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A Summer to Remember

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*Part One, chronologically, of what will most certainly have a sequel and probably be a trilogy. I’ll tell you now that you’ll really be able to start with part one or part two (which will be called A Summer Forgotten), but as I haven’t written part two yet this is what you’re stuck with. Part three, I’m afraid, you’ll just have to read last, but that’s when I’ll post it, so it’ll all work out. This story, suffice to say, is elaborately planned out…and I’ve even written *gasp* a PLOT OUTLINE! Not my usual style, but it sure makes writing a whole heck of a lot easier, I’ve found. This seems to be coming along quite quickly; I’m very proud of it. Other chapters are in the works, and progressing quite rapidly. So far. When school comes back, that might not be the case…so please don’t freak out at me or something if a chapter isn’t up as soon as you’d like.

A bit about the story: it’s D/G, as you probably should have already figured out. I’m sure I’ll manage to throw some minor R/Hr in here (but if that’s not your cup of tea, don’t worry, it’ll only be a mentions of if at all, so I’ll edit it out for the story I post on portkey.net), and there will be at least mentions somewhere within this trilogy of SS/OC (who has basis in canon). This part, here, takes place two weeks after the beginning of the summer holidays up until the last day…Draco will be in his sixth year and Ginny her fifth upon their return to Hogwarts. And that, I think, is all you really need to know…so on with the story!

Oh, and in the future, I promise to keep my A/Ns shorter…sorry…

Disclaimer: I renounce all ownership of everything except the plot. We all know the rest belongs to J.K.

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From Bad to Worse
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Ginny Weasley carefully unthreaded the only remaining button on one of her – well, one of Percy’s, really – old shirts. Buttonless, the plaid, threadbare rag hung loosely on her petite frame. It gaped open in the front without anything to hold it together. Ginny thought this was rather unbecoming, as it revealed the giant hole near the hem of the t-shirt she was wearing. So Ginny stuck the button between her teeth, twisted the two ends of the t-shirt into a knot, and decided that even though the bottom of it didn’t pass her bellybutton, her outfit was less of an eyesore now than when that awful tear was visible.

Of course, her outfit wasn’t exactly her top priority at the moment. Flickering her eyes upward, Ginny directed her gaze toward the kitchen, where she was sure a meeting was being held. The only question was whether or not the Extendable Ears would be of any use to her. She doubted it; her mum had been very consistent with her use of an Imperturbable Charm to prevent her from eavesdropping. Ginny was getting quite fed up with it. It wasn’t as if keeping information from her qualified as protecting her!

‘Not that I need that,’ Ginny thought furiously. All she needed were answers, and Ginny felt that she deserved them. Hadn’t she been right there with everyone else in the Ministry that night, too? She’d seen enough, been through enough that she should be entitled to a share of knowledge, too. Not to mention that besides all that, she’d had to deal with all that business in first year, too…Ginny shuddered, abruptly tearing her thoughts from a place she tried very hard not to let them drift.

But here she was, leaning over the hallway banister, alone, the baby, while they were all allowed – albeit reluctantly – to know every little thing. And no matter how much she prodded them (Ron, Hermione, and even Harry, who had been there for a week already), they wouldn’t say a word about what went on in the meetings. “Don’t you remember how you felt last summer?” Ginny had screamed, red-faced and exasperated, at Harry.

“Look, I don’t really want to talk about it…too much depressing stuff,” he’d told her tiredly, shaking his head. “You don’t want to hear it, anyway, trust me; you think you do, but you don’t. C’mon, forget about it – you want to play chess or something?” He gave her a little lopsided grin, and she supposed it was meant to be encouraging or something, but it only made her all the more irritated.

No, thank you very much, she did not want to play chess. She wanted to know something, anything, no matter how depressing. So every day, like clockwork, she bent over the balustrade, Extendable Ear at the ready, and tested for an Imperturbable Charm.

Ginny removed the button from her mouth, wiped it off a bit on her pant leg, and, holding it up to the light, gave it a long look. “Too bad I’m out of Dungbombs…they worked so much better,” she muttered. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she sent the button flying toward the kitchen door. It arched upwards and began to fall, slowly, towards the ground…

…But every day, like clockwork, whatever she threw was deflected, and she knew her test was positive.

“Urrrggggg!” Ginny groaned in frustration, letting out all the breath she’d been holding. It wasn’t as if she’d been expecting her mother to forget to do the Charm, but it still angered her to no end. Why did they insist on babying her? She felt so utterly worthless…a war was going on, and the only thing they would let her do was get the doxies out of the curtains! In the two weeks she’d been there she’d spent just about every waking hour snooping about and pumping anyone she ran into for information, and the only thing she had was “Snape, mumble mumble, real problem, mumble, a Death Eater in the house!” And though this was suspicious, it wasn’t a whole lot to show for her relentless search for information.

‘I’d make a lousy spy,’ Ginny thought as she kicked the railing. They always shut her out of those meetings, and covered every base to keep her from knowing what went on in them. Naturally, the more she thought about it, the more infuriated she became, and it threw her into a towering rage. It was the same situation with every meeting. Normally Ginny went somewhere quiet to fume, but today she felt like making a scene.

Down the staircase she pounded, giving each individual step a good, solid thump. The banister even shook as Ginny made her noisy descent. She didn’t say anything, though; she’d spent all summer screaming, and had only just recovered her voice. Instead, she marched over to Mrs. Black’s portrait, yanked the curtains open, and satisfied herself by kicking everything in sight.

The commotion Ginny was making did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Black, and it provoked the portrait into adding to the racket. She broke into an ear-splitting diatribe about how her house had been defiled, and Ginny hoped it was loud enough that the members of the Order couldn’t even hear themselves think.

Violence was one of the best outlets for anger, Ginny thought, as she shattered a vase. She was sure she’d be in loads of trouble later, but Ginny didn’t care…she was a true redhead: hotheaded and impulse driven. The consequences of her actions were the furthest thing from her mind at the moment. Right now, Ginny just needed to vent.

Her foot connected with an elaborately decorated bucket filled with, among other things, sinister looking umbrellas. The container flew across the room and hit the wall with a metallic clunk, spilling its contents onto the floor. One of the umbrellas had a handle that looked disturbingly like a dead bowtruckle, while another had been intricately carved into a very lifelike image of a snake. Ginny promptly smashed its head, and it splintered into thousands of tiny fragments.

But the scattered pieces did not stay scattered for long. As if drawn together by some invisible force, the bits of wood pulled back together to reform the serpent. Restored to its previous malevolent glory, the snake bore no mark of its recent encounter with the bottom of Ginny’s shoe. Its eyes seemed to gleam wickedly (this Ginny probably imagined; she hated snakes, and to her even the shoe button eyes of a stuffed one would seem to be gleaming wickedly) out of its wooden head. Ginny took this look as a challenge, and crushed it again.

