EDIT: Didn't realize that the A/N I had that explains the AU didn't show up, along with pertinent information needed for the story. Hopes this makes more sense now!

This story takes place in a completely alternative universe.

In this universe, there is no Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and the prophecy that helped to influence Voldemort's downfall was never made. The first war never ended, and Voldemort is in control of the wizarding world. There are still a few factions working to fight against him, namely Dumbledore and his Order of the Phoenix, but they have gone completely underground and have become more myth than reality to the majority of wizards. Dumbledore himself has disappeared, and many believe that he has been killed.

Hogsmeade has become a huge city, the centre of all wizarding activity, more populous even than Diagon Alley in London, still existing beyond the knowledge of Muggles. All of the richest and most prestigious wizarding families live there and send their children to Hogwarts.

Hogwarts has undergone a number of changes after Dumbledore's disappearance. It only accepts pureblooded students, and has been known to even reject purebloods whose families are considered 'undesirable'. For example, none of the Weasley boys were accepted, and had to be sent to school elsewhere. Money, support for Voldemort and bloodlines are all taken into consideration before a student is accepted. The house system still exists, although most students wish to be sorted into Slytherin, where the most popular and powerful always seem to end up. To be a Slytherin to be an elite member of society.

Gryffindors are becoming few and far between, and are generally ignored by the other three houses. Students no longer board at school, the government powers fearing that grouping such young and impressionable minds together would provide the opportunity for those resisting the new order to start some kind of coup. It is no longer the diverse and accepting school that it was before Voldemort began to assume power, but a place where power and money are the most important attributes, and the sons and daughters of the most important families are worshipped by other students, and favoured by teachers because they are the ones that will be assuming the positions of power once their education is complete.

Ginny Weasley is the only Weasley of her generation to be accepted. Her parents, both working grunt jobs at the Ministry, pushed her to go, vowing to do whatever necessary to spare the expense for her to go, knowing that an education from Hogwarts will be invaluable to her future. She boards in a very small one-room apartment over Honeydukes, and works part-time as a waitress at The Three Broomsticks, to help pay her tuition, which is unreasonably expensive - a measure to help limit the 'type' of students who are able to attend, and her living expenses. She is in her 6th year, and has been counting down the days until she can graduate and rejoin her family again, escaping the phoney and pretentious world of Hogwarts.
Anything that conflicts with canon is probably not a result of sloppiness or mistake, but a change that I've made in order to develop the AU in which this story takes place. Also, a great deal of the premise of this story has been inspired by the manga/anime/live action series called Hana Yori Dango. The entire time I was watching it, I could only think that it felt exactly like a D/G fic brought to life, so I decided to attempt to write that D/G fic.

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Chapter 1: Nearing the edge

Ginny Weasley ran, as fast as she could while carrying her book bag, her broomstick and her extra set of shoes. She was incredibly late, and it had rained the entire 15-minute flight to school, so she was completely soaked. Cautiously creeping through the Great Hall, she quickly located the corridor where her cupboard was, stored her broom, changed her muddy boots to the standard black shoes required for her school uniform, and tried with futility to make herself somewhat more presentable. Drying her hair with her wand didn't seem to help much - she still looked rather wild. Yanking the hair tie from the end of her long braid, she loosened her hair and quickly rebraided it, in an attempt to tame the curling whisps of hair that had rebelled due to the humidity and rain, but it was to no effect. After checking her watch, she decided that wasting more time would just get her into more trouble that it was worth, considering that her ministrations weren't really improving her overall appearance. Everyone would know that she had flown there in the rain, and had been in an enormous hurry.

Shouldering her bag, and cursing herself for being ridiculous enough to pick courses with the biggest textbooks, she made her way through the empty halls, hoping to keep from rousing any of the figures sleeping in the portraits. She wasn't sure why it had happened, but she'd managed to upset quite a few of them hanging in the main hallway that she had to take to get to any of her morning classes, and they took a great deal of pleasure in creating a ruckus whenever she crept in late. The very last thing she needed was for Professor Snape to catch her creeping around the halls, late for her morning class, yet again.

She rounded the corridor leading to her class, having reached it without incident, and felt slightly relieved. Professor Flitwick, the only teacher she really enjoyed, hardly ever noticed when she arrived late, often just waving her to sit in the back. As long as she made very little noise, kept up her marks and slipped him the occasional complimentary Gillywater whenever he came to the Three Broomsticks, he made very little fuss over her habitual tardiness.

"Ah, look who we have here, girls. Hello, Weasley," a female's voice called out. Ginny sighed heavily and with the air of one about to face the firing squad, turned to greet the three girls hovering in the corridor, mustering as phoney a smile as she could.

"Hello, Pansy," she said brightly. The older girl smiled coldly, casually flipping her long, black and silky hair over her shoulder.

"Having a little broom trouble again, Weasley?" she asked condescendingly, with a sly look to her two brainless followers. They erupted into giggles. "It must be so horrible to have to ride that thing to school, every day. You know, other than you and some little first year Hufflepuff, the entire school arrives by carriages, or they just pay the fee to Apparate in the Great Hall. It's not that much, you know. Perhaps if you pull a few extra shifts at the bar you work in, you'd be able to arrive looking a bit more presentable."

"I'll take your advice into consideration," Ginny said, biting back what she really wanted to say. Keep cool; Ginny had to keep telling herself. Pansy Parkinson, a seventh year Slytherin, was not someone who you wanted to make an enemy of.

"You really should. The appearance of every student affects the reputation of Hogwarts, and having a student look as... sloppy as you is a real problem that I, as a prefect, have decided to address. I understand that you're poor and have to work just to go here because your parents can't afford the fees, but it's no excuse for bad hygiene," she said, smiling icily before turning to walk away.

"Of course," Ginny said, her temper reeling, and every fibre of her being screaming at her to say what was really on her mind. She was just about to make a face at the older girl's back when she paused and turned back to Ginny.

"You know, Ginny, a girl with your limited height should really consider shoes with a little bit more of a heel - preferably a delicate heel. It will make you look less..." Pansy trailed off as her eyes surveyed the length of Ginny's body. "Less stubby. A decent heel can really create the illusion of height and elegance."

At her words, Ginny looked down at her own footwear - a simple pair of black leather, square-toed shoes. She knew they were ugly, but they were comfortable and practical. While the dress code called for black, polishable shoes, it was rather open to interpretation. Most girls chose to sport designer-label high heels, trotting around like a bunch of vapid fools who didn't need to consider comfort, as they didn't spend 6 hours a night on their feet, serving tables at The Three Broomsticks.

Looking back up at Pansy Parkinson's smug expression, feeling slightly stung by the girl's obvious insult, she noticed for the first time their difference in height. Pansy had a good six inches on her, minus the heels. Staring up at her and feeling short and clumsy by comparison, Ginny realized for the first time why so many other girls were intimidated by her.

"Also, I see you made it past the main hall without the portraits screaming again. What did you do to upset that old Arcturus Black? He's been completely horrible ever since," Pansy asked, her eyes glinting maliciously.

"I simply asked him a question about his family tree, and he became extremely defensive, and has been causing a scene every time I walk past," Ginny answered with a shrug, hoping Pansy wouldn't inquire any further about what exactly she'd said to the painting. It certainly something she didn't want to be common knowledge among the top circle of rich and powerful pure bloods. She just wanted to finish school, escape under the radar, and put all the hard work and sacrifice from the members of her family to use. She didn't want the fact that, annoyed one day by all the pureblood propaganda that Arcturus Black had been spewing to the other portraits, she'd inquired about the members of his family tree who had been erased – there were a few Squibs and "blood traitors" among his descendants, after all. She'd tried to ask it innocently enough, but the man had become so enraged that she'd embarrassed him in front of the other portraits, that he'd started targeting her, and had enlisted a few others to keep tabs on that "subversive Weasley girl."

"It's too bad he didn't catch you. I love to see Professor Snape so angry, you really know how to upset him!" Pansy remarked, and Ginny forced herself to smile and NOT roll her eyes like she really wanted to do. "The day's been rather boring so far, I was hoping for some excitement."

"You just may get it, Pansy! Didn't you hear about Michael Corner? He spilt his potion all over Draco Malfoy yesterday, and we've all been waiting for him to get a Howler. It's bound to happen before the end of the day!" Millicent Bulstrode, one of Pansy's followers, spoke up.

"Excellent. He's been walking around a bit too proudly lately, ever since Ravenclaw won that Quidditch game a few weeks ago," Pansy exclaimed, her dark eyes gleaming with excitement. "We have to make sure people like him know their place, and how important it is not to step out of line. I wonder how long he'll last before he's run out of the school."

With that thinly veiled remark, which Ginny knew as partially directed towards her, Ginny excused herself from their conversation, her mind spinning with the news. Another Howler. Another chance for the power hungry idiots to try to prove their infinite superiority to their terrified underlings, Ginny thought to herself. It made her furious.

She crept into class, smiled as Professor Flitwick waved for her to sit down, pulled out her low-quality parchment paper and cheap quill, and tried to focus on the lesson. Her scholarship was dependent on her marks, after all, and losing that little bit of financial assistance would surely damage her ability to remain at Hogwarts. But as much as she hated this school, where she spent all her energy trying to be someone she wasn't and escape under the radar of the rich and powerful, not graduating after all the sacrifices her family had made was just not an option. She had to graduate, not matter how horrible her first five years had been.

* * * * *

It was just before lunch, and she had just stashed her books in her locker and grabbed the sandwich she'd made herself earlier that morning, and was trying to decide whether she was going to suffer dining with her fellow students, or if she was going to find some comfortable and solitary corner of the library so as to avoid the spectacle that would surely be happening during the lunch hour, when she spotted the new transfer student walking around as if she were hopelessly lost.

"Feeling a little lost, Claire?" Ginny called out to her. Claire Carmichael, a new sixth year, who'd attracted quite a bit of attention from most of the boys as she'd transferred in from Beauxbatons, turned and smiled with a blush.

"I should know my way around by now, I guess, but I can't get used to these moving staircases and the doors that decide to close and never open again," she said, looking sheepish. Ginny grinned.

"Come on, the Great Hall's just this way," she said, and the tall, blond girl nodded, a big (and seemingly genuine) smile on her face. "How are you adjusting to your new school?"

"Oh, it takes some getting used to. Everything is so very different here than it was in France, I have trouble remembering all the differences," Claire said seriously.

"Well, you've only been here a few days, and the term only just started, anyway. You'll settle into the routine soon enough, and become just as cynical as the rest of us," Ginny sighed, thinking about what kind of scene was probably about to unfold in the Great Hall, but feeling slightly happier, feeling that maybe - just maybe - she'd come across a genuinely nice person with whom she might even find a friend.

