.

Lovers and Liars

Anchor

"Don't you think you've had enough?" asked Percy, raising an eyebrow as George poured himself another glass of gin.

"I can still walk a straight line," said George with an easy grin. "It's all good."

They were sitting on the floor of his shop with their backs against the counter. There was a stool behind the register and a bench in the supply closet, but he wasn't in the mood to go get them. Besides, the floor was comfortable enough, and it had become something of their place in the past few weeks. George wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but it wasn't the worst place in the world.

He'd swept it after closing, after all, and it wasn't all that dirty.

"Didn't think you'd be free tonight," said Percy, reaching for the bottle. "Angelina busy?"

"Her parents wanted to have a family dinner, and I haven't graduated to the meeting the folks stage of our relationship," explained George with a shrug. "What about Audrey? You meet the parents?"

"She's working late," replied Percy, raising his topped-up glass in a mock toast. "The perils of dating a healer."

George clinked his glass against his brother's before taking a hearty sip. It would appear that they'd both been ditched by their significant others for the night, but things could very easily be a lot worse. At least he had Percy around to keep him company. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he snorted. Merlin have mercy, but that was a sentence that would definitely go down as something the teenage version of himself would have never even considered.

"If it makes you feel better, it could be a lot worse," said George. "We could be Charlie."

"Heard he got dumped again, the poor bloke." Percy grinned. "What is this? Lucky lady number sixty-seven?"

"I think so." George scratched his head, trying to remember the exact number. "I lost count around the time he was dating that Russian girl. You remember her. The one with the big…"

"I recall that one," said Percy. "Though she wasn't as interesting as the one who tried to stab him. Now that letter home had smoke coming out of Mum's ears."

"No, she was a bad idea." George shuddered at the recollection. "Didn't he catch her poking holes in his condoms?"

"I'm pretty sure that one was local."

"Charlie really does get around, doesn't he? He's damn lucky he lives far away from Muriel and her screeching. Do you know she came by here today? Called me a pillock."

"Sounds like Muriel." Percy snorted. "Why are we supposed to be nice to her again?"

"Because she's old and our great-aunt," said George in a poor imitation of their mother's voice. "You'll miss her when she's gone."

"There are many people I miss," countered Percy. "School friends. Colleagues. Our brother. Muriel will never be one of them."

"I'll drink to that," said George, raising his glass. "Now, returning to our earlier conversation, I've been wondering. Bill married a part-veela, Charlie's a slag, and Ron's apparently shagging his boss. How is that out of all of us, it's you and me with the normal girlfriends?"

"Life is weird," said Percy. "Best to just accept it and move on."

George chuckled. The nonsense of it all made sense in a funny kind of way. Reaching for the bottle, he frowned when he realized that it was empty. That certainly wouldn't do. Hopping to his feet and stumbling against the counter as the world spun around him. When Percy moved to steady him, he waved his brother off. This was just another bit of sense he had to get used to. Without an ear, his sense of balance wasn't what it used to be, but slowing down wasn't something he'd ever be able to do either.

Being unsteady was just one more thing that was now a part of who he was.

Heading for the liquor cabinet beneath the register, he fumbled through the bottles for more gin. Over the last piece of forever, he'd become something of an expert at drinking, and it was never worth it to mix drinks. The hangover that would follow was never worth the buzz. Closing his hand around the neck of a bottle that felt like gin, he pulled it out and froze.

It was a bottle of Campbell's Finest Old Whisky. 1949. It had been the most expensive bottle of alcohol on sale that day. He'd been with Fred. They'd wanted to pick up something fancy to keep for a special occasion after opening their store. Harry probably wouldn't have approved of how they'd spent that portion of his investment, but it had been important to the two of them at the time.

They'd planned on draining this entire bottle dry on the tenth anniversary of their store being open. He blinked back tears and set it down on the floor, slumping down against the counter. Why was it so difficult? No matter how hard he tried, there was always something that reminded him of Fred, right down to his own reflection. It hurt. Gasping for breath, he pushed the bottle aside, and it went skittering across the floor.

"George? You okay?"

Percy rounded the corner, and it didn't take his brother long to realize what was going on. Moving faster than any intoxicated person had a right to, Percy moved to his side and pulled him into a hug. George barely felt it as he stared after the bottle. Fred could never hold his whisky. Give him any other drink in the world and he could down it without breaking a sweat, but whisky? His twin would be giddy and slurring his words by the second glass.

"Everything in this bloody shop reminds me of him," said George. "Whenever I feel like I'm okay and everything is normal, I see something like that bottle and I remember that it's not okay, that it's never going to be okay. None of this is okay."

