together, and
they worked quite well, too. They seemed to understand each other, which was
good considering they were almost nothing alike. Well, besides both of them had
been accepted into the Witches� Coven at unnaturally young ages and they served
the Order. Victoria was snotty, pig-headed, snide, and slightly sadistic. She
had thick, straight brown hair that used to be long, but had been cut after she
had her first child. But she wasn�t a person Hermione particularly disliked.
She knew the reason for Victoria�s personality.

Hermione had gone through some of it while she was being inducted into
the Coven. They constantly berated you, made you feel small, stupid, and
insignificant. They did it to make you tougher, to make you want to succeed
with more vigor, to prove them wrong. Well, Victoria�s mother, Coven Witch
Turley, was one of the cruelest, most spiteful, hard-assed witches in the Coven.
Victoria had grown up with this woman, the whole time Coven Witch Turley
training her daughter to be in the Coven. The stress it must have put on
Victoria was just so great that she was constantly on the brink of crumbling.
To build herself up she put others down, the exact same way her mother must
have taught her. Victoria�s personality was a well-planned intention of her
mother�s hate.

But Victoria was working past it. She was constantly changing. And
Hermione could see both sides of the girl. Half of the time Hermione wanted to
hate her because of what she said or did to other people. But Hermione had to
remind herself that she was doing her best to change, and congratulated
Victoria for it.

A major factor in Victoria�s metamorphosis was George. They had married
four years ago after a year of courtship. George seemed to add levity to
Victoria�s life, seemed to give her a different perspective. Not to say they
didn�t fight like cats and dogs. One would think they were worst enemies. But
Hermione knew that nothing said in the heat of the moment was meant. They were
very affectionate when they thought no one was looking. And Victoria was
turning out to be a caring, loving mother. She had two children � Lawrence
(more often than not Larry) was three and Fred was one. Both boys had glorious
red hair, deep brown eyes, and freckled noses.

As much as Victoria had changed, Hermione was still amazed by the
changes in the rest of her friends. Since Ginny had been captured five years
ago everyone had become someone different.

Everyone had graduated of course. That was a given. Lavender and Seamus
were married. There was no surprise. Parvati and Padma were Elemental Coven
Witches and served the purposes of the Coven. They helped with Hermione and
Victoria�s project more often than not. Dean Thomas and Colin Creevey had gone
liberal and were both artists somewhere in France. Hermione hadn�t seen them
for more than four years.

Neville Longbottom, in perhaps the greatest feat of transformation, had
lost a great deal of weight, and then gained it all back in muscle. He was an
even two meters and weighed two hundred forty pounds and one of the best
defensive aurors on BAF � the British Auror Force.

Ron and Harry had since separated themselves from Hermione and become a
force to be reckoned with. Both were Aurors, it seemed a popular trend for her
year. They were the prodigal sons of BAF and the Order. Almost no mission was
too dangerous, no deed too impossible, and no regulation too traditional to
break. They were hell-bent on catching and killing every last Death Eater they
found. Unfortunately, they hadn�t learned that they were the minority out
there.

Voldemort had more troops than anyone had thought possible. Death Eaters
had gone under the fa�ade that they were a limited number of fanatics for so
long people had believed them. But they weren�t. Oh, how they weren�t. There
were thousands, hundreds of thousands, all over the world. It was amazing. It
was astounding. It was disgusting.

Marissa Mariner, one of Hermione�s closer friends since Ginny went
missing, was married as well. Hermione hadn�t known her in school, or even
heard of her. Of course, she�d heard of Marcus Flint, though. It amazed her to
no end that he was actually on THEIR side. It was�encouraging. Marissa
and Marcus were a deadly duo, now that both of them had come out as Order of
the Phoenix members. They were like the Lestrange couple but for good, not
evil. They had no children, but Hermione knew the reason for that. Marissa had
confessed to Hermione that she didn�t have the ability to bare children.

Despite being strict enemies throughout school, Percy and Marissa had
grown into very good friends. Hermione was sure that it was because of the
connection they formed while working undercover. The amount of trust they must
to have had in each other no doubt formed the base for a strong friendship.
Through Penelope and Marissa, who were surprisingly good friends regardless of
the fact that they had detested each other throughout school, Percy and Marcus
had formed an uneasy truce. It would be a stretch to say they liked each other,
but at least they still didn�t want to kill each other any more.

A bearing factor on the close relationship between Marissa and Penelope,
and also in the strained relationship between Marcus and Percy, was the fact
that Marissa loved children, and Penelope and Percy had five. Peter and
Michael, who were born two months after Ginny was captured, were five-year-old
twin boys with very curly, red hair and crystalline blue eyes. They, under the
influence of Fred and George, had become somewhat troublesome and outrageous
pranksters. Percy and Penelope were forced to put their feet down at many of
their antics. Unfortunately Marcus, or Uncle Marcus, encouraged them
shamelessly. Josephine had red hair as well and was nearing her fourth
birthday. She was a quiet girl and had learned to speak and read nearly
flawlessly by three and a half. Josephine had the grace of a small dancer, very
pretty blue eyes, and angular features. Liberty, however, who was two, was very
much a loud and winy child. She threw tantrums spontaneously and turned a
tomato-like squash when agitated � which was really easy to do. And, of course,
Penelope and Percy�s two-month-old son, Arthur, who had already had his first
Showing, promised to be a handful.

Marissa and Marcus had a very close relationship with all the
Percy-Penelope Weasley brood, and were a perfect example of good
Slytherin-Gryffindor relations. They even lived near each other � close enough
to walk. They constantly had dinners together, and Marissa adored looking after
the children.

It was public knowledge that Percy was a Blood Berserker � it was the
main reason he was made Minister of Magic at such a young age. He was the
youngest in history actually, and shaping up to be one of the strongest, too.
His popularity had risen when it was revealed that he had beaten Voldemort in a
duel, had saved countless victims from the betrayals of Duncan Welsh and
several other traitors, killed Lucius Malfoy, received the First Class Order of
Merlin, and, of course, revealed Fudge as a fake and a turncoat. People looked
to him as the public savior of the moment, unlike the past where it was usually
Harry Potter or Dumbledore.