* * * *

Lunch had passed almost completely without incident. Ginny kept a sharp eye out, waiting for the owls to arrive, but kept getting distracted by the stories Claire was telling about life at Beauxbatons, and laughing like she'd never done while on school grounds. But, she knew the instant the owl had flown into the room, as silence swept over the entire place. Mostly everyone was watching in anticipation as the owl flew around the room. As it swept lower and lower, Ginny noticed a few students holding their breath, as if afraid it would stop near them. Finally, it swooped low near the table closest to the windows, and dropped a blue envelope in front of a startled seventh year. Michael Corner picked it up with trembling hands, looking around desperately, hoping that it had been some mistake.

"He'd better hurry up and open that, it only gets worse when you wait for it to explode!" an excited student sitting a few seats down from her exclaimed.

Michael Corner held the envelope out in front of him, and with a resigned air, he ripped it open. The instant the paper ripped, the deafening sound of sinister laughter filled the air, and a bright light blinded everyone in the room. When Ginny was able to open her eyes again, she saw that the envelope had disappeared in a cloud of smoke, and the sweater of Michael Corner's uniform - usually black as required by school regulations - was now blue. He'd been marked.

"What was that all about? It seemed like a Howler, didn't it? But I've never seen one that's blue before!" Claire gasped, leaning forward to whisper to Ginny, as the room was now silent.

"It was a Howler. It was sent by the Slytherins. Well, at least by a few of them - the most important ones. It's their way of being clever," Ginny said wryly. Pandemonium had just erupted, as the eager students rushed forward, surrounding Michael so he couldn't get away, and pushing him towards the front of the room, where the seventh year Slytherins kept court. "It has a spell that turns your uniform blue, and it never goes away, so you always stand out. It's their way of telling you that you're dead. Because when you die, your lips turn blue."

Claire stared at her with round eyes, obviously startled by the events happening. Poor girl, she was still new enough to the school to be naive. The jeering cries had increased, as they began pushing Michael roughly from side to side, wearing him down as he tried to escape, and Ginny had to speak louder. She grabbed Claire's hand, guiding her around the melee in the middle of the room, to a place where they could observe from a safe distance.

"Now, I'm going to tell you this, not to scare you, because it's the most important part of the education you'll get here at Hogwarts; it's what you'll need to survive. Do you see that group, standing near the head table - where in any normal school, the teachers would be seated? Whatever you do, do not upset them or offend them in anyway," Ginny said, pointing out the group.

"Why is that? Who are they?" Claire whispered, obviously frightened.

"They are the children of some of the most powerful families around. They're all Slytherins, all seventh years. Look, the extremely large one? That's Vincent Crabbe. His father owns the patent for the new Firebolt series of broomsticks, as well as three of the major Quidditch teams. He's notorious for spending huge amounts of his father's money on older women, whom he likes to seduce away from their husbands and then dump just as they start to get serious about him. And that one, the shortest of the group? That is Gregory Goyle. His father doesn't do anything special, he just inherited all his family's money, and he's the financial backer of just about every important politician. Their family owns most of Diagon Alley. Goyle isn't the brightest one out there, but for some reason that I haven't been able to discern quite yet, he goes through girls like you wouldn't believe," Ginny explained, pointing them out in turn. She paused to scout out the rest of them.

"Oh, and there - that is Pansy Parkinson. Her mother is a famous designer and her father is reknown for his line of beauty potions. She sets out to destroy any of the girls who get too close to the boys she considers 'hers', which is pretty much any male Slytherin whose parents are rich and important. Behind her is Millicent Bulstrode, who is completely vapid and does whatever Pansy tells her to do. You definitely don't want to upset her, she's fairly vicious," Ginny warned.

"I've met her already. She seemed fairly nice!" Claire protested weakly, as the noise in the hall grew to a fever pitch as people started through the remains of their lunches at Michael.

"That one lurking in the corner - that's Blaise Zabini. He's the only heir to his father's empire, which specializes in adopting Muggle products to suit the wizarding world. No one really knows anything about him, actually. He's really quiet and keeps to himself for the most part, but he's Draco Malfoy's best friend, so you should watch out for him. Plus, he's number two on Pansy's list of potential husbands, so you really don't want to go near him, if not just to keep her off your back," Ginny said, staring curiously at the stoic Slytherin. There was no mistaking how handsome he was - his dark, serious eyes being his most outstanding feature - and his mysterious nature definitely drew more than a few wistful sighs from the girls in the school. He was watching the scene before him unfold with the same serious expression that he usually wore. To Ginny's surprise, he shook his head once, almost indiscernibly, and then walked out of the room and away from the jeering crowd.

"That's enough! Where is Somerby?" a voice called out, casting the room into complete silence. The tall, blond Slytherin stepped forward, the crowd parting way for him.

"That...that is Draco Malfoy, and I suggest you be as careful as you possibly can around him. He's essentially the ringleader of the Slytherins; they all follow what he says. His father is Voldemort's right-hand man, and his family owns Gringotts' bank, among other things. He's arrogant, vicious, conceited and worst of all, completely stubborn. Anyone who offends him, he makes it his duty to run them out of the school and essentially, destroys their lives. He has all the teachers in his pocket, because of his father's money and power, and he gets away with whatever he wants. He's definitely someone you don't want to notice you in any way," Ginny said. She was starting to feel as if she were over-exaggerating, but as the crowd of students pushed a terrified Hufflepuff forward, she knew very well that she was just speaking the truth.

"What are they doing to these boys?" Claire asked, her eyes wide and worried.

"The one who got the Howler - he accidentally spilt his potion on Malfoy during their lesson yesterday. So, the Slytherins sent him that blue Howler, and that means that he is the new victim. Everyone in the school will pick on him, torture him and make his life so miserable that he'll drop out, all because Draco Malfoy says so, and they're afraid of him. Michael Corner has been marked - he really is as good as dead," Ginny said grimly.

"Somerby, Corner here is your friend, isn't he?" Draco Malfoy asked coolly, staring down at the trembling Hufflepuff, who was looking everywhere but at the tall boy lumbering over him.

"Y-yes," Somerby spit out, looking at the ground. Malfoy smiled maliciously.

"He ruined my robes yesterday. Do you still consider him a friend?" Malfoy asked, a dangerously soft tone in his voice. Somerby looked up at him, eyes wide and desperate. He didn't know what to say.

"N-no, of course not... He sh-should have been more careful," Somerby stuttered, looking up. Malfoy smiled at his response and the terrified boy nearly collapsed with relief. Michael Corner, who was looking decidedly worse for wear - his clothing covered with the food that had been thrown at him, and his lower lip swollen from where one over-eager guy had taken a swing at him – cried out as his best friend betrayed him.

"Stupid idiot, he shouldn't have ever said they were friends!" Ginny whispered. Watching the cruel glint in Malfoy's eyes light up at Somerby's words, she knew very well what was going to come next.

"Then you should hit him. Teach him that he needs to be more careful. As a friend, you should take a swing at him to show him where he went wrong," Malfoy declared. Ginny closed her eyes; he was just as evil as she thought. Corner and Somerby were best friends - it was widely known that they had been best friends since before even coming to Hogwarts!

Goyle and Crabbe grabbed Somerby by the shoulders and turned him around to face his fallen friend.

"I can't do that!" he exclaimed, as they released him to force the exhausted Corner to his feet.

"You'd better do it, or you're going to find a Howler of your own tomorrow," Goyle laughed. Somerby looked around the room, at the circle of faces watching him eagerly, and at the swollen face of his best friend, as if searching for a way out of it.

Crabbe pushed him a step closer.

"Make it a good one. Hell, if you manage to break his nose, I'll call the whole thing off, and take back his Howler. But if you don't, you can be sure there will be one waiting for you tomorrow," Malfoy declared. Staring at him, as if trying to discern if he was lying or not, Somerby then nodded, and turned back to his friend.

"Sorry mate," he said, before drawing his fist back and swinging it forward, bashing his best friend's nose. Everyone started cheering as Corner's nose began to gush blood, and Somerby stood there, stunned at his own actions and even smiling a little at his own daring. Malfoy pushed him out of the way, and leaned over to examine the injured Corner, who'd fallen with the impact of the punch.

"Tsk tsk, it looks like you failed, Somerby. You did a good job making it bleed, but you didn't break it. Your own best friend couldn't even hit you hard enough to save you, Corner, but he managed enough to save himself. Too bad for you," he said, pushing the injured boy back to the floor. He stood up, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe Corner's blood off his hands. With an arrogant smirk, he threw it to the ground, and walked away from the cheering crowd, followed by all his minions, laughing at the scene. Ginny, by this point, was seething with rage, and needed to flee the room before that anger exploded and she said something she'd regret.

She turned and ran out of the Hall, leaving behind a bewildered Claire.

* * * *

She burst outside, and kept running. She ran right until she reach the empty Quidditch pitch, the only place on the school grounds where she was sure that no one would hear her during school hours. By the time she got there, her legs were burning and her lungs were about to explode. But it wasn't going to stop her from ridding herself of her anger.

"DRACO MALFOY IS A SPINELESS, ARROGANT BLOODY IDIOT! ALL SLYTHERINS ARE BLOODY IDIOTS! STUPID COWARDS!" she screamed, gasping for breath. After a few moments, she regained control of her lungs, and began pacing as she ranted out loud to herself.

"Can you imagine? Making someone hit THEIR OWN BEST FRIEND? And then telling him that his friend didn't hit them hard enough to save him, but that he managed to save himself? What is the matter with that idiot, making best friends turn on each for his own amusement?? BLOODY ARROGANT IDIOT!" she cried. After ranting, she felt better, as if the poison of having stood there and watched the entire thing, while completely helpless, had been extracted with her anger. She collapsed into the grass, breathing deeply, trying to calm her ragged temper. She lay back with a sigh. There's only two years left of this, she reminded herself.

"We're all bloody idiots, are we?" a deep and silky voice asked. Ginny, who'd closed her eyes in an effort to relax, opened them to find the dark and mysterious Slytherin, lying on the grass in front of the bleachers, holding a book. She sat up with a start, as Blaise Zabini didn't even lift his eyes from what he was reading. Her heart started beating wildly with panic, but then, upon closer inspection, she noted that he had a slight look of amusement on his face.