"George…"

"Ron got stabbed by a hunk of wood the size of my fist. Ginny just got out of hospital for spell damage. Mum's still taking potions for anxiety and her blood pressure and insomnia and all the things she didn't have before the war. And Fred's dead. Voldemort's gone. His Death Eaters are gone. The war is over. So why is everything still so messed up?"

Percy didn't have an answer for him, and to be honest, George hadn't expected him to. Instead, he just hugged his brother tighter, hoping beyond hope that someday, the pain would go away.

.o0o.

Luna found her boyfriend in the waiting room dressed in the same clothes he'd been wearing two days ago with dark circles beneath his eyes. She sighed, shaking her head at the sight. It had been a week since their infiltration of the Grey Mansion, but for Draco, it was as though the wounds refused to stop bleeding.

"You need to go home and get some rest," she said, coming up to take a seat beside him. "Or just clean yourself up. You're not doing anyone any good like this."

"I need to be here when she wakes up," said Draco, shaking his head. "The healers say it should be soon."

"She's in a magically induced coma, Draco," said Luna, not unkindly. "She isn't going to wake until they decide she's healed enough for them to wake her, which you already know."

He flinched at her words, and she reached out to take his trembling hand in her own. Her boyfriend was jittery, and there was something wrong with him that he wasn't sharing. They'd patched him up physically and he was as healthy as a horse, but whatever had happened inside that manor had rekindled a darkness in him.

When he stared at his hands like he right now, his grey eyes dark and his lips pressed into a thin line, he looked less like her Draco and more like the man he'd been at the beginning of the school year. She didn't like it.

"Talk to me," she said. "A burden shared is a burden halved."

"The one thing that I promised myself when we began dating was that I would not weigh you down with my sins," he replied. "I don't—"

"Tough," she interrupted. "Because if you don't trust me enough to walk with you through hell, what makes you think we'll survive heaven?"

That was what it came down to. In the end, it was all about trust. Call her a fool, and many in the world already did, but she trusted her boyfriend. It stung that he apparently didn't feel the same way. Did he think she wasn't strong enough?

He squeezed her hand before looking at her, meeting her eyes. His gaze was like shattered glass, and it was clear that he was exhausted. If she didn't know any better, she'd be certain that he would collapse right then and there. After what felt like forever, he began to speak.

"I killed her," he said. "Luna, I killed Juliet Grey. I saved my mother and I killed the bitch who kidnapped her, but it doesn't make me feel better. I just feel empty."

"You did what you had to do, Draco," she said.

"No. You don't understand. I killed people during the war," he admitted. "I had to. That's what I told myself at least. Vol- Volde- Voldemort made it very clear. Kill the person he put in front of me or endure the cruciatus. Sometimes he'd threaten my mother. Sometimes my father. I did what I had to do to survive and keep my family safe."

"We all did terrible things during the war, Draco," she said. He wasn't making sense. What did the war have to do with what was happening now? "Do you think my hands are clean? Maybe I haven't tortured people and maybe I haven't used an Unforgivable, but I've duelled to kill. When you aim a cutting charm at someone's neck… when you aim a blasting curse at the balcony they're standing on… what do you think that is?"

"The thing is, Luna, that we didn't have a choice during the war. Well, we did, but it wasn't a choice. Not really. We could have lived to fight on or we could have rolled over and died. I had a choice when I went after my mother. Blaise and I made it in without a hitch. We found my mother in a locked room. She'd been tortured. We were about to leave when the aurors breached the building and Juliet Grey arrived. She didn't notice me. She was focused on someone on the other end of the landing. I didn't even see that it was Weasley. I didn't know he was in danger when I pointed my wand at Grey's head and cast the killing curse. I killed her because I wanted her dead so she couldn't hurt my family anymore, not because there was a wand at my head forcing me to do it. I killed her because I could, and that's not the person that I want to be."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Luna was at a loss for words. Juliet Grey had been a monster, but did she deserve to die? Luna wasn't sure. Her twin, Josephine, had been arrested and was facing life in Azkaban. That was justice, wasn't it? It was hard to separate the two.

The knowledge of what Draco had done did not unsettle her as much as she'd once thought it would, and she wasn't sure why. It was not as black and white as most would depict it to be. It was an odd strange of grey, a balance that was dangerously close to being upended, and she didn't quite know which way to lean.

Sighing, she sank back into her chair and glanced at the wall across from them. It was a sterilized white, but it wasn't pure. Beneath the ammonia and disinfectant, there were dozens of stains. This was a hospital, after all.