Percy kept the Ministry on the straight and narrow. After he was
inducted to the office a little under five years ago, he fired more than two
hundred people � all of which were Death Eaters themselves or Death Eater
informants. He had surrounded himself with a thick wall of obviously loyal,
good members of society. He raised many of his stalwart supporters to high
positions, all of them deserved.

Madam Amelia Bones was encouraged to stay as head of the Department of
Magical Law Enforcement, which she did. Charlie was accelerated from just a
section leader in the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau to the head of
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Bill was put
into the position as head of the Department of International Magical
Cooperation � which he detested and frequently escaped from to join in on the
dirty work of the auror business. The Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office was
finally given an enthusiastic head with the promotion of Arthur Weasley.
Charlotte Teasdale remained one of Percy�s close friends and head of the
Department of Mysteries. She informed Percy � who knew next to nothing about
went on in that section of the Ministry despite having worked there for several
months � that Fred and George held very influential positions in the Department
of Mysteries, though what they did was classified unless valuable.

Percy may have abused his position as Minister of Magic to suit his
needs, but everyone loyal to the cause saw it as necessary. Percy � Minister
Weasley � made good use of everyone in every department, and everyone was bent
on finding a way to defeat Voldemort. He was fully aware that his nepotism was
blatantly obvious to the public, but at a time where people could scarcely
trust their neighbors it was overlooked.

It had been surprising to Hermione who she actually did trust when it
came right down to it. She trusted Ron and Harry, of course. She would always
trust them. She, as she always had, trusted Molly and Arthur. Fred and George,
and Bill and Charlie were in her highest of confidences. While she had never not
trusted Percy, she had gained an all-new respect for him. She trusted
Dumbledore, who was now acting as Percy�s closest advisor, next to Alastor
Moody. Dumbledore had retired from Hogwarts � leaving Professor McGonagall in
charge and Severus Snape as Deputy Headmaster (both of whom she trusted
implicitly) � to devote all of his time and resources to the Order of the
Phoenix.

The Order had come up from underground two months after Ginny was
captured and right at the same time as Dumbledore retired. It was now the ideal
auror honor for aspiring witches and wizards. Hermione trusted Victoria, of
course, and she trusted Marissa and Marcus (to her surprise), and she trusted
everyone Percy had appointed into Ministry positions.

Hermione observed that if she took one step outside the Ministry or
Hogwarts there wasn�t a single person she trusted. She had no faith left in
people, not after so many had gone to the other side.

�Malfoy� Draco, she reminded herself. She trusted him. Of all
people, she trusted him. For what reason she couldn�t fathom, but she did. She
would never tell him to his face, lest she incur his wrath, but she felt sorry
for him. She empathized with him, really she did. He never called her anything
but Mudblood � Granger on a good day, which were few. He had changed a lot over
the past five years. At first he was determined, hell-bent you could say, on
finding Ginny and killing Duncan Welsh, her known captor. Then he was quiet,
introspective, and calculatingly cold. But as time wore on he became bitter,
cruel, and violent. He drank excessively, normally ranting and raving in an
inebriated stupor before passing out and puking.

Most odd of all it was usually Ron and Harry who sobered him up and took
care of him. She knew they felt sorry for him after all that had happened.
Hermione was also aware that Ron�s own opinion of Draco had changed. Now Ron
didn�t hate Draco because he was such a prick, but he hated Draco because he
was a drunken prick with a stinging tongue and rage problems. But Ron and Harry
both pitied him. Draco knew this and hated them for it. But there was trust
there, and when you are the three star auror partners in the Order of the
Phoenix you better be damn good enough to back your position.

And they did � together. They were a team, an airtight team. Ron was
most of the brawn, being the biggest of the three. Harry was the most powerful
of the three, even though Ron and Draco weren�t far behind. Harry was the brunt
of the magic, while Ron could tackle a man any size and keep him down. Hermione
suspected he too might have unreleased Blood Berserker magic. Draco put a
different spin on the group. He was obviously the brains, the cold and cunning
of the three. He was heartless however, and many times stopped from going too
far by Ron and Harry, though, to Draco�s credit, it did take both of them. In
some ways, Hermione knew that Draco had taken her spot in the Trio. It didn�t
bother her, Draco was intelligent, but it was definitely a change.

They were the perfect team, but it was obvious who got all the
attention. Ron and Harry. Every picture in the papers was of those two, the
Golden Boys of Hogwarts. Draco was normally mentioned, and everyone knew he was
there, but no one acknowledged him. Hermione was almost sure Draco liked it
better this way.

Truth be told, Draco reminded her of Snape a bit. They both had an
unappealing personality and were rather cruel individuals. They were obviously
both Slytherin, and therefore pureblood-oriented and distant fellows. And they
shared a penchant for the color black. Hermione never saw Draco wear anything
other than black. Black commando boots, black pants, black oxford, black trench
coat, and black mood � it fit him perfectly. Hermione could tell his eyes had
grown harder and his face had grown harder. He�d never � to Hermione�s
knowledge � taken another lover or shown any interest in any other girl besides
Ginny. He was along for the straight and narrow, except that he drank himself
stupid nearly every night.

Hermione felt that his days of sanity � or whatever he was now � were
running low. He had never been an emotionally or psychologically stable person,
and this distance from Ginny was wearing him thin, changing him into a man
Hermione somehow knew he wasn�t. Hermione didn�t know, but she suspected, that
when a man like Draco chose someone, really trusted and opened up to them, gave
them everything he had and needed nothing but love in return, it was especially
hard for them to let the person go. People like Draco would probably react
exactly like Draco did, becoming malicious and hostile. Ginny wouldn�t have
picked a man like this. Ginny would have picked a man like Hermione suspected
Draco was. And now reality was becoming heavy on him. She saw it when she
passed him in the Ministry or Order meetings. She could feel it like a heavy
air weighing on him mercilessly. He had so much more darkness now � more than
he�d ever had.