They sat in silence, and he flipped a page and Ginny stared at him . He really is beautiful, she thought. No wonder so many girls are in love with him! She indulged in the opportunity to stare at him, as he barely seemed to remember that she was sitting there, and decided, that despite the fact that he was a Slytherin and Draco sodding Malfoy's best friend, he was the best looking boy in school. His quiet and mysterious aura didn't hurt at all, either.

He suddenly flicked his eyes up at her, and she found herself staring at pair of big, dark and serious eyes. Startled and completely unsettled, she jumped up and, without another word between them, fled back to the school.

* * * *

"Seriously? I can't believe your school. It sounds like there's no discipline there at all!" Hermione Granger cried out, later that day, as they set about preparing the Three Broomsticks for its dinner crowd. Ginny smiled, relieved at her friend's outrage on her behalf.

"The only discipline that exists is that of the Slytherins. It's absolutely horrible, the way we all just stand by and watch others be tortured by them, all of us helpless lest it's us that gets that blue envelope next!" Ginny cried out, wiping a table viciously with a bar towel.

"Why don't you say something? I remember all those times you stood up for me," Hermione said, with an uncharacteristically shy smile. Hermione, as a Muggle born, was often given a hard time from some of the less open-minded customers, and Ginny always put them in their place. After discovering her powers, Hermione had tried to find some wizarding school that would take her. The most she was able to secure was a correspondence course through Beauxbatons, a school that, while opposing Hogwarts stricter admission guidelines, was afraid enough of Voldemort and his cronies to enforce some limitations. Determined to learn everything she could about the wizarding world, Hermione had left her Muggle parents behind, moved to Hogsmeade and started working and living among wizards and witches. Every time Ginny started feeling sorry for herself, having to attend the horrible Hogwarts, Hermione always reminded her how lucky she was, and how much she'd like to go to the school she'd read so much about in that book she was always quoting.

"Every part of me wants to shout at them all and break snotty Malfoy's nose right off his face," Ginny confessed, and Hermione laughed. "But it's impossible. I have less than two years left - after that, I'll be a qualified witch who went to Hogwarts, and all the work we've done - my brothers and my parents - so I could stay in that bloody school will pay off. I can't do anything to jeopardize that."

"I don't understand why they let you in, but not your brothers. Seems rather strange, doesn't it?" Hermione said, as she efficiently arranged all the tables and chairs.

"My mum said it was probably because of their obsession with pure blood. While all of us are pureblooded, my family's a little... well, notorious, because of my dad's love of Muggle technology. My brothers weren't welcome - BUT I'm different because I'm a girl. It seems that they're starting to run low on appropriate pure-blooded females to marry off to their sons, so they're willing to let any pure-blood girl in," Ginny said, with an expression of distaste on her face. "Like I'd ever consider marrying any of them!"

"What about that handsome one you saw at the Pitch?" Hermione asked mischievously. Ginny's felt her face begin to blush slightly.

"He's a Slytherin, and they're the worst sort. Plus, he doesn't even know my name," Ginny mumbled. "But he does have the nicest eyes…and he doesn't seem to participate in any of that nonsense with the Howlers. He even left the room today!"

"It sounds a little like you like him!" Hermione cried, laughing as Ginny began to chase after her, waving her damp bar towel in an attempt to snap it at her friend. "Tell me more about these nice eyes!"

* * * *

A/N: So, this is a bit of a crack AU fic that I was compelled to write after too many repeated viewings of Hana Yori Dango, which is a manga by Kamio Youko that has spawned an anime, and two live action versions of the plot (one Japanese with the same name, one Taiwanese called Meteor Garden). If you're interested in learning more about the series, let me know and I'll hook you up because it truly is D/G fic brought to life.

For more information about the series, Hana Yori Dango, that this fic is loosely inspired by, you can check out:
the HYD Wikipedia entry
a review at J-fan.com
or
the entire series on YouTube
As I mentioned previously, a great deal of the premies has been inspired by HYD. In the interest of keeping it clear which ideas should be credited to that source, here is a list of plot details that should be attributed to HYD: 1) the social structure at Hogwarts, with one small group of students controlling everything else, and the entire school population terrified of offending them. 2) the idea of the Howler; in HYD, it's a 'red notice' that is placed in a student's locker, and that student becomes the object of bullying. I've amended it to fit the 'magical' world. 3) Claire, the transfer student, who Ginny befriends. 4) This plot of this chapter follows the first half of the first episode fairly closely, in it's order of events. As the story progresses, the influence of the HYD's plot and timeline will become less significant, but for the first chapter, I followed it because I felt it was the best way to introduce the setting and the characters. If there is anything else that you have noticed that I have not properly attributed, please let me know ASAP so I can ammend the A/N. Thanks!

Chapter 2: Stepping across the line

Exhausted, Ginny flopped backwards onto her single bed, nearly hitting her shin on her dresser. Her one-room flat was so small, she was barely able to squeeze in her bed, a small desk, a small dresser and a comfortable chair into the cramped quarters, but for all its faults, it was a comfortable kind of tight space, one where she felt safe and warm. It reminded her of growing up in the Burrow, and after long, hard days like this one, the warmth of that familiarity was the one thing that actually helped her get out of bed in the morning.

It wasn't just that she was unhappy at her pretentious school. Dealing with the different factions at Hogwarts and trying to stay out of everyone's way was difficult, especially as she had to reign in her temper and most of her personality to keep from crossing the line between peaceful invisibility and becoming a tortured pariah. Everything that happened in the school was abrasive to all of her instincts – she wanted shout at them all about how stupid and arrogant and false they all were, and how none of this actually mattered in the real world. But that would be tantamount to suicide, and so, she had to keep her mouth shut and her eyes blind to everything that happened. Today's outburst on the Quidditch Pitch was not unusual for her, needing a chance to vent her outrage and frustration over the whole ordeal, but it was the first time it had ever been witnessed by another student. She was lucky that Blaise Zabini seemed almost indifferent to – and even slightly amused by – her insults towards all Slytherins. But the oppressive need to keep quiet was one of the necessary, yet heavy, burdens she carried while attending Hogwarts.

But that wasn't the worst part about the whole situation. It was the loneliness. For a girl who had grown up surrounded by big brothers and her endearingly overbearing mother and eccentric but completely loveable father, living alone and gritting through the unpleasantness that was school was incredibly difficult. Her childhood had been mostly happy, despite being poor and the constant threat of Voldemort's forces deciding to blacklist her entire family. Through these difficulties, it was the knowledge that there was always someone around, someone to depend on, to share every trial and hardship with. But here, living in Hogsmeade, attending Hogwarts, she was essentially on her own.

The first few years hadn't been so bad. Her older brother Charlie had been with her, as he'd been working in Hogsmeade. But after she turned fifteen, he moved to Romania to work with dragons – an important part of Voldemort's reign on power was the constant threat of attack by dragons, which were completely controlled by Voldemort. She'd had fun living with Charlie, of course, but it still hadn't been the same as being at home with everyone. And now that he was gone, and she was living in her small one-room flat, after hard days like this, she ached for the companionship of her loving parents and irritating brothers.

She picked up the envelope that had been stuck to her door by her landlord; her weekly letter from her mum. She sighed, debating whether or not she wanted to read it. The letters were her lifeline to the happy days of summer that were now months away. She waited eagerly for them every week, cherished every word, and wanted to weep when they were finished, unsure if she would be able to make it through the long seven days before the next one arrived. Often, she tried to ration out portions of them, reading a few lines every day, but after this day, she felt as if she deserved a good helping of home, and decided to indulge in reading the entire letter.

Dear Ginny,

Hope you're settling in to school again. The house is never the same after you leave, but we all know that this is for the best. Our little girl, going to Hogwarts! I can only hope that you enjoy it there as much as your father and I did when we were young. That's where we met, you know. Gryffindors are supposed to be brave, chivalrous and have a lot of nerve – something you definitely need, going to the same school with some of those people. I hope you keep at it, Ginny, because we're all so proud of you for lasting as long as you have. Keep at it!

This is just a quick note, today, dear, because I have quite a bit of work to get through tonight, but I know how much you look forward to my little letters every week. I also wanted to let you know that, unfortunately, your father and I both have work engagements this year over your Christmas break, and it looks like you won't be able to come home after all. I know that after last year, we promised that this would definitely be the year we'd get you home to celebrate the holidays, but we're terribly sorry, dear.

However, on the bright side, both your dad and I are going to be in Hogsmeade for a few hours next Friday, so we'll be able to see each other for a short while. You'll still be in school, but I'm sure your teacher will excuse you if you ask politely (and please do stop trying to antagonize Professor Snape, he sends a note home every time you d and his Howlers upset the ghoul in the attic a great deal).

Hope you're keeping well, dear, and know that we're all proud of you. Make sure you wear your scarf when it starts to get colder out, I don't want you catching another cold.

See you soon.

Love,

Mum


Ginny was conflicted. She didn't know whether or not to feel elated that she'd get to see her parents so soon after summer vacation, or to feel completely depressed that she wasn't going to see them after that until they picked her up at Kings Cross in June. They'd always planned to have her home for Christmas, every year, but between the expense and their work schedules, it had never been possible. She always watched from her window, as the train station was in sight of her window, the students whose parents lived outside of Hogsmeade (of which there were only a few) lining up to board the Hogwarts Express, some complaining about the hassle of having to make the trip home for Christmas. It infuriated her.

She rolled over, and buried her face into the thin mattress. She still had a pile of homework to tackle, but she just wasn't up to it. Not after such a disappointing weekly letter. But her scholarship, even though it wasn't a very large yearly sum, depended on her marks and so with an exhausted groan, she sat up and forced herself to reach for her book bag.

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The next morning, Ginny arrived at school early. She'd given up on her broomstick half way to the school, the sputtering and constant vertical diving indicating that her aging Comet 64's time had almost come, and had walked the rest of the way, constantly dashing out of the way of the carriages carrying other students, as they splashed mud from yesterday rain in her direction. She tried to amuse herself with the image of some of the more pampered girls trudging through the muddy paths in their completely impractical high heels, but it wasn't enough to lift the sour mood hanging over her head when she'd awoken.

Walking to her first class of the morning, she met up with Claire.

"Ginny! Are you feeling all right? I haven't seen you since you ran out of the Great Hall yesterday!" she exclaimed, her bright blue eyes wide with worry. Ginny managed a weak smile.

"Just feeling a bit low, I guess," she confessed. She almost stopped herself, so accustomed to the idea that showing any weakness would usually result in someone taking advantage of that weakness (bloody Slytherins), but she felt as if she'd really met a genuine person, someone she could actually forge a friendship with. The shroud of loneliness that had been following her since she received her mother's note seemed to disappear slightly at that thought and evidence of the pretty girl's concern for her. It was Thursday; only a week and a day before she'd get to spend a precious few hours with her parents.