In a way, they were all like that wall. They could bleach themselves until they were blanched whiter than bone, but they'd never be free of the black marks on their souls.

"You feel remorse and that's a good thing," she said, still staring at that wall. "It means you're not a monster. I know monsters, Draco. I've fought them. I duelled Bellatrix. I know what monsters look like and you are not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Monsters don't wander around in the morning with bedhead," she said. "They don't wade into the Black Lake and splash me with water. They don't tickle me until I laugh and kiss me until I want to tear off their clothes. You did a horrible thing, Draco, and our world is a lot safer because of it, and most importantly, you're not a monster because no matter how terrible a person she was, you still feel horrible about killing her."

He swallowed thickly, grasping her hand. For a long time, they sat in silence, neither speaking as each of them digested her words. Her cheeks were flushed from some of what she'd said, but mercifully, he seemed to be focusing on the important bits. Right now, this was about getting him to rest before he ran himself into the ground. It was not about the dreams she sometimes had which starred him in various stages of undress.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, his joints creaking with stiffness. Still clasping her hand, he turned to her with a wan smile.

"Let's go home."

.o0o.

When Ron woke, he found it difficult to shake the sense of lethargy from his body. The pain potions that he'd been prescribed were quite powerful, and though they dulled the agony in his lower back, they did nothing to keep him alert. Stretching as best he could in the confines of his small bed, he opened his eyes.

The world was hazy and indistinct, but he quickly realized that he was not alone. There was someone sitting in the chair beside his bed, leafing through a magazine. Through the haze, he could just barely make out the long black hair and leather jacket, and he reached up to rub the sleep-sand out of his eyes.

"The valiant soldier arises," said Rhea, setting down the magazine. "Boot and Patil will be thrilled. They've been worried."

"Good morning to you to, Rhea," he replied, blinking. His vision was becoming clearer, but he still felt stiff. He'd been in bed for too long. "What time is it?"

"Seven," said Rhea. "I thought it best to come check on you before things got too busy at the Ministry. I have court in three hours. Kingsley wants Josephine processed and locked away as soon as humanly possible."

"Seven." He stretched, popping his shoulders and his back. "Merlin. This is not going to make the rumors go away."

"Harmless gossip," she replied. "You get used to it after a while. It doesn't bother me all that much."

"Still doesn't explain why you're here this early," he said, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, I'm flattered, but most bosses don't really do this."

"I'm the Head of the Auror Department. I can't be most bosses."

That much was true. Ron was still a trainee, but he had been a part of the department long enough to know exactly what Rhea meant. In the field, they depended on each other to stay alive. If you couldn't trust the person next to you to have your back, then you were done for.

"At least one good thing came from Robards getting busted," replied Ron, an easy smile on his face as he rolled onto his side to face her. "I don't have to deal with his ugly mug while I'm an invalid."

"Don't get it twisted, Weasley," she said, amusement glittering in her eyes. "This is strictly customary."

Of course it was. His smile grew, and he winced at the flash of pain that came from his moving around. It was his first injury on the job, and leave it to him to be wounded in such a grievous manner. He could have broken a finger or hit his head, but instead, he'd somehow gotten a hunk of splintered wood lodged into his lower back.

He should count himself lucky. It had missed his kidneys and liver, and the healers had been able to patch up his stomach well enough. Next time, he might not be that fortunate, but that was just part of the job, wasn't it? He sighed.

The truth was that it had been a fluke that had led him to becoming an Auror. When he'd been considering career paths, he hadn't known where to go. He wasn't fearless like Bill, and he didn't have Charlie's gift for animals. He didn't have Percy's brains or the twins' ingenuity, and he wasn't even as good on a broomstick as Ginny was. The only reason he'd decided on a career in law enforcement had been because Harry had been considering it.

Yet, here he was, and to his utter surprise, he enjoyed being an auror. Hospitalization aside, he liked being in the thick of the action. He liked sharing an office with Padma and Terry, because the banter never slowed down with those two around. He liked going to the Leaky Cauldron after a long shift and unwinding with his colleagues. He even liked the training because if nothing else, he'd never been this fit in his life.

And honestly, despite everything, it felt pretty damn good.

Rhea was surveying him with a strange expression on her face, he realized. Frowning at the sight, he adjusted his position, trying to take the weight of the sore spot on his back. As he did so, Rhea reached down into her briefcase and pulled out a leather-bound folder. Opening it, she handed it to him without a word.