Time and time again the snake magically repaired itself, but Ginny, who was taking pleasure in her brutality, continued to pummel it. After awhile it quit resembling a serpent to her, as she began to picture her mother and all the other members of the order in its place. They positively enraged her! They absolutely overwhelmed her with fury! She could stand having to spend her summer in a moldering old house filled with dark objects, she could put up with her decontamination responsibilities, but it couldn’t get any worse than the not knowing!

She was livid, and as her mood grew darker, so did the corridor. But the shadow that loomed over her was not just a byproduct of her rage.

Ginny had become so engrossed in beating the snake to a wooden pulp that she hadn’t noticed that someone had entered Grimmauld Place. Suddenly aware of their overbearing presence, she froze mid-stomp, and slowly raised her eyes.

Of course. Of all the people who could have caught her wrecking the hallway, it had to be Professor Snape. Ginny stared at him wide-eyed in disbelief. How could her luck be this bad?

“Miss Weasley,” he drawled, looking down his greasy nose at her with his surliest expression on his face. “Determined as you seem to be to destroy that umbrella, I must inform you that your efforts are wasted. Perhaps you are blinded by your irrepressible stubbornness, but you have clearly failed to notice that there is a very strong anti-breaking charm on the object beneath your shoe,” he said silkily. “If you could call that tattered thing on your foot a shoe,” he amended, giving her – well, George’s really – sneaker a disdainful look.

Realizing that she hadn’t moved a muscle since she first noticed Snape, Ginny quickly switched to a normal standing position. “You’d be incorrect in that assumption. I was perfectly well aware that there was an anti-breaking charm on it,” she answered primly, completely ignoring his last remark.

Looking unconvinced, he merely raised an eyebrow.

Ginny threw up her hands. “Look, obviously I tore up the room. But, contrary to what it might look like, my primary objective wasn’t to break everything in sight.” Ginny surveyed the wreckage around her. She grimaced; it looked like a niffler had been let loose in there. Ginny briefly considered asking Snape to magic the mess away for her, but then thought better of it.

“Could have fooled me,” he muttered, turning away from her and heading back towards the door he had entered in. For some reason, he always let her off the hook after only a couple gibes. Ginny figured he probably held some sort of grudging respect for her because she was exceptional at potion making.

“What the bloody hell happened here?” a familiar voice asked as the door shut behind him. Ginny immediately turned her attention to the doorway, which framed the most terrible addition to her nightmare thus far.

Draco Malfoy! What the bloody hell happened here, indeed.

Then something clicked into place in her brain. Snape, who was leading a Malfoy right into their headquarters, was obviously the Death Eater she’d heard mentioned. She turned on the greasy git.

“You are a complete idiot!” she snarled. “This is Malfoy! He supports You-Know-Who! And you, you just led him right into our headquarters! You’ve betrayed our secrets to the enemy! You’ve – AAAGH!” Ginny cried as Snape grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her, not hard, but enough to get her to cease her fanatical prattling, her accusatory finger still poking his chest.

“Calm down, you blithering ninny,” he instructed, releasing his grip on her shoulders.

Ginny made only a mild attempt to do so. Still breathing heavily, she gritted out, “Explain. Yourself.”

“You are aware that my role in the Order requires me to associate with the…opposition, are you not, Miss Weasley?”

“I wasn’t aware that it required you to invite them over to our base of operations!” Ginny snapped.

“It does if I don’t want to betray myself as a double agent,” Snape responded coolly. “Narcissa Malfoy expressly asked me to take Draco off her hands for the summer…”

For the summer? As in the whole summer? As in the entire month and a half left before they returned to Hogwarts? “What?” Ginny shrieked, horrified.

“Yes, I’m afraid that Mr. Malfoy will staying here for the remainder of the summer,” Snape affirmed, and Ginny felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

“As I was saying, Mrs. Malfoy apparently has some ‘big plans,’” Snape continued contemptuously, “and felt she needed Draco out of the way to get on with them. You can see my predicament, of course,” he explained. “If I refused to aid a…fellow…Death Eater it would arouse suspicion, but young Mr. Malfoy would surely figure out my secret if he were to stay with me. I discussed the situation with Dumbledore, and the old man told me to bring the boy here, where many close eyes will be kept on him. Naturally, Malfoy’s memory will have to be modified at the end of his stay. Undesirable as it is, it’s the only solution.”

Ginny glanced over at Malfoy, who looked like he had a Blast-Ended Skrewt up his arse about the whole thing. Well, of course he did: his mum had kicked him out of what was probably some Death Eater convention and unknowingly sent him to spend a month with the enemy! She supposed he himself must not be a Death Eater yet, but she realized: “Moody must have been talking about him when I overheard him say there’d be a Death Eater here!”

“Have you been eavesdropping?” Snape sneered.

Well, she’d been trying. “Not as effectively as I would have liked!” Ginny answered.

“Not as effectively as you would have liked?” Snape repeated.

“It’s really hard to listen in on conversations in this place. That’s the only thing I’ve actually managed to overhear,” Ginny admitted, bitterly. And if that wasn’t bad enough, her miserable summer had worsened severely in just the past ten minutes. She didn’t dare think that it couldn’t get any worse than this, though, for fear that it would.

Eying Malfoy distastefully, Ginny realized that maybe he was worse off than she. He was being denied all the information he wanted, too. His father was in Azkaban, his mother was busy plotting and preventing him from joining in on any of the fun, and he had to live with the Order of the Phoenix…things couldn’t get much worse than that.

If you were evil.

As if he sensed her look, Draco glanced toward Ginny, and met her gaze with his hooded one. His gray eyes were cold and spiteful, and she was fairly certain she saw his nostrils twitch in fear (she doubted he would ever forgive her for the Bat-Bogey Curse she’d hit him with at the end of the year). Just for good measure, he looked her up and down, slowly, in a way that would have unsettled any other girl.

And bless him, as displeased with his current position as he must have been, Draco Malfoy could still smirk.

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned back to Snape, fixing him with a pointed look. “Well?” she asked, folding her arms and bracing herself for a cutting comment about her lackluster spying skills.

If that’s what she was expecting, Snape would end up disappointing her. “Well, Miss Weasley, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend. Why don’t I leave you two here to…catch up?” he drawled.

Catch up? Now that was certainly an unattractive prospect.

“Oh, and why don’t you give Mr. Malfoy the tour? After all, he will be staying here for quite a while…”

And with that, Professor Snape turned on his heal and strode out of the hallway, his cloak billowing behind him. The door swung closed after him with an audible click that echoed through the corridor, leaving Draco and Ginny very much alone.