"The fact that we have Defence Against the Dark Arts right now probably doesn't help much, does it?" Claire said, with a slight laugh. Ginny sighed; her relationship with Snape really must have become something of a legend if this new student had already heard about it. It was unfortunate, but Ginny's ability to turn Snape's face an unhealthy shade of purple was widely known.

"I don't even know why they keep calling it "Defence Against the Dark Arts" because what they're teaching us is actually the Dark Arts. It should really be called How to Subdue Your Enemies Using Their Own Dirty Tricks," Ginny scoffed, remembering the last lesson in hexes they'd been given during her fifth year. Snape's hex, and he'd chosen her as his demonstration and had been completely enraged when she'd blocked the first one, had left her walking around with a slight limp for almost a week.

"Very interesting suggestion, Miss Weasley. Be sure to make that suggestion to the Headmaster next time you see her," an oily voice said, sounding not the least bit amused. Ginny cringed. It could only belong to one person.

"I thought you'd appreciate it, Professor," she said brightly, plastering on her phoniest smile.

"What I don't like, Miss Weasley, is your constant disregard for punctuality. My class started three minutes ago, and you're out here gossiping," he sneered, glaring at her. Claire, who had ducked slightly behind Ginny, was almost trembling.

"Professor Snape, that's amazing! I had no idea that you'd been able to master cloning yet! I've always heard how talented you are with Potions, but I had no idea you'd been able to accomplish something so advanced!" Ginny gushed suddenly, to the confusion of her audience.

"Weasley, what are you talking about?" he asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Well, sir, how else could your class have already started when you are out in the hall, gossiping with us girls?" Ginny asked innocently. She watched careful as Snape's nostrils flared, and his face began to turn a shade of deep puce.

"GET. IN. THE. CLASSROOM. NOW!" he yelled, biting off his words in an attempt to sound menacing.

"Of course, sir!" Ginny said brightly, walking towards the classroom, with a new bounce in her step, Claire following cautiously and trying to avoid making eye contact with the seething teacher. Nothing could brighten Ginny's day like an opportunity to harass the most despised teacher at Hogwarts. It was the only chance she had to be her true self within the school grounds.

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"Ugh. What have I learned from this? It's probably a bad idea to upset Snape so much so early in the day," Ginny groaned, sitting down across from Claire in the Great Hall. Snape had been so enraged with her earlier performance, he'd kept her after class, demanding her assistance with a great deal of cauldron-scrubbing, citing her expertise with the matter due to her experience at the Three Broomsticks. Lunch was almost over, and she'd barely had a chance to eat or to review for the quiz she had coming up in Herbology.

"Here, Ginny, I got you some hot chocolate. I figured you would probably need a little pick-me-up after that start to the day," Claire said, sliding a mug towards Ginny. Ginny stared gratefully from the steaming mug to the eager face of her new friend, and was almost speechless.

"Claire, I think you've just saved my life," she sighed appreciatively. It was the first nice thing that a fellow student had ever done for her.

"The way I see it, I owe you! I've been hearing about how amusing it is to see you take on Professor Snape, and I got to see it first hand! He was so angry with you, and you weren't even rude or anything," Claire exclaimed.

"That's the secret behind it all. The politer you are, the more upset he becomes. Especially if you act as innocent as possible, as if you don't think you're saying anything off beat. It really pushes his buttons," Ginny explained, gingerly sipping at her hot chocolate, while rolling her eyes as Snape's ridiculousness.

"Well, as amusing as it was, it's terrible that he kept you after class so long. You've missed almost all of lunch," Claire said, indicating the empty tray in front of her. She stood up, and picked it up, ready to deposit it so that it could be taken care of by the House Elves. Ginny made a face, and Claire was too busy focusing on that as she turned to step out of her chair, that she didn't even see the person coming behind her. She smashed into him, the remnants of her pumpkin juice splashing all over the victim, and the rest of the tray's contents crashing to the ground.

All movement in the Great Hall stopped, as all the students stared at the scene in shock and awe mixed with horror. For the person she'd so ungracefully bumped into was none other than Draco Malfoy.

The tall, imposing boy was standing completely still, and Ginny could feel her heart start to pound in her chest. This was terrible, what a thing for happen to Claire during her second week here! Draco was staring at her, an ice-cold yet unreadable expression on his face, and poor Claire was trembling under the weight of it.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you there!" she cried out, grabbing a napkin and reaching forward to dab at the bright orange stain splashed across his white shirt of his school uniform. He grabbed her hand by the wrist, holding it away from him as he continued to stare at her.

"How very careless of you," he said quietly. Ginny stood up, unsure of what to do. It's a girl this time, she thought to herself desperately. There's never been a girl to get a Howler before, surely he's not so cold-hearted as to target a new transfer student.

"I'm terribly sorry," Claire sputtered, her eyes brimming with tears. "I…I can pay to have it cleaned!"

At her offer, Malfoy's raised an eyebrow. Ginny took a hesitant step forward, the urge to step between him and her friend growing even stronger.

"That's not the problem here," he snarled, before he ripped open the buttons of his shirt, taking it off in one smooth, quick motion and throwing it at Claire, who yelped as it hit her face. "Now I'm cold. What happens if I were to catch a cold? The heir of the Malfoy family, catching a cold because of your carelessness? Do you have any idea how important my family is?"

"Draco, relax! She's cute! You should let this one slide," Goyle said, with a lecherous grin as he looked Claire up and down, moving in closer to check her out. "It's not right to push around such a pretty thing."

"Well? I'm still waiting for an answer," Draco snapped, taking a menacing step forward. The atmosphere in the room had grown so tense as all the students watched in horrified fascination. The only Slytherin to ever target a girl was just Pansy Parkinson, and while she was a force to be reckoned with, she didn't wield nearly as much power. This was a completely new phenomenon and everyone was entranced, waiting to see what would happen.

"I'm really sorry," Claire said, with a trembling lip, trying to escape Goyle as he moved close beside her.

"And that's going to smooth everything over?" Malfoy yelled, taking another step forward. Claire tried to step back, but was stopped by the table, and stumbled slightly. He smiled; the cold, cruel smile Ginny recognized from when he was about to do something particularly brutal to his chosen victim. Ginny, unable to bear the sight of Crabbe and Goyle closing in her from either side, trapping her so she had no choice but to face Malfoy, looked down at the table, and felt a chill run through her as her eyes fell on the discarded mug of hot chocolate that her first real friend at Hogwarts had given her. Lifting her head at that thought, and looking from Claire's tear-streaked face and desperate eyes to Malfoy's cold and calculating face, Ginny felt something snap.

"Stop it!" she yelled. Everyone that had been focusing their attention on Claire and Malfoy suddenly turned in stunned surprise to stare at Ginny. "Just stop it! She apologized and it really was an accident. Can't you see that you're scaring her?"

Malfoy turned his head, and focused his cold grey eyes on Ginny for the first time she could remember. Gasping at the sudden intensity she felt from them, Ginny realized one of the reasons Malfoy had so many people afraid of him was because he actually was frightening – his glare was enough to freeze your insides. She certainly felt frozen to the spot – both with fear and horror that she'd actually spoken what her mind had been screaming at her to say.

His eyes moved up and down Ginny's body, sizing her up. She trembled slightly, her mind reeling with quick consideration of all the consequences that lay ahead because of what she was about to do, but the sight of Claire's terrified face was enough to expel them from her mind. As her mother's letter had said, she was a Gryffindor, and they were supposed to be brave, nervy and chivalrous. So far, she'd done nothing within these school grounds to prove that she had those traits. Without any further thought, she dashed forward, positioning herself in between Claire and Malfoy, pushing Crabbe out of the way in the process.

"Leave her alone, or else," Ginny declared, lifting her chin up so she could meet him face-to-face, and try to show that she wasn't afraid (even though she was terrified). His eyes narrowed, and an incredibly tense moment of silence followed, broken only the sound of Claire crying, as they tried to stare each other down. He leaned forward over her, his height working to his advantage as he loomed over her, his face so close to hers it took every bit of courage she had not to cringe away from his intimidating presence.

"Or else what?" he asked coolly, with one eyebrow raised and a slight smirk on his face. Ginny felt her insides quake, but she lifted her face, staring back at him in stone-faced defiance, determined not to demonstrate how afraid she really was.

Finally, he took a step back, and with one last chilling look into Ginny's eyes, he walked away, his astonished friends following close behind. As soon as they left the Great Hall, there was an explosion of noise, and Ginny felt all the effect of her nerves and adrenaline rush straight to her head, and she nearly collapsed from the terror of it all.

Moving away from Claire, she managed to sit herself down in the first chair she saw. Gasping, remembering the look of rage in his eyes, she knew that she had definitely crossed a line.

All those years of keeping quiet and trying to fly under the radar were all wasted.

She was about to become a target for the entire student population of Hogwarts.

They were going to try to drive her out of the school.

What have I done?

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A/N: Thanks to all those reviewers who left such positive feedback! For those mentioning the plot ideas, I can't really take credit for it. To check out the series, Hana Yori Dango, that inspired this fic (and caused me to work out the AU I've created, in order to fit it into the HP world), please check out my LiveJournal (the link is on my bio page). Aspects of the plot that have been taken from HYD: 1) Claire bumping into Draco, and the scene that follows. This scene generally follows the events in the first episode of the Japanese live action version of the corresponding scene, and some pieces of the dialogue (particularly Goyle's comment that Claire is cute, and Draco's comment about being cold) come from that scene. 2)Ginny's reaction, and defense of her friend.

This is where my super-artistic license, with respect both the the HP world and the HYD plot, comes into play, as I've been toying with many things in order to make things mesh. Hope you enjoy it.

And with this chapter, the FIA is officially caught up with all the updates that were posted elsewhere during the site down-time. A BRAND NEW chapter should be posted by the end of the week.
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Chapter 3: Life on the Other Side

“Are you sure that you’re not just being completely melodramatic about this?” Hermione asked Ginny, her skepticism plain on her face. She sat down next to her, placing an unopened Butterbeer in front of her. The two were enjoying their first break from what had been an incredibly busy night. Ginny, who was sitting with her head down on the table, replaying today’s horrible events over and over again in her head, looked up at the older girl, an expression of complete resignation on her face.

“You didn’t see his face, Hermione! He’s going to kill me! No one has ever spoken to him like that. Most people who get Howlers get them for stupid things, like bumping into him accidentally or spilling something on him, or even scoring a higher grade than him on the Potions exam. But I don’t know of anyone who has ever yelled at him the way I did! It’s all over for me,” Ginny lamented.