But then, everyone had the darkness disease now. Moan and bewail, mourn
and begrudge � that was the way of people these days. And the ones that
begrudged more than bewailed turned into aurors. People who mourned quietly
more than moaned pitifully turned into aurors.

Many Gryffindors had become aurors than ever before.

A Good Question

�Why don�t you go out with Ron?� Victoria asked spontaneously.

Hermione normally ate lunch with Victoria during the working week. They
enjoyed each other�s company, and they enjoyed their conversations. Victoria
was her happiest after lunch because she was slightly hypoglycemic. She was
also her bravest, Hermione noted.

Nevertheless, it was a good question, and Hermione deemed it worthy of a
good answer. But first she would play with it in her head. �You think Ron and I
should go out?� Hermione asked the older woman.

Victoria sighed and pushed her food around on her plate. �It�s pretty
obvious the two of you have a history, Hermione. Sometimes,� she added with a
smirk-like smile, �when he thinks you aren�t looking, he watches you with
mournful eyes, wishing something was different. Only I don�t think he knows what.�

Women of the Coven � well, women whose mother�s were of the Coven �
learned at an early age to analyze the opposite sex carefully. Historically
they exploited the weakness of men, used it to gain power and privilege. But
they had sense then learned that if you moved around a man, in his current but
conscious it was not your own, it was much more successful than trying to sway
him into your current. They fought like bass and hissed like cats.

Victoria knew what she was talking about when she analyzed poor Ron.
Hermione almost felt sorry for him. His emotions were laid out for this woman
when he didn�t even understand them himself. But Victoria knew, and Hermione
knew.

�He likes me because we�re so different,� Hermione said slowly, taking a
sip of tea before continuing. �But little boys always want someone like their
mother. I�m not going to give him seven children and stay at home. I don�t care
how well respected Coven Witch Prewett is, nor how powerful she is. Her life
isn�t mine. I won�t make it mine.�

Her voice ended with an edge of finality. But Victoria either didn�t
notice or didn�t care. �How did it end?�

Hermione sighed again. This time in remembrance.

Migration of the
Phalange�

She held Ron�s hand carefully in her own, watching it like a bird ready
for migration. He would fly away from her, too. That seemed to be happening a
lot lately. Ginny had flown away. Her parents had flown away. Harry had flown
away. And now Ron was in pre-flight procedures.

Hermione � somewhere in her mind � knew it would never really last. They
had too much in front of them. They had too much behind them. They were meant
to be the kind of friends that kissed and decided there wasn�t any magic. But
both had wanted the magic and thus imagined it. At least things hadn�t been lonely
for them.

�We�re going together � Harry and I,� Ron was explaining.

Hermione was doing her best to listen, but his long fingers, twitching
like a baby bird with full-grown wings and freedom written under its tail
feathers, were telling her how he really felt. Shut out. In a cage. Alone.
Guilty. Miserable. Self-doubt. Angered. Hermione knew their happy days of
infatuation and hope were gone. They were seventeen. They weren�t in love
anymore. Or they hadn�t ever been. Too early? Too soon? Or too different? It
didn�t matter anymore.

Hermione pressed his warm palm to her lips and let an accidental tear
fall. She hadn�t wanted to upset him, but endings always did make her cry. He
shifted uncomfortably at her tears, at her fondness and sadness. But he didn�t
pull his hand away.

She stood, letting his wild-bird hands go. The wind stuck her hair to
her damp cheeks, but she pulled it away and tried to smile. �Look me up when
you still want to be friends. You�ve got my number!�

A Good Answer

That had pretty much ended that. They had seen each other in Order
meeting and talked uncomfortably, Harry always there as a monitor and Draco on
the sidelines as a silent satirist. It wasn�t for two years of awkward words
about work, the good old days, and current events that Ron and Harry finally
stumbled into her apartment, very drunk, and they all laughed like it had been
before they grew up. Before the war. Before the migrations.

They woke up in a mass of legs and laughter and agreed it had been too
long. Hermione had gotten her boys back. They would always been her boys. And
they did this three, sometimes four times a month. And Hermione was happy,
because now she and Ron could talk like they used to. They could smile and
laugh and argue like they used to. It was a good feeling that had escaped her
for too long.

Hermione licked her dry lips and dabbed her eyes lightly, a sad smile
barely there. �He flew away from me,� she answered quietly. �And he never came
back the same.�

She was sure there were tears in Victoria�s eyes, but they left, unshed.
Then she smiled, sniffed and offered to pay the bill. Hermione let her and they
walked out of the caf� together and Hermione wrapped her neck in a scarf to
ward off the cold. They would normally go back to work about now, but Victoria
had a special Elemental Coven meeting she needed to attend and Hermione had a
feeling she�d be spending the rest of her day watching sad, Audrey Hepbourn
films, trying to remember the last time she�d loved someone.

�Oh, shit!� Victoria said, taking her wand out of her robes along with
several long, thin vials. She looked angry, but at herself. �I can�t believe I
forgot!�

�What?� Hermione asked. �Is something wrong?�

Victoria frowned and looked sideways at Hermione. �Would you be willing
to do be a big, disgusting, nasty favor that you won�t get enough thanks for?�

Hermione�s eye twitched. �I guess�� she said uncertainly.