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Fin de capitulo uno. Please review, I love feedback! And I can’t believe I actually put a Bierce reference in here…anybody catch that? :)

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A Summer to Remember

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A/N: Chapter two already! Hey, that didn’t take too long, did it? I’m quick little writer…that’s why they call me Speedy Gonzalez! Well, okay, it’s actually because I run fast, but I now see that particular nickname can be applied to more than just that.

Disclaimer: You know it’s not mine, save for that plot. All other credit duly given to J.K. Rowling.

Also, many, MANY thanks to my wonderful new beta Red (The Lovely Lioness)!

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Chapter 2: Confrontations

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Draco and Ginny were completely alone. They hadn’t moved since Snape had left (though that was only a moment ago), as they had no desire to lessen the distance between themselves. Ginny was watching Draco with a horrorstruck look on her face, while Draco stared unflinchingly back, his features contorted into an expression of revulsion. They stood in silence.

“…filthy Muggle-lovers, contaminating my noble house! Besmirching it, tainting it…”

Well, save for the ranting of Mrs. Black, who had yet to shut up.

The hallway door suddenly swung open to reveal Mrs. Weasley, her face as red as her hair. “What on earth is that ungodly noise?” she demanded angrily of Ginny. “You know full well that we are trying to have a meeting right now!”

“Oh, gee, you know, I actually forgot about that,” Ginny replied saccharinely. “It’s not like I go to those meetings; sometimes the scheduling slips my mind, you see,” she said in a tone that sounded equal parts flaky and insolent. “I’m so sorry to have disturbed you,” she apologized, or rather didn’t apologize, sending her mother a very fake, doe-eyed look of innocence.

But Mrs. Weasley was now surveying the disarray Ginny had thrown the room into, and she looked even angrier than she had when she first opened the door. “What have you done in here?!” she yelled, looking murderous.

The object of her rage ought to have been inspired with terror. Ginny, however, was a master at keeping her composure in that right. She could most definitely hold her own.

“Well, first I opened the curtains to Mrs. Black’s portrait – I wanted her to make a fuss, you see – and then, I think I headed for those shelves…yeah, and I wiped everything off of them, and kicked the stuff around a bit. And you see those shards of glass over there? It’s really unfortunate, I threw a vase against the wall and it broke! Who would’ve thought?”

Ginny felt a sinister pleasure in seeing that her mother looked deadly. It filled her with a sense of accomplishment.

“You will clean up this mess this instant, Ginevra Molly Weasley!” Mrs. Weasley shouted, using the dreaded full name. She advanced on her daughter, pointing an accusatory finger. “Oh, are you ever in trouble! You had better get to it right now, don’t just stand there! And what have you done with your shirt? Honestly, wear it decently…”

Ginny flinched, and suddenly was very aware of the fact that her midriff was quite naked. She didn’t untie her shirt, however, for Draco Malfoy was still there, and the pitiful hole the knot was hiding would only be more ammo for him.

Ugh, Malfoy…and she still had to give him “the tour,” didn’t she? Well, despite the fact that Snape had told her to, she hadn’t actually intended to. But now, with her mother seething not more than two centimeters away from her, the prospect had become much more appealing.

Ginny worried her lip between her teeth as she weighed her options. She’d have to face the ferret sooner or later, she figured, and decided it might as well be sooner, when she had things just as bad to face, than later.

So she grabbed Malfoy by the arm and dragged him along, saying, “As much as I’d love to clean this all up, Professor Snape told me I had to give Malfoy here the tour, and you know, I really must do that right now,” as she swept swiftly past her mother and out of the room.

Ginny steered them safely away down a darkened corridor, but they hadn’t gotten very far before Draco shoved her roughly away.

“Get your grubby hands off of me!” he spat, his detestation of her clearly written across his face. “Ugh, now I’ve got Weasley germs all over me,” he muttered disgustedly, maneuvering his arm so that he could inspect it.

“Oh, I’m sorry, have I besmirched your skin? Have I tainted it with the touch of my Muggle-loving hand?” she asked mockingly, borrowing a few of Mrs. Black’s favorite phrases.

“Why, yes, you have,” he sneered, “but look what else you managed to do!” He turned his arm so that she could clearly see the glaring red imprint her hand had left. Something about the way that each of her fingers was distinctly visible, and the way that the red mark contrasted with his pale skin almost made her feel guilty. Only almost, of course.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Ginny replied without conviction, rolling her eyes.

Draco’s glare intensified, and he opened his mouth to say something rude, no doubt, but Ginny cut him off.

“I wouldn’t figure you to go and throw a fit over a mark on your arm, though,” she remarked, looking pointedly at the spot she’d grabbed him…on his left arm, precisely where another mark would probably soon be appearing.

“Excuse me?” he snarled.

“I just don’t see the big deal,” she said undauntedly, shrugging. “That little spot’ll fade, for one thing. And besides, I was under the impression that you were planning to put a different, permanent mark there,” Ginny finished incisively.

A new look came into Draco’s eyes; they seemed to brighten from cloudy gray to lucid silver. It didn’t take Ginny long to figure out that this new look was anger. He advanced on her slowly, until she could actually feel his breath, soft and even, on her skin. It made the hair at the base of her neck prickle.

“If I am,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper, “I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

With this, it was quite obvious that the subject had best be closed, but Draco glared fiercely at Ginny, as though daring her to say something more. Ginny of course picked up on this, and being a Gryffindor and a Weasley, she was not the sort to back down from a challenge.

“Oh, but Malfoy, we’re housemates!” she said, her words full of mock enthusiasm. “And there are no secrets in the house.”

Draco gave a derisive snort. “Aren’t there?” he asked, sounding amused. “Remind me then…why exactly were you destroying that room just now?”

Ginny’s face fell abruptly. “Okay, so maybe there are secrets in the house,” she said darkly. “My mum won’t tell me a bloody thing about…well, a bloody thing…but from the sound of it you’re in the same boat, so don’t get cheeky with me about it.”

Draco decided to comply, and not be cheeky about the matter. Instead, he thought he would be cheeky about (one of his favorite subjects to insult) Ginny’s mother in general. “Speaking of your mum, you know, I knew she was rather…rotund,” here he paused to let out a sharp, derisive laugh, “but every time I see her she looks even dumpier.” Ginny looked nearly unmoved (she had only flushed a bit pink), so he plowed ahead, searching for a more painful barb. “And what in the name of Merlin was she wearing? What did she do…knit together what was left over after your litter of brothers was done with their robes?”

“No,” Ginny snapped, her fists clenched tightly at her side, “I got those.”