“You don’t know that for certain. You’re acting like they’ve already sent you a Howler. Let’s not panic until it’s a reality,” Hermione said, the voice of reason.

“I can’t believe this. I last for five years – five utterly boring years, but they were at least five utterly boring yet more or less peaceful years, and in one bloody afternoon, in the third week of September of my sixth year, I suddenly grow a conscious. Or a spine, depending on how you look at it. And now, all that effort at remaining unnoticed – except by the rich, snobby girls who love to pester me about my fashion sense – has been completely wasted!” Ginny exclaimed incredulously, as if she couldn’t quite understand her own stupidity.

“What exactly is going to happen to you?” Hermione asked, pulling out her order pad and quill.

“What are you going to do with that?” Ginny asked disdainfully, eying the quill.

“Well, it’s only logical to make a list of what to expect, that way, you can anticipate it and maybe avoid it all. I’ll take notes for you,” she said, her hand poised. “Now talk.”

”I don’t think you truly understand the level of evil genius that I’m going to be dealing with here, Hermione! How do you get into the head of someone like him? You can’t, because it’s not possible! He’s completely twisted, and all of his little cronies are going to do exactly as he says, in order to bully and torment me until I can’t take anymore, and I have to dropout,” Ginny exclaimed, standing up.

“Well, you can’t do that. Your mother would bombard you with Howlers, and hers are particularly potent. I think the bullying and tormenting is the pleasanter option,” Hermione said with a smile. Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes, but she did appreciate her friend’s effort to make her laugh. “And you can get into this Malfoy’s head. Didn’t you tell me that you knew what he was going to make Somerby do to that Corner boy before he even said it?”

“You’re missing the point. It doesn’t matter. I have no choice – I have to stay in Hogwarts. Dropping out is not an option. I’m just going to have to face the music, and wish for the rest of my life that I’d kept my mouth shut,” Ginny said fatalistically.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Madame Rosmerta already asked me to cover for you tonight, so you can pick up your broomstick from the repair shop,” Hermione said, switching to a more pleasant topic.

“Perfect! I’ve got Quidditch practice tomorrow, and I’d hate to have to borrow a school broom. My Comet 64 is not the greatest model out there, but it’s much better than the ones they have at the school. Plus, Oliver Wood promised to make some adjustments for me,” Ginny said, perking up.

“See, it’s not all that bad after all!” Hermione laughed, completely baffled by the younger girl’s obsession with that “silly” sport.

“You say that, but it’s costing me almost a month’s pay to have it fixed. But participation in Quidditch adds an extra few points that contributes to my scholarship, so it’s a necessary expense,” Ginny explained grimly.

“Plus, you’re completely obsessed with that game. Honestly, I don’t see the point of flying around on broomsticks, batting balls at each other and trying to throw them through hoops. Alright, we should get back to work, so that you can get out of here on time to pick up your broom,” Hermione said, cutting off Ginny’s sputtering outrage at her Quidditch comment, switching to a bright subject to stem the flow of the lecture she knew the redheaded girl would give her on the “glorious and proud history of the great sport of Quidditch.”

“Excellent thinking! You really are a brilliant witch – for a Mudblood, anyway,” Ginny said with a wicked smile, as she tied her apron around her waist, ready for work again. She started to head towards the kitchen when Hermione called her back.

“Hey, Ginny. If it’s any consolation, I think you did the right thing, no matter what happens tomorrow,” Hermione said, with serious eyes and an authoritative tone in her voice. Ginny smiled, and with a quick nod, headed into the kitchen to check the status of her tables.

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Ginny’s ride the next morning had been completely exhilarating. The modification and repairs that Oliver Wood had made to her broomstick made it fly like it had never flown before – faster, with better response times, allowing for quicker maneuvering. She was so excited; it was like having a brand new broomstick!

She was so consumed, thinking about how great Quidditch practice that day was going to be on her newly improved broomstick, that it took her almost three minutes to realize that everyone was staring at her as she moved through the hallway. It was fairly crowded, being that it was only a few minutes before the first class was to start, but everyone was moving out of her way as she walked past, pointing and staring at her. When she finally realized what was happening, she looked around in horror, her heart pounding, eyes searching above her for the telltale owl, bearing that dreaded blue envelope. She had almost forgotten the heavy sense of dread that had been following her around since lunch the day before, and it returned with a vengeance. The tight knot of dread in her stomach eased slightly, as she saw that the air was clear of any flying birds bearing life-destroying blue envelopes.

A growing group of people seemed to be forming around her, and her audience started to giggle as they noticed her looking to the ceiling in horror. As she sighed with relief, they laughed even harder, all seeming to know something that she didn’t. Ginny frowned, scanned the room, attempting to identify the source of their amusement. She spotted Claire – her height and her bright blond hair could set her apart in any crowd – and she was trying to gesture to her. She squinted, trying to discern what her friend’s frantic gestures could possibly mean, when she heard what sounded like crinkling paper, coming from behind her.

As she turned, she caught sight of the group of seventh year Slytherins, watching the commotion from near the top of the staircase. Feeling her stomach drop to her knees, she looked up and took in the sight of the satisfied smirk on Draco Malfoy’s face. Gritting her teeth, she stared straight up at him, locking eyes with him, hoping to appear defiant, as the source of the strange flapping noise came into her line of sight.

It was a piece of blue paper, folded to into the shape of a bird and charmed to fly and flap its tiny paper wings as if it were a real bird. Feeling her temper flare slightly, she assumed it had been following her since she stepped into the school, and was the reason everyone had been pointing and laughing at her, as it flapped on behind her back without her knowledge. A message of inescapable doom had been following in her wake without her knowledge. Frowning, she reached out and plucked it out of the air, and it instantly unfolded itself in her hand, and revealed that it wasn’t just a piece of blue paper – it was a blue envelope.

The other students started to cheer when they saw this, and push in closer to her, chanting for her to open it. They pressed in closer to her, and the sense of being trapped started to grow, to the point where it was almost overbearing. Clutching at the envelope, she tried to push her way through the crowd, needing space, needing to breath, but it proved fruitless. They weren’t going to let her get away.

“Open it! Open it!” they were chanting, as they pushed in closer, knocking her off balance. Catching herself before she fell, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hermione’s words from the night before rang in her head: “I think you did the right thing, no matter what happens tomorrow.” Snapping her eyes open, she cast the most loathing and rebellious look she could muster in Draco Malfoy’s direction, ignoring the strange look in his eyes, and ripped open the envelope.

The familiar evil-sounding laughter filled the corridor, and silenced the chanting. She felt a strange tingling sensation wash over her body, and when she looked down, she noted that her sweater had indeed changed color. It was now the bright blue of the other unfortunates who’d been marked before her.

All around her, the crowd circled in excitement, cheering and pushing each other around, turning the corridor into a scene of chaos. The games had begun, and it was now open season on Ginny Weasley.

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Pansy Parkinson was preening in front of the mirror of the third floor girls’ lavatory. Snapping open her cosmetic bag, she selected her choice of lip-gloss and began to meticulously reapply it. It certainly wouldn’t do for the daughter of the world famous creator of the most exclusive line of beauty potions to be seen around school with poorly applied lip-gloss. There were images to maintain, and more importantly, the attention of certain male classmates to attract.

“What was with the enchanted Howler this morning? It didn’t have quite the dramatic effect of an owl,” she asked Millicent Bullstrode, who was freshening her own makeup at the mirror beside her.

“I’m not quite sure. Vincent said that it was Draco’s idea – he’s even the one who worked out the charm to make it work. I thought it was rather strange,” she said, holding a tube of mascara in one hand.

“It could be his way of acknowledging that this is the first time a girl has been given an Howler. You can’t really push a girl into the center of the Great Hall and let everyone take a swing at her the way you could with a guy. This one is going to be more interesting, that way,” Pansy said, with a mischievous smirk.

“Although, wouldn’t it be great to have that self-righteous grin wiped off her face? She’s been walking around here like she actually belongs, the bloody pauper! I’m just surprised that something like this hasn’t happened sooner,” Millicent said, throwing her makeup back into her bag, punctuating the disgust in her voice. Pansy followed suit, and with one last careful glance in the mirror, followed her friend out into the hall.

“How right you are, Millicent. Well, I bet she won’t last the day. She may have acted tough yesterday, but after a full day of everyone in the school ganging up on her to make her life unbearable, she won’t be able to take it,” Pansy boasted, pulling Millicent around the corner, where they had a bird’s eye view of the staircase, and she pointed.

An exhausted-looking and rather disheveled Ginny Weasley was trudging up the staircase, dragging her book bag – the bottom of which seemed to have given out – along with her. A fourth year Ravenclaw was walking down, and with a sly glance behind her, the Ravenclaw carefully stuck her wand out and whispered a spell. A wide smile lit Pansy’s face as she saw the product of the charm she’d spent ten minutes teaching the young, clever Ravenclaw, and its results had Millicent almost choking with laughter.

“It’ll be quite difficult for her to play the dignified little Gryffindor wearing such a short skirt,” Pansy said cunningly. The Ravenclaw’s spell, which legend had it was invented quite a while ago by skirt-chasing male Gryffindor who had taught every other boy in his year how to cast it, had shortened Weasley’s skirt. Now, instead of falling below the knee, it was now several inches shorter – precariously shorter. “We’ll see how long her superior attitude will last now!”

“Ooh, look, here comes Draco!” Millicent hissed in excitement. Pansy leaned over the railing, watching as the most eligible Slytherin in her year made his way up the staircase. He didn’t seem to notice the way that the other students practically dove out of his way, or that there was a lot of pointing and gawking as he passed – or that his latest victim was only a few feet ahead of him.

“Draco! Up here!” Pansy called out cheerfully, waving at him. His head snapped up, and when he saw her, he nodded in acknowledgement. The Weasley girl, meanwhile, had frozen in her slow-moving tracks. Pansy grinned maliciously as her face seemed to pale a few shades, and she hitched her broken bag over her shoulder, as if preparing to sprint away if necessary. Draco’s eyes, as he’d looked up to see who’d called him, fell on the redhead in front of him, and he slowed his ascent up the steps.

As he climbed the narrow staircase past where Ginny Weasley had stopped, he paused, leaning over her. He seemed about to say something, but she jumped slightly as she realized how close he was to her, and tried to move away, starting to run up the stairs. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. Pansy leaned forward, straining to hear what he was going to say, as Ginny gasped at his touch and started struggling to squirm away.