�Oh, you�re a doll,� Victoria cooed, kissing Hermione�s cheeks and
pushing the warm vials into her hands. �Take these to Coven Witch McGonagall
for me, please,� she continued. �They need to be analyzed and I can�t trust
anyone outside of the Order with them.�

Hermione nodded and Victoria Disapparated before her eyes. Hermione
caught the Day Bus instead of Apparating to gather her thoughts. It had been a
while since she�d seen Professor McGonagall�Headmistress McGonagall�Minerva�

A Student of
Knowledge

As soon as she stepped into the entrance she felt seventeen again. Sure,
she was still young. Twenty-two was still young. But she�d never been alive
like she had been in Hogwarts. School was her element. Learning was her god.
Wisdom was her eternal sunshine. Hogwarts had been a place she would never
forget, it would always hang happy in her heart, right next to her memories.

She knew McGonagall hadn�t changed Dumbledore�s office. She revered the
man too much. Besides, Dumbledore and McGonagall had been friends for so long,
even if he didn�t visit on Order business weekly, they would have still stayed
in touch. The old headmasters smiled (or frowned if they were Slytherins) down
at her as McGonagall ushered her in.

�Oh, the vials!� she said enthusiastically. �Now I recall Coven Witch
Bowman�s letter. They were supposed to be here by noon,� she admonished
teasingly. �Why don�t you just take them down to Severus, Hermione? I�m
terribly busy, as you can see,� she said gesturing to the piles of papers on
her desk. �It appears someone thought it would be absolutely hilarious suggest
to our ghosts that they were simply memories living off memories and now
they�ve all complained to the Spirit Division. Very offended all of them.�

She sighed and waved Hermione off, promising to make time for tea next
week and assuming she remembered where Professor Snape�s rooms were. Well she
did remember but she rather thought McGonagall would forget about their tea
date. Hermoine sighed and descended into the dungeons. They were cool and
empty. Hermione suspected that the beginning of winter break wasn�t a time that
Snape had students banging down his doors. Ten days till Christmas and Hogwarts
was decked in all the holiday frivolity, but you�d never have guessed it four
levels down.

Hermione felt odd knocking on the door but too nervous to just open it.
What if she was interrupting a very important potion and she surprised him and
he added too much dragon�s blood and it exploded and killed them both? Her
over-active imagination was running away with her. Hermione knew Snape would
used his personal cauldron in his private study, not the one he used for the
class.

She opened the classroom door and saw rows and rows of desks, cauldrons,
and chairs. All were empty and everything was as sparse as it had been when
she�d graduated. Nothing had changed, not even the stained spot where she and
Neville used to sit. She ran her finger over the back of her old chair, noting
there were faded areas where her book-laden bag had worn away at the wood. It
made her smile.

�A lesson perhaps, Miss Granger?� Snape�s cool, liquid voice asked.

Hermione jumped in surprise, resisting the urge to shriek. Instead she
just shifted her coat and scarf to her other hand and licked her lips. �No�I
was just��

��remembering,� he finished, a small, insensitive, laughing smirk on his
lips.

Hermione let out a short breath of air and nodded. �Yes,� she admitted
quietly.

There was an awkward sort of silence for a moment and Hermione was quite
sure she�d forgotten why she was there at all. Even at Order meetings Snape
never talked to her. He never talked to Harry or Ron, or anyone but Dumbledore
and Draco. He never even looked at her.

�While the nostalgia is touching, I have work to do. Was there something
you wanted?� he said crisply, his robes cracking behind him as he made a sharp
turn away from her.

His angry eyes startled her. She wasn�t aware of doing anything vaguely
insulting. Perhaps her presence as a Mudblood was insulting enough.
�Victoria�Bowman�� Hermione stuttered, hating her fear. �She wanted you to
analyze this.�

Hermione dug around in the pockets of her robe and pulled out the thin
vials. Looking up, Snape was still posed by the door, eyes glinting
maliciously. Hermione placed them on the desk and began the loud walk to the
door, her shoes clicking over the stones rhythmically. She turned and saw Snape
still standing by his door, eyeing her and not the vials.

�I hope you find something helpful,� Hermione said with a nod.
�Good-bye, Professor.�

The door clinked quietly behind her. Hermione hated feeling alone.

The Rules for
Making Friends, Part III

Draco glared at the grave of his father. This place in the earth would
forever be contaminated by his father�s filth. This area was desecrated,
sacrilegious, dirty. Draco made a point to visit it on the anniversary of
Lucius� death every year. It was stabilizing to know the man was dead; it gave
him a sense of sanity. True, Minister Weasley had been the one to kill him, not
Draco as he had intended, but dead was dead. Draco wasn�t going to begrudge a
Weasley knocking off his piss-ant of a patriarch. He deserved what came to him.

Son of Lucian and Marcella,

Husband of Narcissa,

Father of Draco,

May he rest.

That was all the epitaph said. It said too much in Draco�s opinion. He
was never a husband to Draco�s mother, and he sure as well wasn�t any father to
Draco. Draco didn�t know about being a son to Lucian and Marcella � neither of
whom he�d ever met � but at least one line on the gravestone read true. May he
rest. Not in peace, not in bliss, not in anything. Just rest. Let him be dead.
Let him die. Draco didn�t want anything for Lucius but death.

With that, Draco dropped the white flowers that were misfit in the gloom
onto the grave and turned to leave. Potter and Weasel were standing a little
ways off near a winter-dead tree. They were talking quietly, Weasel�s hair
sticking out disastrously in the white of the snow and the black of their
clothes. Draco sneered and headed towards the two.

He resented them. He hated them. He wished with all his being they would
just drop dead one day and leave him be. But they were always there. Standing
in front of him, knowing he was there and following, just because he happened
to be going the same direction as they were. If they expected him to stop them
one day and tell them he was thankful they could go rot. All they did was pity
him. And they said they didn�t like him, they respected him.

What exactly was there to respect? He�d betrayed her. He�d killed
innocents. He�d made a drunken ass out of himself so many times he couldn�t
keep count. And he�d taken every opportunity to humiliate and hate them. And
there were still there, picking him up off the ground of the bars. Backing him
in battles he thought he�d never live through. Supporting him when their
superior ragged on him because their boss didn�t trust Malfoys.