“Did you?” Draco asked softly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “And what about the rags you’ve got on now? Must be hard having all your clothing come from a load of boys…it clearly doesn’t fit you properly.” He moved even closer, and Ginny felt a surge of discomfort course through her veins. “Love what you’ve managed to do with it, though,” he breathed sardonically, as he reached one pale hand forward and grasped the knot Ginny had made, his cool knuckles brushing against her bare stomach.

Ginny recoiled at the touch and backed quickly away. “Do you have a problem with respecting personal space?” she hissed.

“No,” he drawled musingly, “but I do have a problem with respect. I have a lack of it…in particular, for you.”

“How touching. You’ll be glad to know that I haven’t a shred of respect for you, either,” Ginny spat viciously.

“Yes, well, your opinion isn’t really worth much, is it, Weasley?” Draco’s eyes locked directly with hers, cold and calculating. “As for me, on the other hand…the name Malfoy commands respect in the wizarding world. From those in a decent position, of course…dirt poor, ridiculously large, Muggle-loving families like yours, I’m afraid, are quite insignificant.”

Ginny’s face had turned a furious red, which quite matched her furious demeanor. “For your information, Malfoy,” she growled, nearly foaming at the mouth, “families like mine have a lot more power and a lot more sway than you might realize. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve got a war going on at the moment, and here on the other side the name Weasley is very prominent. And as for the name of Malfoy…well, I think that it was suitably sullied not too long ago. You know, when news of your father’s recent trip to Azkaban was published,” she bit out scathingly.

“When I say the name Malfoy is foremost in the right places, I’m not necessarily including the Ministry and all that rubbish, though I daresay our reputation there hasn’t faded too much,” Draco sneered with such chilling certainty that it sent shivers down Ginny’s spine. “What I mean is that when this war is over, the prestige of the Malfoys is going to soar to even greater heights. You know why? Because once this war is over, Weasley, we’ll have won.”

“Oh, decided to renounce the Dark Lord, have you?” Ginny asked flippantly, quickly dispelling the fear that had suddenly crept into her mind: the fear that Malfoy might actually be right.

“Very funny, Weasley,” Draco remarked dryly, and laughed, a hollow, bitter laugh. “No, you know very well where my loyalties lie. But you know what, I’ll tell you what I told Potter,” he drawled, drawing in a hissing breath between his teeth, “you’ve chosen the losing side. It was only by luck that the Dark Lord was defeated last time, and now he’s stronger than ever. You’ve got no chance.”

Ginny forced herself to swallow in spite of the lump that had formed in her throat. “There’s always a chance,” she said bravely, feeling more hopeless in that moment than she ought to have, since she knew perfectly well the side she was on had quite a good chance.

Draco wrinkled his nose disgustedly at her words. “You’re such a Gryffindor,” he said contemptuously, as though that were supposed to be a bad thing. “You always think you’re so noble, so right…”

“You’re such a Slytherin!” Ginny shot back heatedly. “You don’t even stop to consider what is right!”

Draco fixed his eyes on her, studying her coolly. “There’s nothing to consider,” he said simply, calmly.

It was the kind of reaction Ginny would have imagined, but upon hearing those words she couldn’t keep her eyes from bugging out in surprise. “Nothing to consider?!” she repeated loudly and incredulously, taken aback. “How can you not even think about something so important? Ugh, it’s what I’d expect from you, though…can’t even think for yourself, that’s clear enough! ‘Father says’ this, ‘father says’ that; you’re just like him!” Ginny seethed venomously. After the words had left her mouth, however, she couldn’t help but feel like what she’d just said would seem a compliment to him.

Oddly enough, Draco actually looked –could it be? – offended! “You don’t know the first thing about me or my father,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “He may be one of the few people I actually have a high regard for, but I am not my father.”

Ginny looked at him quizzically. Merlin, who did the boy think he was kidding? Yet funnily enough she almost felt like she could relate to him in that respect; having six brothers, she knew quite well the symptoms of an identity crisis. This didn’t soften her feelings toward him one bit, though. “Open your eyes, Malfoy!” she retorted scornfully. “Your father is directly responsible for every bit of who you are. And,” she pointed out virulently, “believe me, I know exactly what kind of a person your father is. He’s a ruthless, heartless, evil person; a pitiful excuse for a wizard and a worthless human being, that’s what he is!”

Draco fixed her with yet another hard look; he seemed to be considering her. “Do you hate him?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes,” Ginny snarled with startling intensity.

In response Draco raised his pale eyebrows and allowed his smirk to become more pronounced. “Hate is a strong word, Weasley,” he said quietly.

“It’s no less than what he deserves!” Ginny cried. “And, really, don’t you think that hate is something that your dear father is oh, I dunno, intimately familiar with? It’s the driving force behind him; it’s what carries him through the day and gets him through the night, I bet! Only people who don’t know about anything but hate can be like him…and you, too!”

“Clearly there’s more to whatever it is you’re going on about than I know,” Draco said sneeringly, “and certainly I don’t have anything to do with it.”

“Don’t play dumb, Malfoy,” Ginny snapped. “Everyone at Hogwarts knows about what happened to me in first year, and I’d wager you’d know more, what with your father’s involvement in it.” Drawing in a shaky breath she continued, “And don’t tell me you weren’t disappointed to find that I survived that whole ordeal! That’s why you’re nothing more than a spiteful, hateful monster, nothing more than your father! Because you just live on hate, and find joy in other people’s pain, and think it’d have been better if I was lying dead, rotting in the Chamber, because wasn’t that the plan?”

Without another word, Ginny stormed out of the room, feeling that she’d left him with something to think about. She had, of course, but that didn’t mean that Draco would so much as consider what she’d said. Numerous people had rationally contradicted his beliefs before, but Draco wasn’t about to let logic interfere with his way of thinking. He was so sure of his values; he felt their truth right to his very core! Never had he questioned them or doubted them, not even for a fleeting instant.

What Draco Malfoy believed had been thoroughly ingrained in him by his father, formed into a solid, indestructible wall that mere words wouldn’t even scratch the surface of. So yes, Ginny Weasley had left him with something to think about. But he wouldn’t think about it. He would, instead, tuck her comments away in the deepest recesses of his mind, deliberately ignoring them.

It would take a much stronger catlyst than the angry, passionate, truthful insults Ginny hurled to make Draco Malfoy reconsider his standards. After all, Draco Malfoy never reconsidered anything at all.

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Sorry about all the fighting…but it was kind of unavoidable. I really wanted them to have a civilized conversation, but at this stage I know it’s not even a possibility. They really needed to have a good go at each other, not only to clear things up but also because they hate each other and weren’t about to have a pleasant little chat. Besides, Ginny was already in a fighting mood…but after a bit things will start to calm down.