“Plain white cotton. Just what I’d expect from such a self-righteous little Gryffindor,” he said coolly, an eyebrow raised teasingly, his gaze trailing from her eyes down to her skirt. Frowning in confusion at his words, Ginny followed his gaze downwards, then cried out in horror as she realized both what he was referring to, and why.

Millicent was practically doubled over with laughter as the Weasley girl’s face turned as red as her hair, her expression frozen in horror as she tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying to cover more skin. Malfoy released her wrist, and Pansy imagined that the girl was now trembling with the thought that she’d been walking around in a skirt short enough for the whole school to determine the color of her knickers. Weasley stared at him, unable to speak, until finally the bright red color drained from her face, when she then turned, and ran, dragging her book bag behind her. Millicent chortled as she saw the redhead make a dash for the girls’ washroom, but Pansy was focused on something entirely different.

Even from where she was standing, she could see a very disconcerting thing in Draco Malfoy’s eyes – something she hadn’t seen in quite a while. Interest.

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Ginny slammed the door to the bathroom stall shut behind her as she frantically pulled out her wand, trying to remember the counter-spell that would return the length of her skirt to normal. She could still feel her face burning, and her hands were shaking with anger and embarrassment. That awful smirk and mocking tone in Malfoy’s voice was enough to make her want to scream at the injustice and indignity of it all. As she recalled the situation, her eyes burned as tears of humiliation threatened to overpower her control.

It had been a terrible day so far. It seemed as though the student population were even more enthusiastic to torture her than they were of the usual victims of Slytherin tyranny. Sighing to herself, she assumed that it was because she was a definite outsider – the dirt poor Weasley, whose parents had neither money nor influence, but they did have a reputation for asking dangerous questions and passive aggressively snubbing authority – and this made her a much easier person to target.

Everywhere she had gone, she’d been met with nasty tricks and hostile attitudes. Her book bag had miraculously split open a number of times, spilling its contents (including her last bottle of ink) everywhere, despite how many times she’d repaired it with a Stitching Charm. She had also become the clumsiest girl at Hogwarts, tripping over everything – chairs, desks, steps and other students. And of course, no one seemed to notice how objects would miraculously move into her path. Someone had replaced her ink jar with a bottle of Vanishing Ink, so that the answers to the test they’d written that morning had disappeared shortly before Professor Flitwick had had a chance to grade them. Staring up at his favorite student, he’d shaken his head sadly, thinking that she had purposely tried to play a trick on him, taking advantage of his favor in order to garner some extra time to study before having to rewrite the test. He’d refused, and she’d had no choice but to accept a zero.

And now, here she was, hiding in the girls’ washroom, trying to restore the length of her skirt so that the entire school didn’t see her knickers as she walked past. Her knees were throbbing and undoubtedly bruised from all the tripping she’d been doing, her head was pounding where a school owl had pecked her head in an effort to free the Owl Treat someone had hidden in her braid without her knowledge, she had a tea stain on her blouse from Lavender Brown ‘accidentally’ bumping into her during Divination – all this, and it wasn’t even quite noon yet.

Finally succeeding in charming her skirt into returning to its original knee-length, she exited the stall and stood in front of the mirrors. A disheveled-looking girl, whose red hair was messily falling out of her long braid and whose face was still bright red with embarrassment, stared back at her with large, worried brown eyes. Sighing one more time, she straightened out her blouse, attempted once more to cleanse the stain, before assuming Lavender Brown had used an Adhering Charm to ensure it would be impossible to remove, and picked up her broken book bag.

Holding her head high, she was determined to brave the storm. She just had to survive until the next victim appeared. If she hadn’t broken by then, they’d grow bored. There were only so many nasty tricks in the book. Smiling slightly over the thought that her brother Fred and George would heartily disagree, she exited the girls’ washroom, her resolve restored.

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It was in Snape’s class that the biggest blow of the day came. She’d managed to find a safe corner of the castle to hide during lunch, and had limped through Potions, despite having her supplies vanish and unneeded ingredients appear in her cauldron without her knowledge, turning her Pepper Up potion into a putrid concoction that had a distinct odor of steamed broccoli. Luckily, her recent bout of clumsiness didn’t seem to affect her as she cleaned it out, so that none of the disgusting mixture ended up on her clothing, a fact of which she was very relieved.

Sitting down at her desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts, she looked over to see Claire sitting three seats over from her, instead of occupying the desk next to her, where she normally sat. When Ginny’s eyes met hers, Claire looked away guiltily and refused to look back up at her. Feeling slightly stung by her friend’s snub, Ginny plucked her quill from the bag, and prepared to write the test Snape had set for that day. During lunch, she’d offered to help Madame Pince re-shelve some books in exchange for the loan of a bottle of ink, determined that this morning’s mishap wouldn’t reoccur. Despite their mutual animosity, her best marks were in Snape’s class, a fact that only infuriated the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor even more.

“Miss Weasley, so glad to see you’ve decided to grace us with your punctuality this afternoon,” Snape commented snidely as he entered the classroom.

“Wouldn’t want to be late for your test, sir. You know how I look forward to them,” she said with a bright smile. She could feel the hostile stares of her classmates on her, and tried to shrug it off as Snape passed around the test papers. She needed to relax and focus – after the incident in Charms today, she needed to make sure she scored a good mark to make up for it.

Her eyes scanned over the paper and she smiled to herself. Snape was nothing if not predictable, and she’d anticipated almost exactly what he was going to ask on the test. Happily, she started writing, and became so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice as the students around her started tossing little bits of paper onto her desk. It wasn’t until one hit her squarely in the forehead, causing her to cry out in surprise, that she noticed the folded pieces of paper that littered the top of her desk.

Snape’s eyes snapped up from the book he’d been reading while the class wrote the test, and settled on her.

“Is there a problem, Weasley?” he demanded coolly. Ginny felt a shiver of panic – there was one thing she never did, and that was to cause any trouble during a test. Snape was known to kick students out of class for so much as sneezing while there was a test being written.

“Of course not, sir,” she answered, but at that moment, the person behind her threw yet another bit of paper on her desk. Snape’s eyes widened, and he stood up and marched over to her desk.

“What have we here, Weasley?” he demanded. He reached out and snatched a piece of paper, opening it up. His eyes narrowed as he read, and then he looked down at her menacingly. “This is the answer to question 5. Care to explain?”

“I have no idea – someone threw that at my desk. I had nothing to do with it, nor did I look at it,” Ginny said, as calmly as she could. It would not serve her cause to lose her temper with Snape now, as he was snatching at the other pieces of paper, opening them and reading them as she spoke. She could see a vein in his forehead was started to throb in anger.

“I have often wondered how a student with your obvious lack of commitment to academics continued to succeed in my class, but I never would have imagined you’d be foolish enough to attempt to cheat,” he seethed, grabbing her test paper out of her hands. “You will, of course, receive a zero for this test, and I will be reassessing your marks on your previous work this term. If I decide that there have been other instances of cheating, your mark on those assignments will be lowered. You can wait outside while the rest of the class finishes the test.”

This was too much for her, and after a day of being tripped, spilt upon and tortured by her fellow students, the accusation of cheating was just too much for her pride to handle, and she snapped.

“I did not cheat!” she cried out, jumping out of her chair. Snape turned to her, staring at her impassively with those cold eyes. “I was just sitting here, writing my test. They threw the answers at me, I didn’t even open them! Unless I have the ability to read through crumpled up paper, there is no way I could have cheated!”

“Why would anyone take the time to write out the answers and place them on your desk, so that you could not open them?” Snape asked, mockingly.

“Obviously so that you would catch me and give me a zero!” Ginny cried, almost near tears.

“Miss Weasley, you and your kind are always full of excuses, always searching to transfer blame for the situations you get yourself into onto someone else. It’s not going to work this time, not with me,” he said. Ginny felt a wave of rage wash over her. You and your kind? What did he mean by that?

“You can ask anyone here! They threw them at me! I didn’t do anything wrong!” she cried out, gesturing to the students around here.

“Did anyone see what Weasley is talking about?” Snape asked. Her classmates stared back at him, in silence. Desperate, Ginny turned around to look at them, hoping to find one friendly face, someone to back up her story. Her eyes feel on Claire, who looked uncomfortable, fidgeting in her seat.

“Claire?” Ginny asked meekly. The blond girl lifted her eyes up, meeting Ginny’s for a second, before she shook her head and looked away.

“As no one is willing to corroborate your story, Weasley, I’ll repeat my request that you wait outside until everyone is finished writing the test,” Snape said, a glint of malicious pleasure in his eyes. Trembling with anger, Ginny snatched her book bag from the floor and stormed out of the classroom.

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So caught up in her anger, Ginny was oblivious to her surroundings. She ran right into Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be waiting for her, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face that instantly had Ginny wary.

“Watch where you’re going, Weasley,” she demanded, pushing the shorter girl back.

“Sorry,” Ginny said, taking a step back, preparing to continue storming down the corridor.

“Your own friend wouldn’t even stick up for you, the one that got you into this mess in the first place,” Pansy said, shaking her head sadly. Ginny frowned up at her.

“How do you know that?” she demanded. It had just happened, there was no way that Pansy could know.

“It would be best for you to realize that I know and see and hear everything that happens at Hogwarts. Everything,” she said, menacingly taking a step towards Ginny. “I have to say that I find it rather amusing to see how cheap the friendship of the poor truly is. She turned on you, afraid to face the music if she’s nice to you.”

“What do you know about friendship? People are only nice to you because of your parents’ money,” Ginny muttered, rolling her eyes. Pansy’s face turned red.

“Watch what you say to me, you dirty pauper!” she snapped, pushing Ginny backwards. She stumbled, and reached her hand out to gain purchase against the wall, only to find that there wasn’t a wall behind her, but the giant Mimbulus Mimbletonia that filled the little nook where a suit of armor had stood, until it wandered away one afternoon, finding another location in the castle to occupy that was more to its liking. The vicious plant instantly reacted to the contact with her skin, and its boils burst, spewing a large amount of Stinksap at her. Pansy managed to jump out of its way, and immediately burst into mocking laughter.

Wiping the putrid substance from her face and shaking it off her hands, she regarded Pansy with loathing.

“I have never done anything to you, Parkinson! Why are you doing this?” she demanded.

“You don’t belong here. You never did. Now that you’ve been marked with a Howler, I have the opportunity to cleanse these prestigious halls of the filth you’ve brought in,” she cried viciously. Staring back at her, Stinksap dripping from her clothing, Ginny just shook her head, and turned, running away as fast as she could.

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She hadn’t quite made it to the Quidditch pitch before her emotions got the better of her and what had been weighing on her mind erupted out of her mouth before she had any chance of quelling the urge to scream.