Draco had to admit they were the best. The three of them were the best
of the best of the best.� They rarely lost, even against impossible odds. They
were the most powerful. They were the most determined. And they were the most
public. Well, Draco corrected, Potter and Weasley were the most public. More
often than not Draco was pushed aside in photos of the two Golden Boys. Not
that he minded. He didn�t want their bottled fame. Their brewed glory. Their
immortality.

He smirked at himself. How much like Snape did he sound? How much alike
were their lives? It was impossible to say they were like brothers. It wasn�t
too far off to say they had an understanding, if not some sort of friendship.
Perhaps Draco felt that Snape was the kind of man he would have wanted in a
father. Not Lucius. Draco didn�t know, but he didn�t care.

�Ready?� Potter asked.

Draco didn�t deem this worth answer and pulled out his wand instead.
Potter wasn�t affected by this, neither was Weasel. They had come to grips with
Draco�s personality. Stunning personality though it is, he thought to
himself. He sneered as they appeared in the Ministry. People loved and
respected Weasel and Potter. They feared Draco � he made sure of at least that.

He didn�t like to be approached, although several bright-eyed aurors and
dark eyed women had tried. He didn�t like to feel anymore � it hurt too much.
Instead he grew a shell over his heart. No weakness. He might live to find her
someday if he stayed hard and cold. Someday seemed like a very long time away
most often. But Draco found it was easier to live in tomorrow than the past or
the present.

�Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

�Creeps this pretty pace from day to day

�To the last syllable of recorded time;

�And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

�The way of our dusty deaths. Out, out brief candle.��

He murmured it quiet under his breath, hoping no one heard him as he
passed through the halls and along the walls.� The passageways were always
loud. When he was a child and he�d accompanied Lucius to work they�d been loud
with laughter and mirth, or anxiousness and excitement. Now they were loud with
fear and anticipation, and hope and deadly silence. Footsteps were sonic booms.
Whispers were screams. Talking a taboo. But Draco�s murmur seemed to pass them
by.

Perhaps they all felt it. Their fathers and brothers and sisters and
mothers were candles in the dark, leading them to their dusty deaths. Their
memories, their yesterdays all the way back to the beginning of magic, the
struggle of white and black, lit the way for them to walk. The road was dark
and the ground uneven. But if they were real, if they were strong, they would
survive and have reason to blow out the candles of their past.

�Did you say something?� Potter asked as they reached their destination
� Moody�s office.

Draco shook his head and kept his eyes pasted firmly ahead of himself,
staring at nothing and seeing everything. Potter had learned to listen to
things Draco said or noticed. Draco�s knowledge of Death Eaters and their minds
was far more extensive than his own, and Potter knew it. Weasel was a slow
learner, a slow truster, and a slow thinker, but he had good instincts. They
weren�t like Draco�s though � honed in the enemy pits of death and betrayal.

�Well, well, well,� Moody said, studying the three carefully with his
blue eye. It was a habit and Draco wasn�t insulted. �How are my rapscallions
today? Late to work I see! New assignments call to everyone this delightful
morn. Potter, Weasley, see that those greenhorn-cadets get their intimidation
for the day. After all, Shacklebolt has some troops to whip in shape. Malfoy,
sit down. We need to talk.�

Draco watched as Potter and Weasel left Moody�s office. They liked
scaring the crap out of the younger aurors. Draco detested their sniveling,
their innocence and vigor to go off and get themselves killed. Most were
Gryffindors he recalled.

�Albus,� Moody barked, turning serious and dark.

Albus Dumbledore appeared from the shadows of the far corner of the room
and gazed mild-mannered at Draco. Draco forced himself not to shift
uncomfortably at such an intense stare and only barely succeeded. Dumbledore
was still the man Draco respected above all others. Even more than Snape. �But
only a little more�

�Draco, my boy,� Dumbledore said with a slow chuckle. He sat decorously
on one of Moody�s seats and motioned for Draco to do the same. And he did so
willingly.

There was no tea, no crumpets in Moody�s office. It was hard and sparse,
the chairs made to get you to sit straight up and uncomfortable. Draco fought
the urge to finger the golden-red medallion he wore around his neck. I�m
loyal, he wanted to scream with it. I�ll do it if you ask. You have my
confidence. Just give me yours!

The words wouldn�t come to his mouth because of pride. They had only
been uttered once before, when he was young and foolish. When he was idealistic
and hopeful of change he said these things to Dumbledore and it altered his
life mercilessly. Draco wouldn�t say them again, but only because he had said
them before. They meant as much then as they did now. More maybe even, because
now he knew what they really meant. He hoped Dumbledore knew this, and he was
sure Dumbledore did.

�We have news,� Moody said softly, his black eye sparkling.

Draco wanted so badly for those words to mean what he thought they did.
After all the years � the searching, the uncertainty, the doubt, the regret,
the guilt � he might have the answer. And now he would be ready. When he was
younger he would have died. Now he would have killed. The words instilled hope
no matter how meager they were. They were still in the language of wish. It was
a language Draco had thought dead in these times. It was like Latin � people
knew it, but never spoke it.

�The Benson�s Scale,� Dumbledore began, �which you know to detect surges
of active Elemental power, has now, thanks to the efforts of Hermione Granger,
Victoria Weasley, and Severus Snape, been altered.�

Dumbledore had Draco�s attention. They had never been able to track her
before. There was stronger, darker magic out there cloaking her. She was either
not there or in too many places, depending on what charms or spells or potions
you used. Draco had thought the task was impossible. It nearly was. But there
are some things you just can�t change.