Anyhow, there’s chapter two, so you know what to do: review! (That all kind of rhymed, didn’t it? Amazing.)

Chapter 3: Futile Attempts at Civility

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Disclaimer: Oh, you know the only thing I own of this is the plot. There, I admit it. The rest belongs to the lovely J.K., of course!

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A/N: Firstly, a thanks to my wonderful beta!

Now…well, it has been a little while…longer than I expected, but the wait isn’t the only thing longer than expected: the chapter is, too! So there’s your compensation! Seriously, this is the longest chapter that I’ve ever written, and it’s also the first that completely ignored me to when I told it to hurry up and get finished, already! It was content to drag on for twelve full pages…and for me, that’s a lot. I’m so proud of this accomplishment!

~*~

Ginny bounded noisily up the stairs, though she was not, for once, being intentionally loud; she herself didn’t want to be disturbed. She was sick of fighting, sick of yelling herself hoarse, and sick of this wretched summer! Between what she had to put up with from the Order and Malfoy, Ginny was all set to go back to Hogwarts and would happily face her stressful O.W.L. year. But the furthest away from this whole mess she could get at the moment was the solitude of the room she shared with Hermione. She sighed thankfully as she reached the door, and put her hand on the handle to open it…

…And promptly snatched her hand back, remembering that she couldn’t go in there. Unless, of course, she wanted to her nostrils to be assailed by the pungent smell of decay. A rather large bindimun had holed itself up in there yesterday; she had gone into a room further down the corridor to decontaminate it and the thing had taken off, later to be discovered in her room.

Annoyed, she reset her course for Harry and Ron’s room and upon reaching it yanked the door open. She barely took a step forward before she flopped face-first onto the bright orange Chudley Cannons comforter spread over Ron’s bed.

She felt absolutely spent after the argument she’d just had with Malfoy. Suddenly realizing that she’d forsaken the Slytherin on his “tour,” she sniggered meanly. She’d led him down one of the house’s lesser-used passages, so she figured it would probably be awhile before either someone found him or he found his way back. Although she hadn’t taken him very far, she had managed to make a number of turns along the way.

Ginny toyed with a loose string on the bedspread, and vaguely hoped that Draco managed to stumble into a room full of doxies or something else even more unpleasant.

Rolling onto her back, Ginny groaned, “Ugh, this sucks,” in reference to her entire situation. There were two soft thuds as she expertly slipped off her sneakers without even bothering to untie them, and they dropped to the floor. She closed her eyes and the sea of orange surrounding her disappeared, replaced by the soothing blankness of the backs of her eyelids. Sliding the tips of her sock-clad feet back and forth over the smooth wood floor, Ginny hummed the Weird Sisters’ latest tune and tried to clear her mind.

“This isn’t your room,” a snide voice cut into her thoughts (or lack thereof), and for a brief, terrible moment Ginny thought it was Malfoy. Startled, her eyes flew open, but she quickly realized that nobody had entered the room. She propped herself up on her elbow so as to get a better look about, scanning the room for an intruder. She saw there was no one else in there but herself, and was confused as to where the noise had come from until her gaze fell upon a portrait of a pointy bearded man on the wall.

“Oh who cares?” she asked in a long-suffering tone. “Can’t I go anywhere without someone getting snippy?”

“I was merely saying,” he returned lazily, “and if anyone’s getting snippy it sounds like it is you.”

Ginny, after glaring at the portrait, allowed the arm supporting her to give way and collapsed onto the bed yet again. “Just leave me be!” she demanded irritably.

“I’d be more than happy to,” the man said, turning up his nose at her. “I have no interest in speaking to silly little girls - ”

Sitting bolt upright at this remark, Ginny interrupted snappishly, “I’m not silly or a little girl!”

“Rather snippy though, aren’t you?” he inquired sarcastically.

Ginny narrowed her eyes at the man, who she noticed was decked out in green and silver. It would figure he was wearing those colors, wouldn’t it?

“Could you tell me,” she asked, annoyed, “whether Slytherins are capable of having a civilized conversation?”

The man in the portrait bristled, looking highly affronted. “As Slytherin is the most civilized of the four houses, I should say so!” he proclaimed, though he did not look at her but instead inspected his silken-gloved hand.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “If by ‘civilized’ you mean ‘full of themselves,’ then sure,” she muttered dryly under her breath. More loudly, she said, “Why is it, then, that every time I try to talk to one I end up getting in a row with them?”

The man looked at her now with mild distaste. “You must be a Gryffindor,” he sneered matter-of-factly.

“Well, yeah!” Ginny exclaimed defensively. “But that’s no answer!”

She was given a look from the man that obviously meant he thought she was being thick. “Everyone knows that Gryffindors have too much ‘pride,’” he said this last word mockingly, and probably would have used air quotes for it had he not thought himself above such things, “to associate with Slytherins. So I doubt you’ve ever actually tried to talk to one. And there’s no way a civilized conversation could arise between the two of you when you’ve got that kind of attitude.”

Ginny couldn’t believe her ears. He thought she had an attitude? “Maybe I’d be more inclined to talk with a Slytherin if they were, oh, I don’t know, polite?” she suggested snottily.

“This,” he said haughtily, waving a hand at her, “is exactly what I mean. And I have better things to do than put up with it,” he declared as he swept out of the frame, still mumbling to himself.

For the third time, Ginny fell back onto the bed, letting out a lengthy sigh. Mostly she wanted to think about nothing at all, but bitter thoughts about Slytherins (as a whole) kept invading her mind. And besides that a little voice might have said, ‘maybe that portrait does have a point,’ but if it did Ginny didn’t hear it.

Aside from her feelings of irritation directed towards the man, Ginny also couldn’t shake off a feeling of deja vu. It seemed like she’d seen him somewhere, she just couldn’t put her finger on it. It was odd; that nasally voice was one she should have easily been able to recognize.

She let her thoughts drift for a while, when suddenly it hit her. It was no wonder she could hardly remember him as the only time she’d glimpsed him was very unclear in her memory. Still, she could recollect seeing his other picture, as if through a haze, and hear his thin, snobbish voice dimly; the moment she could pinpoint to the night of her father’s attack, and the place in Dumbledore’s office. And as much as her mind was on other things that night, she could still recall the vague feeling of dislike she had felt for him even then. Ginny believed that this first impression was quite reliable.

Feeling that settled it, she decided to fully disregard everything he had said to her. And really, as if she’d take advice from such an arrogant git!

Suddenly, the door creaked open and Ron poked his head in. “Oh, you’re in here,” he said, as if he had been looking all over for her. Well, he probably had.