His frown grew as he scanned the words, and his mouth went dry. This was… no, it couldn't be. She was joking. He wasn't due to finish his training for another six he looked up from the sheaf of papers, she was holding a quill.

"I'll be stopping in with Patil and Boot after court," she said. "The three of you handled yourselves very well during your last assignment. We also have you to thank you discovering Robards' deception. Don't worry. I've already ran this past Burns and Kingsley, and they're completely on board."

Ron didn't know what to say. Nodding numbly, he accepted the quill and signed his name in the appropriate places. As he did so, there was a flash of light from his side table, and he instinctively reached for his wand. Rhea was faster. Flicking her wand to dispel his locking charm, she reached in and pulled out his badge. A single word that had been there last night was missing, and he could hardly believe it.

Handing it over, she smiled.

"Congratulation, Weasley," she said with what was perhaps the warmest smile he had ever seen her wear. "You're a full-fledged auror now."

.o0o.

"Why is it that I'm the one recovering from a severe drug addiction, but you're the one who looks like shite?" asked Harry, raising an eyebrow as Hermione slumped down against the nearest wall.

Hermione looked distinctly unamused at his choice of words. If Harry was being completely honest with himself, it was rather unsettling to see her glaring at him with that particular expression on her face. The last time he'd seen her like this had been a few years ago, and it hadn't been him on the receiving end of her ire. Her hair was as much a nest as his was, though at least birds would consider hers to be habitable, and their eyes were the same shade of red.

Remembering the birds that had left lasting scars on Ron's hands, he bit his tongue before he could crack another joke, thinking it best that he not give her a reason to lose her temper.

"I overhead Malfoy and Luna talking this morning." Hermione scowled. "As usual, he's the victim of the story and the whole world is out to get him. Merlin knows what Luna sees in him."

Harry frowned. He didn't know all that much about Luna's relationship with Malfoy other than the fact that it probably wasn't a good idea in the slightest, but after all the bad decisions he'd made in the last few months, it really wasn't his place to judge. Fidgeting with his hands, he leaned back against the headboard of his bunk and folded his legs beneath him.

The light streamed in through the single window of his cell, and he moved so that it struck him in his face. It was good to feel the warmth. He hadn't been outside in weeks, and though he was improving, Pierce didn't think he should be on his own without supervision just yet. It was for the best, he knew, but it was difficult as well. The room was small and filled with only the essentials, and during the worst nights of his detox, the walls had closed in until the room had been as small as a cupboard.

No. He shook himself. This wasn't about him. He'd made his bed, and now it was time to lie in it. Swallowing, he turned back to Hermione.

"If Luna chose to be with him, then there must be a good reason. I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt," he said, hoping that his words were as diplomatic as they could be.

"I don't trust him, Harry," she said. "I can barely sleep in that house with him there. Just being in the same room as him makes my skin crawl."

"Then why haven't you moved?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "The Burrow—"

"Yes, Harry," interrupted Hermione with a roll of her eyes. "Moving in with my ex-boyfriend after he's moved on would be loads better than living with Luna."

"You could get your own place," he pointed out. "The Ministry gave you enough to be comfortable for a long time."

Hermione sighed before leaning her head back against the wall. Harry had never seen her look so haggard and downtrodden, so lost. He swallowed, not recognising the woman in front of him. The girl he'd known had worn fire in her eyes, and she'd had drive. There'd never been a mountain to tall for her to climb, or a river to deep for her to swim. This woman wore his friend's face and spoke with her voice, but it wasn't his Hermione.

With a sigh, he wondered if she could say the same thing about him. It was morbidly funny, in a way. During the war, there'd always been another battle on the horizon, another destination for them to reach. They'd been hopeless and tired and hungry and cold, but they'd never given up and let themselves become the people that the peace had turned them into.

The realization was like a thunderclap in his ears, and for the first time, Harry could pinpoint the exact feeling that weighed on him. Exhaustion. He was just…tired. It wasn't sadness or anger or anything that he could justify. In that moment, the only thing he wanted was a red-and-gold couch in front of a roaring fire.

"Do you want the truth, Harry?" she asked, breaking him from his thoughts. "Do you want the awful truth?"

"Why not?" he replied. "It can't be any worse than the lies."

She snorted, shaking her head as she did so. "I spent hours looking at listings for flats. There was a lovely place in Diagon Alley that caught my eye. It was a starter with one bedroom, one bathroom, and an open-plan kitchen and living room. You could see all of Diagon from the windows. You'd pop open the bedroom window and you could smell the fresh cakes from Rosa Lee Teabag. Hell, Sugarplum's was right downstairs."