�We know that Duncan Welsh,� Moody said gingerly, �has the aid of dark
magic. He has a copy of the Morte D�Mordorde that he has used skillfully
to hide Miss Weasley. But, like before a Meeting, there are signs that the
Benson�s Scale picks up on � increased weather activity, drought, metaphysical
magic currents, etc. We could never find Miss Weasley because we suspected the
spell he used was used on quelling ancient Meetings in the days of Arthur and
Merlin, thus letting him control her Elemental power and contain her however he
wished. The differences in her anatomy made it nearly impossible for the
Benson�s Scale to detect her, especially if Welsh wasn�t letting her use her
powers.�

Dumbledore chose then to cut in. �After analyzing the blood of several
Elementals, Severus was able to extract the component that was purely Element �
water, wind, fire, earth, and etc. Miss Granger and Mrs. Weasley were able to
use this in combination with the Benson�s Scale to begin to detect Elementals,
not just the Elements themselves.�

�This didn�t help them if Miss Weasley couldn�t use her Elemental powers
however,� Alastor noted.

�But there were readings,� Dumbledore continued, �faint and immature,
that the Granger Scale (the Elemental detecting scale � named so after its
primary inventor and the person who set the idea in motion) began to pick up.
At first they were thrown off as malfunctions because they could never be
duplicated. The activity became more frequent and they were forced to think
that, A) there was an unregistered Elemental traipsing about, or, B) Miss
Weasley was beginning to break free of Welsh�s dark magic.�

�Your assignment,� Moody said, pulling out a stack of papers as thick as
Weasel�s skull, �is to investigate. Investigate ONLY! If it really is
Miss Weasley doNOT let your presence be known. We will send for reinforcements
as soon as you call. You WILL be careful with this one, Malfoy. You WILL
play by the rules. Or I will skin you. Have we reached an understanding?�

Draco left Dumbledore in Moody�s office. Yes, he understood. Maybe he
would play by the rules. No, he would not be careful. There was no drive or
will more powerful than telling Ginny the truth. Draco had been fed by it,
drunk by it, and ruled by it for the better part of five years. Five years that
had stewed guilt and bitterness into him like a well-spiced soup. He didn�t care
if she hated him and he didn�t care if she never wanted to see him, just as
long as she knew the truth.

If rejection was how she dealt with him so be it. But he would never
reject her. He would follow her, watch her, guard her until he died. He would never
let anything like this happen again. He would never let her go again. He had
been saving one spot in his shelled-over heart for five years. It was for
Ginny, if she wanted it. He wouldn�t charge her rent, he wouldn�t make her pay
interest. He only wanted to know one thing: Did she trust him?

She had left not trusting him and unable to hate him. But she said she
could, in time, learn to hate him. Was five years enough? Perhaps, when she
came back, she would hate him, but he could earn her trust. He was beyond
hoping she could love him. How could she after all he�d done? But trust him
again�it meant everything to Draco.

He found Potter and Weasley stumbling out of the greenhorn introduction
room, laughing their heads off at whatever bully they�d told the cadets. Potter
stopped immediately at Draco�s serious look. Potter recognized urgency and
knowledge when he saw it, and now he trusted Draco to reveal it to his
pitifully retarded cerebellum.

Draco looked at the two of them coolly, confidently. �We have a mission.�

Roman, Derived
from Latin Cassus, �Empty, Vain�

Strands of pearly white fell through Ginny�s fingers. Soft as down,
white as snow, thick as wool, straight as an arrow. Glorious hair. Almost too
glorious for a boy. She ran her fingers through it softly, so as not to break
his concentration. It had been hard, teaching him. She couldn�t do the things
herself, the things to show him. So she had to tell him, and that was difficult
when she herself couldn�t explain it. It was just her. It was in her, part of
her.

Telling him it was a secret jewel had been her best description, her
only remembrance. It was a secret jewel, your own and no one else�s. He had
liked this idea. People had possessions, he told her. They belonged to
you or someone else. He was all about the physical, and, at four-years-old, it
was hard for him to see past that.

She breathed in his hair, the sweet scent of child and familiarity.
Whispering in his ear she described the feel of it, the awe and beauty the
Elements had. He sat in the empty space between her crossed legs so she could
feel his heart beating against his ribs. It made her feel whole, like he was
still her baby in her womb, completely protected from everything�and everyone.

Even though she could not use her Elemental blood, she could still feel
it. Her son was very strong in Wind, gifted in Fire. He felt more comfortable
with Wind, which was different from Ginny, as her strength lay in Fire. But she
could feel him try. The powers swelled within him, around him, on his skin and
in his eyes. He could feel it and not release it. He was too young.

But it was okay. Half the battle was finding it in the first place. The
easy part was using it. The hardest part was controlling it. Ginny could feel
that his heart beat faster, but in rhythm with the Elemental surges of his
blood. She could only hope that someday he would be strong enough to escape all
this. Ginny had resigned herself to her isolation, her imprisonment. But she
would not have the same for her son. Not her beautiful son.

Ginny felt a light breeze around them, cooling her in the Greek air,
sending whispers of the Mediterranean and olives her way. And then it stopped
dead and the dryness of the desert weighed upon them again.

�I�m tired, Mother,� he said in a whisper lighter than the
Mediterranean�s had been.

�That was beautiful,� Ginny said back to him quietly.

And it had been. She had not felt the Elemental powers in so long; it
was like her heart was ripped out of her. She had nothing to live for except
her son. Her son that looked and acted so much like his father.

�I�m very happy, Cassian,� she cooed him to sleep. �You�ve made me very
happy, very proud.�

Her Cassian. Cassian to her, only to her. He was her Cassian. She could
feel Cassian�s heart slowing to sleep and she hummed something her mother had
hummed to her, and Ginny assumed her mother�s mother had sung as well.

She lifted him easily from the ground. He was so frail, so small. Ginny
sometimes wondered how he wasn�t swept away in the winds at all, just to soar
on them forever. He looked so much like the father. His hair was thicker, and
his eyes were clearly her coppery ones. But his face was the same, his nose
slightly pointed, like an elf. He had the same skin, soft and pale, and the
same long, long eyelashes that fluttered when Ginny kissed him.