“I would have gone to my room, but with the bindimun in there I rethought that one,” Ginny replied without even so much as looking up.

Probably wondering why she hadn’t just cleared it off herself he asked bewilderedly, “You know you can just use a scouring charm to get rid of those, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s a pretty big one, and you know I’m just about as good at those as Tonks is,” she responded. “I was just planning on letting mum take care of it, but she still hasn’t gotten around to it.”

“Didn’t have to wander into my personal space just because you can’t use your room,” he muttered.

Ginny pushed herself up into a sitting position, her feet still dangling over the edge of the bed. “Oh yes I did,” she said crossly, folding her arms. “Malfoy’s down there, and I’d really like to do what I can to avoid him.”

Ron turned red at the mention of his enemy’s name, but didn’t look at all sheepish that he hadn’t bothered to caution Ginny of Malfoy’s imminent arrival. “I can’t believe Dumbledore actually recommended that he stay here. I mean, it was his idea! And for the whole fucking summer!”

“Ron, language,” she reprimanded teasingly, mentally echoing his sentiments. “I can’t believe you didn’t warn me, though!” she said more harshly, sounding a little hurt.

“Gin, you know I’m not allowed to tell you anything at all! I mean, I would if I could, even if it would be just to shut you up,” he said, flashing her an apologetic grin.

Normally Ginny would have yelled at him in spite of his perfectly good reasons to be withholding information from her, and the fact that he even had the decency to feel guilty about it. She had already decided that she’d had enough of the yelling for the day, though, and instead forced herself to pursue a polite conversation. “Didn’t count on me running into Malfoy right as he walked through the door, did you?” she asked lightly.

Now Ron did look sheepish. “Well, no,” he admitted, the tips of his ears slightly pink. He cleared his throat unnecessarily and, looking at the ground, asked, “How’d the tour go?”

“Do you even have to ask that?” Ginny returned with a wry smile. “It didn’t go. He started being a git and after awhile I just couldn’t take it anymore.” Unconsciously, she began to pick at the knot in her shirt. “Was it Snape who told you about the tour?” she asked curiously.

“Nah, mum. She wasn’t too pleased with you, you know.”

Ginny snorted. “Yeah, well…I wasn’t too pleased with her, either. Leaving me out of everything, and letting me get stuck with a nothing but a bunch of Slytherins for company!”

Ron looked puzzled. “Who else besides Malfoy are you stuck with?”

Holding up her hand, Ginny began to count people off on her fingers. “Well, I had a lovely chat with Snape today, and Mrs. Black is always blaring loud enough so that I can hear her - ”

“You’re the one who always sets her off!” Ron cut in.

“ - and then there’s what’s-his-name from the portrait in your room,” she continued, gesturing to the empty frame. “That’s really about it, but I think you’ll agree it’s basically the worst group I could have to hang out with over the hols.”

“Hey, you’ve still got the three of us – me, Harry, and Hermione, that is,” Ron offered consolingly. “And, er, maybe Malfoy’s really not that bad…” he trailed off, immediately looking appalled at his own words. “No, never mind, he really is that bad,” he amended; he only wanted to make Ginny feel better, not to lie to her.

“Don’t I know it,” Ginny said. “Hey, are you ever planning on telling me what you came up here for?” she suddenly asked.

“It is my room,” he said defensively.

“You were looking for me,” she pointed out.

Ron shrugged and then nodded. “Yeah, okay, actually, I was. Mum wanted me to tell you that dinner was ready. You and our favorite Slytherin, too…would you happen to know where he is?”

Ginny laughed (it was more of a cackle, really) with genuine glee. “Nowhere he wants to be,” she announced happily.

“That’s real specific,” Ron replied, rolling his eyes. “This whole house is nowhere he wants to be.”

“It’s nowhere I want to be either, to tell you the truth,” Ginny said. “But I led him a ways down that passage to the right of the entrance hall. I just kind of left him there, too…he’s probably wandered off by now,” she answered.

Ron eyed her warily. “There’s spiders down that way,” he said uneasily. “Look, I don’t really want to ask you to do this, but could you go and find him?” he asked pleadingly. “I mean, I’d go with you, but you know how I am about those awful, eight-legged…ugh, things,” he finished with a fairly violent shudder.

He still wasn’t her favorite person at the moment, but Ginny managed to fight the urge to make her brother come along with her and shove him into the first cobweb they came across. With a grimace on her face, she nodded in consent.

“Yay,” she muttered unenthusiastically as Ron walked away. “I get to be the search party for Malfoy.”

Amazingly, Ginny found as she turned the corner, the prat was right where she had left him. He was sitting on the floor with his knees drawn up to his chest, apparently resigned to the fact that he had no idea where he was. He was sulking, as he was wont to do when things weren’t going exactly as he wanted them to, and looked rather pathetic in Ginny’s opinion. The sight of him almost made her laugh.

Draco’s head suddenly snapped around towards her when he became aware of her presence. “Come back for me, have you, Weasel?” he sneered.

Ginny swallowed the giggle she was repressing and put a sneer to match his on her face. “Against my own will, I’m afraid,” she said curtly, moving up next to his side to glower down at his sitting form.

Draco’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as he feigned surprise. “Really? You aren’t here because you actually want to see me?” he said sarcastically.

In response, Ginny gave him a swift kick in the region of his upper leg. She doubted it hurt, as she wasn’t even wearing shoes. “That’s enough of your being an arse,” she declared.

“That’s enough of your touching my arse,” he shot back, looking at the spot she’d struck him, revolted. He was probably thinking about how she’d managed to transfer some of her ‘Weasley germs’ onto him.

Ginny almost wanted to protest that it was actually his leg she’d kicked, thank you very much.

Instead, she decided just to get to the point. “I hope you show some semblance of manners in front of the adults,” she admonished him with a scowl. “Dinner’s ready, and you’ve got to come eat it. So get up.”

The Slytherin didn’t budge. “I think I’ll pass on your gruel, thanks,” he scoffed, having paid no heed to anything Ginny said to him and still being his usual arse-y self.

“I’ll have you know that my mum’s cooking is probably the best you would ever taste,” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “But if you want to go to bed starving, that’s your loss. And you can stay right here for the rest of the summer, too, for all I care,” she told him, turning around and starting to walk away. “Good luck finding your way out of this maze of hallways!” she called over her shoulder.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Draco stand up reluctantly but gracefully; keeping his distance, he followed her out of the passage, sulking the whole way. Neither of them said a word until they reached the kitchen.

“This is where the food is,” Ginny informed him rudely, pausing outside. She didn’t know why she was even bothering to tell him, though, as the distinctive and delicious smell wafting through the door spoke for itself. “I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m going to go eat,” she said, reaching for the handle.