She took a deep breath. "Madam Sugarplum had the flat added for her son, you know. To give him his own space for after he was done with Hogwarts, separate from the family flat on the floor below. He didn't make it through the war, and so she put it out to rent. She told me the whole story when I went in for a viewing. It was a lovely flat. I'd have been just a few buildings away from George."

"Why didn't you take it, then?" asked Harry, not unkindly.

Clambering up from the bunk, he crossed the tiny room in three strides and sank down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders. She'd lost weight, he realized as he held her. He could feel her shoulders digging into his arm.

"I just couldn't," she replied. "It's a step forward, I know, and it made all the sense in the world. It's the smart thing to do. I still just couldn't. I just don't know where to go or how to get there. I don't know what I want to do or where I want to go. I'm lost and tired, and I just want to curl up under the covers and never have to wake up. I…"

She trailed off, burying her face in his shoulder as she began to sob. Harry let her cry, holding her as tightly as he could whilst her tears soaked into his t-shirt. He didn't know how long they sat there like that, and he didn't care either. Stroking her hair, he let her cry it out. Growing up, he'd seen films whenever the Dursleys were out, and the girls had always cried so prettily when they were upset. Hermione's sobs were different. Her eyes and nose were red, her face screwed up, and she sounded like she was choking with every breath she took. Her nose was running as well, staining his shirt, but he didn't care about that either.

After what felt like an eternity, she slowed down, and he squeezed her shoulder. Pressing his lips to her brow, he closed his eyes and leaned against her, hoping to remind her that she wasn't alone. She was the sister he'd never had, and they were a lot more than friends. They were family.

"Move in with me," he said, spitting out the words as soon as the idea popped into his head. "My place is huge. It'll be like when we were living in Grimmauld again, only without the threat of almost dying lurking outside the door."

"Harry, I'm a complete wreck," she said. "Do you really think I'm going to be a good housemate like this?"

"In case you've missed it, I'm a recovering drug addict and man-slag," he pointed out. "So from one complete wreck to another, move in with me, please?"

He wasn't quite sure what the sound she made in response was. It was half-a-laugh and half-a-sob, and completely choked as it escaped her lips. For a few seconds, she seemed to consider as she looked up to meet his bruised eyes with her own.

"When you put it quite like that, how could I refuse?"

.o0o.

It was good to be home.

Ginny leaned against the kitchen table, stirring as she inhaled the scent of her mother's baking. There were brownies in the oven, and she was supposed to be watching them while her parents visited Ron. There was nothing in the world quite like her mother's chocolate brownies, especially when topped with hazelnuts and vanilla ice-cream.

Outside, it was a warm day. The laundry swayed in the morning breeze. The birds were singing as well. On most days, she hated the sound for waking her before she was ready, but as she stood there, she couldn't help but feel that there wasn't a sweeter sound in the entire world. It was home. Even with the missing gaps in her memory, there were some things that no charm could make her forget.

A loud whoosh echoed through the Burrow, and she turned towards the living room in surprise. She hadn't been expecting anyone. Her family was all either at work or at the hospital, and it wasn't like any of their girlfriends to pop in without calling first. It couldn't be a stranger either. The Burrow had been heavily warded during the war, and though her family had relaxed their guard, most of their security measures were still in place.

"Is anyone home?"

The teaspoon fell from Ginny's hand, her eyes growing wide as Harry came into view, looking as though he'd just been to hell in a handbasket. His hair fell past his shoulders in a ratty mess, and his eyes were bruised and reddened. He was painfully skinny as well—looking like he'd lost pounds that he couldn't afford to lose in the first place. Clad in a leather jacket and a pair of shredded jeans, he looked very much like someone her mother would warn her not to talk to.

"Hi," he said, raising a hand and sounding incredibly nervous. "It's nice to see you up and about."

"Nice?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. "I didn't think you cared about me that much, or was I asleep whenever you tried to visit me in hospital?"

He winced, looking more than a little pained. Swallowing, he gestured towards a chair, and it struck her as odd considering that the Burrow had always been a home to him. Times had changed, though, and he'd changed with them. He'd proved that to them all at Christmas, when he'd swaggered into the living room with that tart on his arm. Reaching up to push her hair out of her eyes, she nodded before walking towards the kettle.

"Tea?" she asked.

"Thanks," he said. "Two sugars, and—"

"No milk," she finished for him. "And you prefer tea bags to tea leaves. I remember."