Smoothing his hair away from his eyes, Ginny tucked Cassian under the
sheets � Egyptian cotton. Only the best. She sighed lightly in the night air, a
whisper on the breeze. He would sleep all the next day with the way he had
exerted himself.

Not to say he was a weak boy. On the contrary. Cassian was rambunctious
and at times very demanding. He liked to run and climb, and though he couldn�t
have a broom he liked jumping off of high things. Ginny was surprised the boy
didn�t have more broken bones. Cassian was wiry and lean, not chubby and round
like some four-year-olds. He had no baby fat, not really even as a baby.
Cassian was going to drive her crazy with his stunts one of these days�

Ginny smiled down on him and fussed over his sheets again. The truth was
she just liked to look at him. He was such a beautiful boy, and really a kind
boy, however judgmental he was. And he was smart � so smart! Ginny had been
reading to him since birth, his gurgles and laughter ringing in her ears at the
memory. He had picked up soon after and could basically read by himself at the
age of four. Ginny could hardly believe his fifth birthday was coming up. Her
Cassian five-years-old�

Shaking her head she stood and wrapped her arms around her waist. The
Greek air was hot, even in their plain house. They had lived there for three
years now, five or six miles away from the sea. It had open windows, no glass,
and the doorway had no door. The ceiling was no more than a thatched roof, but
magic kept it strong and magic kept the rain out of the windows and doorways.
There was no tile or carpet, just hard stone beneath your feet. It was always
warm, but never too hot, and food was easily accessible. They didn�t want, but
they didn�t live extravagantly.

Sometimes, in the summer when it would get really hot they would go down
to the beach and she would teach Cassian to swim in shallow pools. He didn�t
like the water much, but liked looking at the sea-life, the crabs and fish and
starfish. Times like that she almost expected him�Draco�to come up behind her,
wrap his strong arms around her middle and kiss her neck. She could see it like
a dream, or a landscape.

Ginny stepped outside and felt a faint breeze. She was lucky to be able
to take Cassian out that night. It mostly rained this time of year, but it was
rarely cold. She had grown comfortable with Greek living, and felt almost a
Grecian herself with her bare arms, flowing white and peach fold over robes,
and long, loose hair. If her hair was black instead of ruby, her skin
olive-dark instead of pink-white, and her eyes dark instead of metal, she would
have been a Grecian. The lifestyle fit her. The food fit her. The calm fit her.

She turned from the door, knowing a storm would come, and entered her
room�their room. Duncan and her room. He made her share a bed with him, but
little else. He had never forced her to do anything she didn�t want � as far as
sex and passion went. He worshipped her and she hated him. She lived in
constant fear that one day he would wake up from his daydream and realize
Cassian � Ignatius to him � was not his son, she was not his wife, and she
didn�t love him at all.

He was an old, pathetic man to her, trying to reclaim an ignored desire
born in his youth and suppressed until now. He was silver-streaked and tan, and
his hands and arms spoke welcome and warmth while his eyes and smiles spoke
insanity. He was intelligent, kind, respectful, attentive, and very, very
insane. Unstable. As in not right in the head. As in around the bend, crazy as
a coot, not all there, not right in the head, off his rocker, out of his mind,
touched in the head. As in mad, mad, mad, mad, mad.

Ginny could feel him touch her thigh with calloused hands as she slid
under the sheets and paid him not mind. He was asleep and not likely to notice
she had been out late. He didn�t like it when he couldn�t watch her, but he
slept like a baby when it was warm. The Egyptian-made cloth caressed her smooth
skin and she couldn�t help but wish they were someone�s fingers�

�Draco�s fingers.

A Story About a
Dragon

Ginny woke early, as she was accustomed to these days. Cassian wouldn�t
be up for a long time because of last night. She would tell Duncan she thought
him sick and he would fuss and read to him all day long. Ginny shook her head
as she kneaded the sweet-pitas. Duncan liked those for breakfast, along with
dense tea and a good edition of the paper. He would sit at the table as the
pitas baked and sniff the air every so once in a while, look out the window,
shake out his paper, and begin to read.

A fluttering of sheets told her to put the teakettle on the table and
start baking the pitas. Duncan yawned kissed her on the check familiarly. Ginny
didn�t mind half so much, she saw him as a deranged and slightly dangerous
uncle � not a love interest like he saw her. Ginny closed her eyes and waited
for the pitas to finish. The paper shook and she knew it was about time. She
didn�t speak, for Duncan liked it quiet in the morning. Ginny almost liked it
better, too.

�You didn�t get to bed until late last night,� Duncan noted casually.

Ginny froze. Just about anything could set him off. She never knew what
it was going to be, or how bad his rage would come, but it always scared her.
He never laid a hand on her or Cassian. He didn�t have to. All he had to do was
use a spell that book of his told him and Ginny would be a heap of pain and
seizures. It took the Elements completely away from her, made her sick and
disoriented, like she didn�t know her name or where she was. It was worse than
the Cruciatus she thought. But she didn�t have much of a comparison to work
with.

�I think Ignatius is sick,� she responded quietly, smoothing her hair.
�He woke me up with his moaning and said he was hot. I took him outside and he
fell asleep. I shouldn�t wonder if he sleeps all day.�

Thankful he chose to accept this, Ginny turned outside, a wan smile on
her lips. She had chores to do. Mostly Duncan left her alone in the morning.
She knew how to cook from her mother�s teachings, and she knew how to clean.
Not that their little house needed much cleaning.

They lived simply � bout five miles away from the nearest salt water and
not four minutes from fresh water. Ginny carried water from the stream in the
morning to cook, wash, clean, and drink. She would usually bathe down there
too. It was a shadowy pool that she preferred, upstream from where she washed
her clothes but downstream from where she got the cooking and drinking water.
There were sparse trees around the washing pool and drinking pool, but the bathing
pool had a nice hangover of rocks and large bushes and trees � fig, date, and
olive.