The door swung open before she grasped the knob, however. Snape strode out, but he only took a couple of steps before stopping in his tracks as he caught sight of them. He spared the two of them a sweeping, sour look and turned back toward the open door to speak with someone out of sight. “Never mind, Molly, they seem to have found their way here on their own,” he announced dryly. “It took you long enough,” he said to Ginny, whom he regarded coldly as he beckoned her and Draco into the room.

The latter entered the kitchen grudgingly. He hovered doubtfully around Snape, who Ginny noticed seemed to have decided to stay for dinner for the first time ever. She supposed he was there to give Malfoy moral support or something.

While Draco looked as if he would rather stuff a dirty sock in his mouth than eat the food on the table, Ginny was starving and didn’t waste a second in filling her plate.

“Well, my summer’s ruined,” she declared as she plopped down in her usual seat between Tonks and Hermione, giving Malfoy an resentful look. “Not that it was great already, but…” she trailed off as she popped a potato into her mouth.

“You’re right, it does kind of put a damper on things,” Hermione said darkly, glaring across the table at the blonde.

Ginny cocked her head to the side. “It puts a damper on what things? Things like happiness…or something else?” she asked, giving Hermione a very prying look.

“I’m talking about happiness, yes,” Hermione said briskly, picking at her peas uneasily.

“Liar…there’s things you aren’t telling me,” she muttered, violently stabbing a potato with her fork. However, in the spirit of courtesy, she chose not to push the subject.

“Ooh, Tonks, that shade of red is really your color!” she exclaimed good-naturedly, spotting the Auror’s newly crimson locks.

“Thanks!” Tonks said brightly, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know how long it’ll last before I get tired of it, though.”

The three girls lapsed into pleasant conversation as they finished their meals, surrounded by a bubble of cheerfulness for which Ginny was eternally grateful. She was beginning to feel much better; her “cooling off” process was coming along quite smoothly. And Tonks could always make her laugh hysterically…in the middle of one such giggle she felt Hermione poke her about ten times before she was able to settle down.

“Ow, stop that!” Ginny whined at Hermione between big gasps for air, rubbing her shoulder.

“Don’t look at me,” Hermione replied, holding up her hands innocently. She leaned back in her chair so that the person sitting on her other side was in Ginny’s clear line of vision, and jerked her head in their direction.

Ginny saw that it was Bill; he grinned and waved to her.

Ginny did not return the gesture. “What was that for?” she asked him with a slight pout.

Bill shrugged casually, the corners of his mouth quirking up even more. “You know I never tire of hearing your melodious laughter…it’s like the tinkling of pretty little bells…” he began jokingly, but Ginny could tell from the look in his eyes that he was actually about to turn serious on her.

“You always say that I laugh like an ostrich,” she interjected, surveying him shrewdly. “And perhaps someday I’ll find out where you’ve ever heard an ostrich laugh,” she added under her breath.

Her brother chortled, stretching languidly and tilting his chair back so that only the back legs were still touching the floor. He was now gazing, calmly, straight ahead. “That Malfoy character is staring at you…well, glaring daggers, more like,” he said abruptly. “I don’t like it,” he concluded, turning back to her with a concerned expression.

Ginny scanned the room for Draco and found him near Snape, leaning sullenly against the wall. Sure enough, he had fixed her with a very penetrating and threatening look; it was so intense that Ginny couldn’t figure how she hadn’t detected it herself. She was so taken aback by the sheer force he had put into that gaze that she couldn’t help flinching. Though it was hardly perceptible, Malfoy was unfortunately very observant when it came to things like that. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually allowed herself to give him exactly the kind of reaction he wanted.

Now that he’d caught her eye, Draco’s eyes brightened to reflect smugness rather than sullenness, but they remained locked with Ginny’s as firmly as ever. He didn’t say anything, and Ginny didn’t expect him to. He relied so heavily on the power of those kind of looks, the terribly unnerving ones, that he didn’t need words to convey his meaning.

“What’s he looking at you that way for?” a new voice asked curiously. Ginny forced herself to tear her gaze away from Draco to look at Harry, who had pulled up the seat across the table from her.

“Well, we do hate each other,” Ginny pointed out.

“Yeah, but I thought I was the one who was his arch nemesis and all that. You’d think he’d be trying to glare me to death, not you,” Harry clarified, looking at Ginny for an explanation.

As if Ginny were supposed to know why it was she who ranked number one on Draco Malfoy’s “most hated” list.

There had always been a very strong mutual hate between the two of them; she figured they had probably loathed each other before they even had met.

As for why he was giving her such a fierce look right now, Ginny figured it was that their last fight was probably still fresh in his mind. She really didn’t feel like rehashing that for Harry, though.

“I don’t know, maybe he still hasn’t gotten over that Bat-Bogey Hex,” she responded evasively. It was lame, it was an excuse, and it wasn’t true, but it was all she could come up with.

The glare Ginny could peg to their quarrel, but the hate between them was more complicated.

After all, it wasn’t as if today’s fight had been the first. Ginny ran into Malfoy in corridors at Hogwarts often enough, and they would nearly always have a go at each other then. It had never gotten this heated before, however, Ginny had to admit.

Still, Draco had been brought up to detest her for who she was; Ginny knew that. But in that regard she wasn’t the only one. So why was it that it was she who he abhorred the most?

The common thread of hatred could easily be traced back to Lucius Malfoy, and it was tied securely around his pure-blooded pinky. He was the reason that Ginny hated the Malfoys so much. He was the reason Draco hated.

“Are you sure, Gin?” Hermione asked softly, disrupting Ginny’s thoughts. Worry was etched plainly across her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look like that…”

Next to Harry, Ron nodded in agreement…Ginny hadn’t even noticed that he’d come over until just now.

“Well, now, getting hit with one of those things can scar you for life. Just ask Fred and George,” Bill told Hermione of the Bat-Bogey Hex. Even though he was defending her pathetic excuse, Ginny could tell he didn’t believe it. Hermione wasn’t buying it, either.

Ginny chanced another glance at Malfoy (his expression remained unchanged), and sighed. “Look, I know you’re his bitter enemies and all, but I’m – er – bitterer enemies with him, I suppose. Unlike you, I can’t avoid him or ignore him…I just tell him off a lot, and he doesn’t like it.”

Harry understood; Ginny was an instigator. But Draco continued to glare at Ginny, and he wasn’t the only one who it was making very uncomfortable. It was equally disturbing that the Slytherin was being so quiet, so Harry decided to fix that.