"Tea leaves are just bitter," he said. "They—"

"Remind you of divination and you hate divination, which is the same reason you'll never buy a snow-globe, because they look like crystal balls." She sighed. "I told you. I remember."

The kettle whistled, and she poured the water in silence. Taking as long as she could to make his tea, she steeled herself as he looked awkwardly around the room. She hadn't expected to see him here today. In fact, she hadn't expected to see him for a few weeks. It was almost time to return to Hogwarts, and she'd been certain that she could avoid him until then.

Yet, here he was, like a stain that she couldn't scrub away, no matter how much she tried.

It wasn't even as if she hated him. She didn't. They'd hurt each other. They'd hurt each other a lot, in fact, to the point where she was quite certain that the bridges between them had been burned to cinders.

She handed him the cup of tea and took a seat across the table, glancing at the oven. The brownies baked away merrily, and when she looked back, he was gazing into the cup as if fascinated by the brew.

"Why are you here, Harry?" she asked.

"To apologize," he said. "I was actually looking for George. Figured he'd be here since he wasn't at the shop. What I said at Christmas was shit out of line. None of you deserved that."

"It was and we didn't," said Ginny. "Is that all you're sorry for?"

"Not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"Because you made it so easy for me?"

He sighed again. Running a hand through his hair, he pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. She knew that look all too well. She knew all of his looks too well, if she was being completely honest with herself.

"Truth is, I figure that I have an impossibly long list of apologies to make, Ginny," he admitted. "I might as well start somewhere. I was hoping to save you for last. You're the one I hurt the most. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm not going to lie to you and say that I didn't mean to do what I did with those girls or that I didn't mean to take what I did while I was with them, because that's all on me. I slept with Erilson and Conant and all the rest of them because it made me feel good, and it made me feel something other than numb and empty all the time. I smoked joints and snorted crack and downed potions because it made me forget what a terrible person I was becoming. I drank it all away. It's all on me because I chose to do those things, so it's not an excuse. I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt you, not once, not ever, and I'm sorry that I did."

If she had been shocked to see him, there was no word that could describe what she felt upon hearing his confession. Drugs? She'd known about the slags and the drinking, but drugs? Oh, Merlin. It all made sense now. From his appearance to how high-strung he'd always been, how his changes in personality had been like whiplash. Fucking hell. Her shock must have been evident on her face, because he was looking at her with a sense of looming comprehension.

"You didn't know," he said. "I thought Ron told you. Seems I was wrong about that. Well, there you have it, Ginny. I fucked up really badly."

"You did," she said, her mind still whirring. She'd have it out with Ron later for not telling her, but right now, there were more important things to focus on. "You really did, Harry."

"If you're wondering, I'm not here expecting you to take me back or for everything to go back to how it was. I'm dumb when it comes to girls but not that stupid. There's just not been a day when I haven't thought about you while I was detoxing, and now that I'm finally free, I just wanted to try and, I don't even know what I was hoping for. Is a clean slate too much to wish for?"

Was it? Even after everything, she wanted to hug him tight and stroke his hair. She wanted to find the silver lining in the storm clouds, but she knew that she couldn't. There was no turning back, not now. They'd had their shot and it was gone, and even knowing what she knew now, she couldn't look at him without remembering what he'd said and done. He'd thrown the memory of her dead brother in her face, and she just couldn't look past something like that.

"I can't forget what you did, Harry," she said, turning away. Something in the room was burning. "I can't forget what you said. Starting over just isn't going to work."

Harry hung his head, but to his credit, he didn't push the subject. Pushing his untouched tea aside, he got to his feet. The smile he wore was forced as he nodded once before turning away, looking very much like she'd just drowned his puppy.

He stopped at the door.

"So are we just going to be the people who once dated and don't talk anymore? Is this really it for us, Ginny? Because I don't want it to be. I'm not saying we wipe the slate. I'm saying… maybe we can pick up the pieces and salvage something."

She considered him for a moment. He was right. She didn't want to admit it, but he was. There was a lot between them, and cutting the threads that bound them was as difficult as wiping the slate clean. Like she'd said to herself when he'd first walked in the room, he was the stain that she just couldn't scrub away.

"Fine," she said. "Friends?"

"Friends," he agreed with a wan smile. "And by the way, your brownies are on fire."

.o0o.

"Feeling better?"

At the sound of her voice, Draco looked up from the dresser with a wan smile. Truth be told, he did feel lighter after his somewhat embarrassing breakdown. It was as though a weight had been lifted off his chest. Life was getting better, he reckoned. His mother would be in hospital for a few more weeks, but the healers assured him that she'd be making a full recovery. Rhea Pierce had crippled the Gemini Sisters' operations in Britain for the time being. Theo and Daphne would be welcoming their first child into the world in a month.