“DAMMIT!” she screamed, collapsing to her onto the green turf of the pitch, and listened with a satisfaction as her voice echoed throughout the empty stadium. “DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT! What the hell was I thinking yesterday?”

She took a deep, calming breath, feeling slightly better now that she’d been able to unleash some of her temper. But she still felt like she was about to cry – the events in Snape’s class coupled with the unfounded hatred she’d encountered with Pansy had got the better of her. She could feel tears welling up, and was blinking furiously to keep them from spilling over. It didn’t help that the Stinksap was burning furiously.

“Could you, in the future, refrain from yelling down here?” a quiet voice asked. Startled, Ginny whipped her head around and came face-to-face with the mysterious seventh year Slytherin with the attractive, dark eyes. Blaise Zabini, much like he had been the day before, was lounging in the grass, a book in his hand. He hadn’t even glanced up at her. Ginny’s pride was screaming at her – of all people to catch her covered in smelly goo and near tears, it had to be Draco Malfoy’s best friend (who also happened to be the best looking boy in school).

“Sorry,” she whispered, which was the best she could manage considering she was near tears.

“This is my spot, this is where I come to get away from those annoying girls and ridiculous…” he trailed off as he idly flipped a page, still not looking away from his book. “This is my spot and I’d like you to stop coming here to vent. You’re too noisy.”

Ginny sat there, the grass prickling at the bare skin of her knees, and she fought for the strength to stand up and walk away. But a calming breeze was blowing, and the pitch was so peaceful and empty, empty of all those staring eyes, mocking laughter and pointing wands. She just wanted a moment of peace, so that she could pull herself together and walk back to the school, collect her broomstick and Quidditch uniform with her head held high, ready to face anything that the Slytherin minions would throw at her. Sniffing slightly, she started to stand up when she felt those dark eyes on her again.

He stood up, book in hand. He was only a few feet away from her, and there was no doubt that that lovely calming breeze was also carrying quite a bit of the stench of Stinksap with it. He stood there, casting an assessing glance over her. She froze, under the weight of his gaze, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t figure out why, after all that his group had done to her that day, she was trying to acquiesce to his demand, but she decided that she’d had enough for one day, and started to slowly walk away, lacking the heart to move quickly.

“Hold on,” his voice called out, low and silky. She turned around nervously, completely fazed by the fact that he was even talking to her.

“Yes?” she asked, tentatively.

“You can stay. It looks like you could use it more than I,” he said with a casual shrug and an amused smile, his eyes resting on the green glob of Stinksap nestled in her hair. Ginny stood, startled by the unexpected kindness from one of the enemies, watching as his tall frame moved away from the pitch, headed back towards the castle.

Her mind was buzzing from this encounter. The dark and mysterious Blaise Zabini had not only spoken to her, but he’d done something unexpected and kind, by letting her stay there to calm down before having to return to the castle – and he’d kind of smiled at her. Smiling despite herself and even blushing slightly, it took her a full minute to realize that the hottest boy in school had smiled at her, while she was covered in, and smelled like, the very wretched substance that oozed from the boils covering a Mimbulus Mimbletonia.

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Charging away from the school, Ginny was so angry she could barely speak. Arriving back at the Quidditch pitch after the final class had ended, broom in tow, she’d been greeted with the members of her team, stony-faced and grim-looking.

“Sorry Ginny, you know how it is. We’ve decided to find a new Seeker. You’ve become too much of a liability now, you see,” the Gryffindor captain, Marcus McCutcheon, said. Ginny had angrily warned them of their slim chances of finding anyone as good as she was, but it had been to no avail.

“You’re supposed to be Gryffindors,” she hollered at them as she stormed away. “Try showing a little courage every now and again!”

So, Draco Malfoy’s Howler had managed to destroy the few things she thought she could count on in life: her dignity, Quidditch, her integrity and her academic standing, which was needed to keep her scholarship. She was so caught up in angry thoughts of how to seek revenge, while admitting to herself that she was helpless to do anything but take it all, that she didn’t notice the group of seventh year Slytherins huddled by the entryway.

“Now, what is awful stench? Oh look boys, it’s the Weasley,” a snide voice called out. Turning around, her mind still on the Quidditch, she just glared at them all as they giggled nastily at Vincent Crabbe’s comment. She paused, as Draco Malfoy spotted her, his pale gray eyes locking on her, and he started to move towards her, like a Bludger hurtling towards an oblivious Chaser.

“Still here, Weasley?” he asked, his head tilted and a slight smile on his lips as he surveyed her. Probably assessing the damage, she thought to herself, and tried to ignore the shiver that ran up her spine as his eyes moved over her for the second time that day.

She didn’t reply, and after shooting a loathing glance in Pansy Parkinson’s direction, she walked away, and tried to ignore his footsteps as he followed behind her.

“You’ve lasted the whole day, which has earned you two things,” he said, his soft voice so disturbing that she stopped in her tracks. She could feel him behind her, could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck as he leaned down closer, practically whispering in her ear. “You have my respect. And my promise that we’re just going to try even harder tomorrow.”

It took the entire ride home for the tingling sensation in her spine that his words caused to dissipate.

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b>A/N /b>: More to come soon! Thanks for reading! Hope you're enjoying the CRACK AU. Drawn from HYD: 1) the fact that Ginny gets a "Howler" (it's a red warning tag in HYD) for standing up to Malfoy 2) Claire ignoring Ginny 3) Ginny coming across Blaise in "his" spot, him asking her to leave before changing his mind, telling her that she looks like she needs it more than him.

A/N: I feel as though I should just mention that there is some violence in this chapter of a particularly sensitive nature, but it's not graphic or anything, but still, you've been warned.

And even though I feel a little cheesy, this chapter is totally dedicated to birdofprey09 and mima_soo, for listening as I tried to work out some of things decisions I was agonizing over with this chapter. Thanks for all your help and comments!


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Chapter 4: Stepping Up the Game

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Draco Malfoy said, his voice calm yet cold, as he studied the chess board in front of him. Vincent Crabbe, his opponent, had just taken his castle.

“But we’ve tried everything we could think of, and everything Pansy Parkinson told us to do, and none of it has worked!” the terrified fifth year Slytherin, Simon Stanley, tried to explain.

“Everything we could think of! All of the usual things – we even got Snape to kick her out of class for cheating, and got the Gryffindor Quidditch team to toss her! She just won’t break!” Paul Green, a sixth year, agreed. The two boys stood in awkward silence as Draco continued to study the board, before ordering his knight to take Crabbe’s queen.

“What I would like for you to do,” he said as his knight began to demolish the black queen, to the jeering of his other pieces, “is to use your brain. Obviously, this girl is different. Therefore, you have to adjust your tactics to fit that difference.”

The two younger boys stared at each other in confusion, both not quite grasping what he was implying.

“What do you mean by that? What should we do?” Simon asked nervously. Draco fixed his steely gaze on him, ignoring Crabbe’s triumphant cry as he checked Draco’s king. He stood up, so that he was facing them, arms crossed and a dangerously irritated look on his face.

“If you expect to take over the school once we’ve graduated, I would hope that you start grasping the basics. Know your enemy, boys. This girl is textbook Gryffindor. What is important to Gryffindors, what do they value the most? Tell me,” he snapped.

“Courage, doing the right thing, looking out for others, that whole moral superiority thing they have going on,” Simon parroted.

“They’re not getting it, Draco, you should just consider them a lost cause,” Goyle called from the corner of the room, where he had been chatting up two women, causing the occasional burst of giggles to disrupt the otherwise quiet of the empty bar.

“Honestly, I don’t know what they’re teaching these young kids these days,” Crabbe said sadly, shaking his head.

“Well, I hope, for your own sake, that you figure out the answer fairly soon. I won’t tolerate failure twice,” Draco said ruthlessly. “Do whatever it is you have to do, but I want her gone by tomorrow.”

The two boys scurried out of the room, eager to be away from the danger of simply being around the tempestuous nature of Draco Malfoy. After they’d left, Draco turned back to the chessboard, ready to continue his game.

“Is it my move?” he asked Crabbe. Crabbe shook his head with a laugh.

“I’ve already checked your king, mate. Game’s over,” he said. Draco stared down at the board for a minute, assessing the position of his king and Crabbe’s pieces. Upon realizing that Crabbe had indeed lost, he picked up the board and flipped it off the table, scattering squealing chess pieces across the floor.

“Let’s play something else, chess is a ridiculously pointless game,” he said, a scowl on his face.


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“What do you mean, he let you stay at the Quidditch pitch?” Hermione demanded, her brow wrinkled, as she scrubbed the countertop furiously.
“Well, you see, it’s his special spot, and I was there, disturbing the quiet and he had told me to leave. But I guess he thought I could use it more than he, so he left, letting me hide out there until class was over. I told you he was different from the rest of those Slytherin bastards,” Ginny exclaimed, her eyes bright as she recounted the only high point of her day.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t the pitch accessible to all students? It’s not his place, exactly, and so, doesn’t everyone has the equal right to be there when there’s not a practice or a game taking place?” Hermione asked, a trace of humor in her voice. Ginny scowled.

“Of course we all have rights to it – in theory. But if a seventh year Slytherin feels that it’s his place and doesn’t want to be bothered by a lowly sixth year Gryffindor, then by all means, it’s his place and his right to ask me to leave. It’s just the way that the social hierarchy works at Hogwarts, Hermione,” she explained, storing the empty Butterbeer bottles in their case as she continued to clean the bar area.

“So, you’re saying that this Blaise Zabini, who you think is so different from the rest of them, follows this social hierarchy and asked you to leave a public area where all students have the right to be because he thinks of the place as ‘his’?” Hermione asked, one hand on her hip and a skeptical look on her face. Ginny paused, considering her words, searching wildly for a way to defend the handsome boy and her own belief that he was different from the rest of them. Her temper sparked when she came up empty, and she stomped into the backroom, searching for another empty box for the rest of the bottles littering the tables. She came back a minute later with a triumphant smile.

“If he really believed in what his friends were doing, he wouldn’t have just left me alone! He would have found some way to torture me! And that proves he’s different!” she cried, with a pointed look at her intelligent friend. Hermione was a very difficult person to prove wrong, and whenever Ginny managed to do it, she considered it a great victory.

“But he didn’t necessarily protest their actions or try to stop them, either,” Hermione said softly. With that, Ginny dropped her box of empty bottles, and stared at her friend with a look of utter exasperation.