“I’ll tell him off,” he growled, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Oy, Malfoy!” he called in an angry-big-brother tone of voice. He was about to yell, “Quit staring at Ginny like that!” when the girl in question socked him in the arm. “What?” he asked, temporarily abandoning his internal debate of whether to call Malfoy a git, bastard, or prick.

“Leave off, I can handle this myself,” she told him out of the corner of her mouth.

Malfoy abandoned his position against the wall and strutted toward their group, presumably because he didn’t want any of the adults to overhear whatever “conversation” they were about to strike up.

“Defending your girlfriend’s honor?” he drawled, smirking at Harry.

“No,” Ginny answered sharply as Harry simultaneously responded, “What girlfriend?”

Ginny found it highly ironic that Harry’s comment, which would once have made her stomach sink miserably through the floor, didn’t bother her in the least.

“I would appreciate it if you’d stop trying to bore a hole through my head with your eyes,” Ginny informed Draco calmly.

“I can look wherever I want,” Draco replied, his lip curling.

“And you chose at me? Why, Malfoy, I’m flattered,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Draco’s features contorted into a more pronounced grimace. “If I wanted to stare at red hair and freckles I could have looked anywhere around the room,” he shot back. “But,” he said in a low voice, “it was you I was trying to get a message across to.” His gray eyes were still trained on her with unblinking coldness.

“Wouldn’t it just have been easier to walk over and say, ‘I hate you’?” Ginny snarled, standing up and leaning aggressively toward Malfoy, her palms flat on the table.

“I think this did the job better,” he leered, leaning right back in Ginny’s face.

“All it did was make me and everyone else think that you have some twisted obsession with me,” she spat, her voice escalating.

Draco looked appalled. “You’re not worth that,” he returned quietly.

Ginny looked ready to explode. Her face had turned a deep shade of red, and her hands were gripping the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles were white. It took every ounce of energy within Ginny to restrain herself from shouting out a string of expletives at Malfoy. “Just – leave – me – alone,” she hissed in a dangerously soft voice.

“Leave you alone?” Draco scoffed. “That would make for a boring summer, wouldn’t it?”

“You’re such a child, entertaining yourself by seeing if you can get a rise out of someone!” Hermione snapped, unable to sit by silently and watch any longer.

“Stay out of this, Mudblood!” Draco retorted, not even sparing her a glance. He and Ginny remained engaged in the murderous stare-down they were having over the dinner table.

There was an instant uproar. Ron wore an expression akin to the one he’d worn the day he belched slugs, the first time he’d heard Malfoy use that insult. Harry’s mouth dropped open in outrage, and from Hermione there was a sharp intake of breath. Tonks, who had been quiet thus far, shrieked, “How dare you!” while Bill stood swiftly up from his seat and looked ready for a fight.

Ginny was ahead of him, though. The foul word had hardly left Draco’s mouth before she lunged at him, knocking the bowl of pudding off the table as she did so.

“That’s enough!” Mrs. Weasley suddenly bellowed, and there was an immediate hush. Ginny froze with her hands halfway to Draco’s throat and her knee in the butter dish. “I think it’s time we get to bed,” her mother announced firmly.

Naturally, no one was about to argue with her.

“I’ll show Mr. Malfoy to his room,” Snape offered. He was never too keen on hanging around longer than he needed to, and took this as his cue to leave. Draco followed him out of the kitchen, managing to limit himself to only one nasty look thrown over his shoulder as he left.

Ginny, still trembling with anger, climbed off of the table and attempted to compose herself. “Well, to bed, then,” she told them all in what she hoped was a controlled voice. “Oh, speaking of,” she said, turning to Hermione, “do you know where we’re supposed to be sleeping tonight?”

“The room Fred and George used to have, I think,” Hermione answered.

“No,” Ron butted in urgently, “that one isn’t yours, that’s the room that Malfoy’s going to be staying in.”

Ginny, while amazed that her brother had been capable of remembering this information, was also none to happy that Hermione had mixed it up. “You’re supposed to be the one to know those things!” she cried, rounding on Hermione with an incredulous look on her face. “What if Ron hadn’t known and we’d gone up there, and wandered in only to find ourselves face to face with Malfoy again!”

Hermione appeared more miffed about the fact that she’d actually been wrong about something than at Ginny’s furious exclamation. Pulling a notebook out of her robes, she riffled through it until she found the page she was looking for. “Oh, and I even wrote it down!” she lamented, tapping her finger on what apparently was the spot she had made a note of Draco’s sleeping quarters. “Don’t worry, I wrote us down, too,” she assured Ginny as she snapped the note pad shut. “We’re taking the room next to Tonks’.”

The two girls bid the others goodnight, and tramped off to bed. Thankfully, their things had already been moved to their temporary bedroom, so neither of them had to brave the bindimun’s smell to retrieve their pajamas.

“What was up with you and Malfoy?” Hermione inquired conversationally after she had returned from brushing her teeth.

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, genuinely confused. “Hateful behavior and fights are nothing out of the ordinary when he’s concerned.”

Hermione sat down cross-legged on her bed, facing Ginny. “I know,” she conceded, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. “But there were more than just words exchanged between the two of you. Between Harry and Ron, I’ve had to witness a number of fights involving Malfoy, but somehow I got the feeling that there was something I didn’t know about going on here,” she said slowly.

“It was just an argument!” Ginny countered quickly – perhaps a bit too quickly to be convincing. Ginny was no stranger to the argument, especially when it was with Malfoy, but she couldn’t deny that those disputes tended to be more heated and passionate. She couldn’t explain why; there had always been a spark that had fueled the hatred between the pair more than what was on the surface, and more than Lucius had, even.

Hermione just studied her worriedly, but seemed to have decided it wouldn’t be wise to push the subject. “If you say so,” she said uneasily.

“Well, I do,” Ginny replied rather more forcefully than she had intended. Trust Hermione to make her question the hateful relationship she had with Draco Malfoy, which she had been perfectly content with up until right then.

“Well, good night, then,” Hermione said from the next bed.

“Yeah, g’night,” Ginny returned in a rather distant voice. There was something deeper between herself and Draco, something deeper than the arch-rival type of dislike that the trio had with him. Maybe it was more than just hate…but what could be deeper than hate?

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t even notice Hermione turn off the light.

~*~

I was planning to give an explanation as to why the trio is allowed into the Order, and Ginny isn’t, and why they’re not allowed to tell her anything (and actually go by that rule) during this last conversation of Hermione and Ginny’s. But it just didn’t fit…maybe I’ll find somewhere to put it in later, or maybe I’ll just post it separately if there really is nowhere to put it. But if that’s been bothering you, just know that there is a plausible reason!

As always, I will take this time to remind you to review! And to thank everyone who reviewed for the last chapter!