More than that, he was utterly and completely in love, and now that the dust had settled over the mess that had been the past few weeks, he was able to simply enjoy it without holding himself back.

It was a good feeling, a single shred of perfection in a world of imperfections.

"I don't know," he replied, swirling around on the stool to face her. "How many wrackspurts are there around my head?"

"One or two," she said, her smile growing. "They'll be back in a bit. Sooner or later, you always get grumpy again."

He laughed, unable to help himself. She was right. She was always right. Sooner or later, his giddiness would fade and he'd return to himself, because it was who he was at heart. He brooded. He was more than a little snide. Truth be told, he could be an insufferable little shit when he wanted to be.

Reaching up as she drew near, he grasped her by the wrist and whisked her into his lap. She fell into him, giggling as he pecked her on the cheek and wrapped her in his arms. When she moved, her hair tickled his nose, and he scrunched up his face as he fought not to sneeze.

"Thank you, by the way," he said. "For keeping my spirits up through all this hell. For being there for me when I needed you. For letting me stay here when I was afraid to be alone. I don't think I'd have made it through without going mad if you hadn't been there for me."

"You'd have had Blaise and Theo and Pansy," she replied, a hint of mischief in her words.

"I can't cuddle with Blaise and Theo," he said. "And Pansy's just not as pretty as you are."

"Don't let her hear you say that."

"I'll have you know that I can talk my way out of trouble when I want to," said Draco. "I'm very smooth, you know."

Luna chuckled, and he flushed as she rested her brow against his. He leaned back against the dresser, savoring the feeling of just being with her and not having to worry about the world coming crashing down around them in the near future. At the beginning of the year, if someone had told him that he'd find himself head-over-heels in love with Luna Lovegood, he'd have thought that they were drunk.

Then he'd have promptly gone and gotten drunk to erase the image from his mind. As it turned out, the ludicrous things in life weren't as bad as he'd once feared.

Luna stifled a yawn, and he looked up in surprise. The night was still young, and he'd been hoping that they'd have a bit more time to talk and cuddle before they retired for the night.

"It's been a long day," she said, somewhat apologetically. "My pillows are calling to me. I think it's time we went to bed."

He nodded as he released his hold on her, letting her get to her feet. As he watched her go, he smiled. They'd have tomorrow. As his girlfriend walked, his gaze fell to her rear. It filled out her slacks rather nicely, he thought to himself. She paused at the doorway and he frowned, hurriedly looking away to avoid her catching him staring at her butt. Wondering what was going on as she turned back to him with a somewhat incredulous look in her eyes, he smiled an innocent smile.

"Draco, this is the part where you follow me to my room."

Oh. Oh… His mouth went dry. That was… not what he'd been expecting at all. He swallowed, glancing back at the guest bed with its pale-grey sheets and soft pillows. This was very much his room while he was here. It was neutral. It was comfortable and on the nights that Luna slept beside him when he didn't want to be alone, it didn't feel all that weird. Her room, on the other hand… Something fluttered in his stomach. It was her place. Going there felt strangely intimate. Swallowing and hoping his nervousness wasn't visible, he nodded and accepted her hand as she led him down the hall.

Draco didn't quite know what he'd expected, but Luna's bedroom was quite cozy. The walls were a blue so pale they were almost white, and the sheets were tinged in swirls of pink and lilac. When he'd imagined this, he'd thought of tie-dye and an eclectic assortment of furniture that would never match. It wasn't like that at all. He looked up and almost jumped out of his skin. Granger was looking down at him, as was Weasley and Potter. Longbottom and the She-Weasel were there as well, and the portraits were so lifelike that he could almost feel their eyes boring down into his soul. Fine chains of gold linked the paintings. Squinting, he realized that they weren't chains.

Instead, it was a single word written over and over again, thousands of times in golden ink. Friends.

"That's a bit unsettling," he said, not thinking before the words escaped his mouth. Quickly, he caught himself. "I didn't mean that."

"You did, but that's all right," said Luna. "Not everyone sees the world they way that I do, and that's all right."

"I get that, but it doesn't really set the mood, you know?"

"Just ignore them," she said. "It's just paintings."