After she got the water and bathed she would clean the house,
entertaining Cassian with games and stories of her youth, or ones she�d just
made up. She would make a meager meal out of vegetables and fruits and then set
to work schooling Cassian until it was time to make dinner.

Usually she didn�t see Duncan until dinner, which was fine by her. She
knew he worked in his lab, the only technologically advanced part of their
lives. He researched in an extensive network of underground rooms from eight
until six and then they ate. If it had not been for Duncan Ginny would have
been perfectly content with her life.

Ginny sighed as she slipped the Himation� off her shoulders and hung it
on a peg on the nearest tree. It was always too cumbersome and she couldn�t
imagine the Ancient Greeks actually wearing it all they time. But she wore it
around the house fine enough, and it did come in handy at times. She shifted
the basket of laundry off her shoulder and hiked her peach-colored Ionic
Chiton� to her waist, tying it high with a cord.

Wading out in the water Ginny made a note to make Cassian take a bath.
He didn�t like to, but what young boy did? Ginny set to work cleaning and washing
the clothes by hand, making sure to use the right kind of soap for Duncan. She
pinned them up on a wire Duncan had constructed and let the air do its work. It
would take twice as long today because of the humidity. But she occupied
herself by bringing vas after vas of water into their simple home.

By the time she had washed herself and brought all the water into the
house Duncan was in his laboratory. Ginny walked quietly into Cassian�s room
and sat on the end of his bed. He didn�t stir, but Ginny knew he was awake. It
was a motherly instinct, not a Dreamweaver one. Without her human soul she
didn�t have those powers any more.

The reason why she had been so good, the reason why she was the best,
the reason why she was able to do things that no other Dreamweaver could do �
like go into the Remnants � was because Ginny was aided. The Elements had made
her powerful in more ways than one.

Ginny was an Element now, only Fire and Wind � not human anymore. It was
the reason why Duncan could control her and not Cassian. You couldn�t use the
spell in the Morte D�Mordorde on people, and when Ginny had accepted the
Elements to come and save her life, to make herself the first of her kind (a
Hybrid Element in human form) she knew she would never be a person again, and
that she barely had been in the first place.

The only reason why she could control people�s dreams, why she could
send and interpret, why she could build and receive, was because of her human
soul. Without it she was nothing. The Elements had aided her because fire was
connected to dreams in the sense that Fire Elementals could receive and
interpret dreams. Wind Elementals were connected to dreams in the sense that
you could send and build dreams. It was the same when you were an Earth or a
Water � Earth�s had strong connections to healing, which Wind did as well, and
Water had strong connections with precognition.

�Cassian,� Ginny whispered, leaning into his face and blowing on his
eyes. �I know you�re awake��

Cassian rarely smiled�but when he did it made Ginny�s heart swell, for
it was the most angelic grin she had ever seen. He was precious in every way to
her, and she knew that it wouldn�t last�it couldn�t last�because he would be
free someday and she would not.

�I wasn�t nearly so tired as I was last time, Mother,� he said in a
whisper, knowing he wasn�t allowed to speak of it in front of Duncan or ever
aloud. His eyes sparkled her familiar copper color and she smiled down on him.

�I�m very impressed, Cassian,� she congratulated him. And she was
impressed. And happy. Because now it wouldn�t be too long. Soon he would be
strong enough and even Duncan couldn�t control him.

Cassian looked down and Ginny saw his mouth twitch. Oh, she knew a
question was coming. It was probably the type of question she didn�t like the
answer by the looks of him. Cassian never wanted to make her sad, and he rarely
made her very angry, but he was a curious little fellow and nothing could be
done about that. Ginny didn�t want anything done about that.

�Tell me about father,� he asked her quietly.

He�d asked before. And he knew that Duncan wasn�t his father. Duncan was
Duncan to Cassian, nothing more. He didn�t know why the man lived with them,
for he wasn�t any relation. Ginny was rather vague about him. She had told
Cassian few things about Draco over the years. She told him that they weren�t
able to see Daddy, and that maybe someday he would.

But it was as good as time as any to tell Cassian about his father.
Duncan wouldn�t be about for a few good hours. �Alright,� she said, nodding her
head.

Cassian smiled widely and climbed into her lap. She couldn�t help that
notice how thin he was, and frail looking and yet how strong he was. Ginny
returned the grin, solemnly, and began. �Your father�s name is Draco Malfoy.
Your name is the name of his great-grandfather, and Ignatius is a name that
runs in my family, meaning �fire within.� Thus, Cassian Ignatius Malfoy � you,�
she said poking him lightly on the chest and kissing his nose.

�What does he look like?�

�Well,� Ginny said, drawing it out. �He had blonde hair, just the same
shade as yours. You have his lips too, and his nose, straight and narrow. It�s
his mother�s nose � your grandmother. You have my eyes of course,� she
fluttered them outrageously, �because your father�s were silvery-steel. And
your skin is the exact same color��

�What�s he like?�

�He�s very smart � just like you! And he�s very good at Quidditch.�

�I wanna play Seeker!�

�That�s his position!�

�Phalange � scientific word for fingers and toes

�The three of them were the best of the best of the best. � shamelessly
stolen from Men in Black

��Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow/ Creeps this pretty pace from day
to day/ To the last syllable of recorded time;/ And all our yesterdays have
lighted fools/ The way of our dusty deaths. Out, out brief candle.� �
Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5, Scene 5

��he passed through the halls and along the walls. � taken from Fiona
Apple

�himation (hi-MAY-shun) � The Greeks wore this as a sort of large, cloth
shawl. It is fairly light and small compared to the rest of their wardrobe.

�Ionic Chiton (i-ON-ci SHI-ton, �I� as in sit) � Grecian women wore this
along with a Himation during the Archaic Period. It is basically a square piece
of fabric tied with a cord around the torso. The blouse is called a Kolpos and
it ranges in colors and elaborateness. It is a sophisticated dress, sheer with
no over fold and is fastened with pins at the shoulders.
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Elemental