Closing the distance between them, Luna caught him off guard with her kiss. His hands fell to her sides as he slipped his tongue between her lips, but he didn't close his eyes. Instead, he looked up again, drawn to the paintings, and he could see the silent accusation in their eyes. Without breaking the kiss, he reached for his wand and pointed it towards the nearest sheet. With a flick, it floated into the air like a canopy, obscuring the paintings, and the knot in his stomach loosened, just a little.

Luna giggled into the kiss before she reached for the hem of his shirt, and he moved like a flash, grasping her by the wrists and stopping her. He wanted this, he did, but he was nervous. There was no denying it. His heart was racing and his fingers trembled, and there was a pit in his throat when he tried to speak.

"Confession time," he whispered, his cheeks blazing. "I've never done this before."

"Really?" Luna looked surprised. "I didn't…"

"Think that I was a virgin?" he supplied. "It's not like I had much of an opportunity during the war, and I didn't really click with anyone before that."

A thought occurred to him, and he pulled away, cocking his head to the side. Wait. Her answer had not been the one he'd been expecting. Biting his lip, he met her eyes.

"Have you?"

"I have," she answered. When he didn't say anything, she continued. "After the war, I had a very short fling with Neville."

She was still speaking, but the words had become a sharp buzzing in his ears. Longbottom? She'd been with Longbottom. He'd known that they had dated, but he hadn't expected that they'd been so serious. Worse. She was experienced. He wasn't and he honestly didn't have much of an idea of how to do this other than the basics. Beneath the buzzing, there was another feeling as well, one that he knew all too well.

Merlin above, he thought, I'm jealous of Longbottom.

"Does that change anything?" she asked, bringing him back to reality.

"Not really," he said, feigning a laugh. "I am just going to have to hope that I'm good at this or I'll forever know that I was a worse shag than bloody Longbottom."

She shook her head, cupping his cheek with her palm. Her touch sent sparks running across his skin, and together, they sat down on the edge of her bed. It was rather bouncy, he realized, almost like a waterbed. Shaking himself to clear his mind of stray thoughts, he took a deep breath to calm himself.

The first kiss was soft and searching. His fingers tangled in her hair, and his heart beat louder than a drum in his ears. She ran her hands down his chest before resting upon the hem of his shirt, and as they broke apart, he nodded for her to continue. She did, and as much as he tried to force a smirk to his face as she ran her fingers along his bare skin, he couldn't.

Instead, he tried to steady his breathing as she touched the scar along his side and the jagged claw marks below his left pectoral, and his breath hitched as her wandering hands found the healed-burns in the crook of his elbow. He'd been shirtless in front of her before, but this was different, but not in a bad way at all.

The worst mark of all was the one on his left forearm. The inky-black stain had long-since faded away, but the silhouette clung to his skin like a shadow. Like sludge, it marred his otherwise pale skin, a permanent reminder of his sins and the price he had paid for them. She ran her fingers along the hideous remnant as well, lingering for only a few moments, and his breath hitched in his throat as she did so.

"It's okay," she murmured. "I don't care about it."

His mouth was dry as she slipped out of her top, and it was his turn to explore her. Like him, she wore scars beneath her clothes: a gash upon her collarbone, a trio of burns upon her stomach, a slender line across her side… He looked up, meeting her dreamy eyes, and he extended a hand.

"May I?" he asked.

She replied with a kiss, and it was all that answer that he needed.

It was fumbling and frenzied, a delicate dance of pure bliss and wanton frenzy, and it was over all too soon for his liking. As he slumped down against the pillows, panting for breath, he couldn't keep the exhilarated grin from his face. Luna half-lay on top of him, propping her herself up on her elbows, and her eyes were both dreamy and teasing as he drew small circles along her back. In the moonlight, her hair was almost silver, and in any light, she was quite possibly the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen in his life.

"You're staring," she said, a flicker of concern passing across her face. "Is something wrong?"

"No," he answered, his cheeks tinged pink. "You're just really pretty."

She laughed, and the mirth-filled sound was music to his ears. Her hands braced against his shoulders as she leaned in, her lips ghosting over his, and his grin grew as she nudged his nose with hers. Draco couldn't help but laugh as well.

It was a perfect moment in a world of imperfections, and he wanted nothing more than to let it last forever.

Author's Note: Egads! I can't believe it's already the penultimate chapter of Season 1. Anyway, in the next chapter of Lovers and Liars:

There was a knock on the door. He frowned at the sound. He wasn't expecting anyone this early, and he'd made it clear to Angelina and his family that he'd like to be alone before meeting them in the afternoon.

"George?" called a very familiar voice. "You in there?"

"It's open, Oliver," he yelled back, trying to keep the surprise from his voice.