“You, Hermione Granger, are far too practical to be of any help when it comes to matters of romance. You don’t have a hopelessly romantic bone in that sensible body of yours! You need to start looking at the world with something other than your brain every one in awhile,” Ginny cried.

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t think a popular boy deciding not to bully you is the epitome of romance,” Hermione scoffed, picking up the broom and beginning to sweep. Ginny frowned, and felt slightly deflated. Now that Hermione had effectively burst her little bubble, the full effects of her day seemed to hit her all at once. She was exhausted, aching in the many places where she’d be bumped or pushed, and the ball of dread that had formed in her stomach that morning when she’d ripped open the Howler hardened even more, reminding her of her predicament.

“Maybe you’re right,” Ginny said softly. “But it’s nice to think that there is someone who, while he may not be on my side, he’s at least not against me, like everyone else in that bloody school is. I had no idea how much people hated me until today, since they’ve always just left me alone.”

“You’re talking about that Pansy girl? Her and her mindless twittering followers were in here a few days ago. Made a bloody mess and didn’t leave enough Galleons to cover their bill, and when I confronted them about it as they were leaving, she tore into Madame Rosmerta like I’ve never heard, saying that the whole thing was my fault,” Hermione grumbled. “You should be careful of her, Ginny. I’d be more worried about her than I would of that Malfoy guy.”

“Pansy I can handle. She’s just mad because I’ve become the center of attention, even under these circumstances. Once everyone forgets about me, she’ll go back to ignoring me,” Ginny said grimly. She looked around the restaurant, sighing at the sight of all the work the two girls had left to finish off before they could leave that night. It had been very busy, and the rest of the staff had left them to close. Hermione stared at her friend, who seemed to have lost the energy she’d had while detailing her interaction with Blaise Zabini, and sighed herself.

“Ginny, why don’t you go? I can finish off here, and you’re going to have quite the day tomorrow,” Hermione offered. Ginny smiled but shook her head.

“Thanks, but it won’t take too long with the two of us. And tomorrow… well, tomorrow will be tomorrow, no matter what I do today, so there’s no use in hiding from it,” she said grimly, picking up her bar towel and setting back to work.


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The second day was about the same as the first. By the end of it, Ginny was disheveled, tired, slightly bruised and in a foul temper. Through the conspiring of her classmates, she’d been tossed out of three classes, given four detentions, and everyone in the school seemed to have heard about the Stinksap incident from yesterday, and tried to bodycheck her into that small alcove where the towering plant stood every time she had to pass by it – which was no less than five times a day. But, as Hermione had predicted, she’d been able to start anticipating their tactics, and was able to dodge some of the more despicable attempts to torture her. By the end of the day, despite enduring a full day of bullying, Ginny was feeling rather good. It hadn’t been easy, but it hadn’t gotten any worse than yesterday, and she beginning to think that maybe she’d already survived the worst of it.

After serving Snape’s detention, where he’d made her extract and preserve seventeen jars of Stinksap while watching with a cruel smile on his face (he’d obviously heard about yesterday’s incident), she was feeling fairly elated. She was free of this hell until the next morning, and the hallways were empty and quiet, so she could let her guard down, as she walked down the staircase, her head occupied with thoughts of flying. She had a new maneuver she wanted to try out on her broomstick on the way back to Hogsmeade. She knew for a fact that as soon as this whole ordeal was over, the team would ask her back – she was one of the better flyers on the team, and they needed her if they expected to have any chance at the Cup. Gryffindors were outnumbered at the school, so the pool of talent they had to draw from was very small, especially when compared to the other Houses, like Ravenclaw and Slytherin.

She was so wrapped up in the thoughts of her broomstick that she was caught completely by surprise when someone grabbed her from behind. Strong arms locked around her body, rendering her own hands immobile as she wrestled for her wand, flattening them against her body. Another hand clamped over her mouth before she could scream. She started to kick her feet and tried to twist her body free, but her attacker was just too strong for her.

“Quick, grab her legs!” the guy who had ordered, and another figure emerged from the shadows, tentatively trying to grab her flailing legs and she kicked out at him. She recognized him – Paul Green, a fifth year Slytherin. He managed to lock his arms around her legs, even as she struggled, trying to scream against the hand pressed against her mouth, and then she felt them lifting her up, and carrying her down the hall, jostling.

She struggled against the grip around her arms, the knowledge that her wand was in the pocket of her robes, and her hand was only a few inches from reaching it. She could see the one who held her legs kicking open and door, and they dragged her into a dark and empty classroom, dropping her to the ground once they were inside and the door was shut. She fell hard, banging her head, causing her vision to swim as her eyes watered from the pain.

“Do you think anyone saw us?” the other one asked. In the dim light, Ginny could barely make out his face, but while she couldn’t put a name to him, she recognized him as a sixth year Slytherin as he peered out in the hall, checking to see if anyone was out there. Paul Green shrugged his shoulders, and glanced back at Ginny. Even in the poor lighting, she could see a look in his eyes that caused her heartbeat to start racing with panic.

She struggled to stand, whipping her wand out of her pocket, but before she was able to do anything with it, they were on her again. The large sixth year grabbed her wrist, squeezing painfully until she cried out in pain and had to drop her wand, for fear that he’d snap the bone. His other arm grabbed her shoulder and he used his weight to force her to the ground. She tried to wrench herself free, but before her small effort could yield any success, he had her arms pinned to the ground above her head with one hand, and his knees pinning her into place. Feeling sick with fear, Ginny’s panic had her legs kicking wildly, trying to jerk herself from his captivity.

“Paul, grab her legs!” the one holding her down ordered. The other boy ran over, and tried to restrain her legs. She got one good kick in to his face before he succeeded.

“Just get this over with, Simon,” he said. The one restraining her looked down at her with a smile, his free hand grabbing her face and holding it in place, so that Ginny had no choice but to look at him.

“You should have just left yesterday, you stupid bitch! You’ve brought this on yourself!” he grunted. Without even thinking, without even considering the consequences, Ginny retaliated the only way she could in her restrained state – she spat in his face.

“You bitch!” he exclaimed, striking her across the face, his face purple with rage. Pain exploded across her cheekbone, and she cried out. A faint metallic taste filled her mouth, and she figured his blow had probably split her lip, even as a dizzying buzzing noise filled her ears. His hand was grabbing at her blouse, and she heard the sickening sound of material ripping when a voice from somewhere in the room halted his actions.

“What’s going on here?” a voice asked, filled with a quiet authority. Her attackers froze, turning their heads to a corner of the classroom. Ginny strained her neck to see who it was and felt a wave of relief wash over her as she saw that it was Blaise Zabini, seated casually with his legs propped up on a desk, a book in hand. His eyes flicked from her face to the two boys holding her down, and he sighed heavily, standing up.

“Let her go,” he ordered.

“But Malfoy told us to!” Paul Green protested. Blaise, who was now towering over them with his arms crossed menacingly, glared at him, his dark eyes practically glowing with anger.

“I said let her go!” he exclaimed. Jumping with fear, Ginny’s attackers released her and bolted for the door.

Finally free, the adrenaline pumping through her veins caused her limbs to shake as she scrambled to sit up. She glanced down at her blouse, noting that three buttons had been ripped off and that the sleeve was slightly torn. Turning away from Blaise, who had crouched down across from her, staring at her with dark eyes, she pulled her robe tighter, trying to cover the damage and scrape together some shred of dignity. Only then, when she realized how ridiculous that thought was in the light of what could have happened to her if he hadn’t been there, did the weight of her fear and panic finally catch up with her as the adrenaline wore off. Her eyes were burning with unshed tears, and her hands were badly shaking.

Even as she was crying softly, wishing that he would leave so she could sob unrestrainedly without him having to see it, she could feel his eyes on her. Taking a deep breath, she tried to collect herself before she turned around, wanting to thank him for stopping them for being there, for saving her. But, as her eyes met his serious gaze, the words choked on her tears, and only a sob escaped, even as she tried quell it by covering her mouth. He looked away, down the book in his hand.

“There was a team practice down at the pitch today,” he said with a shrug, his eyes meeting hers. With that he stood up, and started to leave.

“Thank you,” she stammered, her face burning, embarrassed without really knowing why. He paused, and sighed.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said quietly, before he left the empty classroom, the door closing behind him with a thud.


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Hermione Granger was just putting the finishing touches on her essay detailing the proper procedure for transfiguring mice to earmuffs, glancing at the clock and wondering if she had enough time to add another few inches to it before she had to make for the post office so she could send it off to her professor and turn up for her shift at the Three Broomsticks, when there was a knock on her door. Curious as to whom it could be, she laid her quill down and walked the few feet across her flat to the door. Opening it, she cried out in alarm.
“Ginny! What’s happened to you?” she asked, taking the younger girl by the arm and leading her inside. One side of her face was slightly bruised and swollen, there was a bit of blood smeared around her mouth where her lower lip had split, her eyes were red from crying, and even though she had her robe wrapped around her, Hermione could see that her blouse was torn.

Later, Hermione handed her friend a cup of tea, her essay and her shift completely forgotten. Freshly showered and wrapped tightly in Hermione’s fluffy bathrobe, Ginny took the cup gratefully. Hermione sat down across from her, her eyes dark with worry.

“Ginny, you need to tell someone what’s happened! It shouldn’t matter what kind of social hierarchy you have at that school, this is completely inexcusable, and no Headmaster worth his salt would allow this to continue!” she suddenly exclaimed, as if it had been on the tip of her tongue for awhile and had finally burst free of its own accord. Ginny smiled, and looked down at her mug.

“I know. But if I tell, my parents will find out. And if they find out, they’d make me leave the school,” she said quietly.

“That might be for the best. I don’t know why you’d want to go back there ever again, after this,” Hermione sniffed. Ginny shook her head.

“Don’t you see, Hermione? If I leave – if I retreat with my bloody tail between my legs, then they win. If I quit, then that bastard Malfoy wins, and it just means that he can keep doing this to other people. I have to go back, or else he wins,” she repeated, mostly to herself, as she stared off into space. Hermione sighed and shook her head.

“But Ginny! It’s not safe for you there!” she protested.

“I’ll just have to be more careful. I let my guard down because no one was around, I thought I’d be alright because it was after school hours. I’ll just have to be more careful, try to attract less attention. Sit in the back of my classes, make sure I’m not in any deserted hallways,” Ginny said, with determination.

“But you shouldn’t have to! Not at school, for god’s sake! This isn’t fair!” Hermione cried.

“Hermione, there are a lot of things about this world that aren’t right,” she said, her voice quiet and soft. “You grew up in the Muggle world, so you know just how different things are for wizards. But while Voldemort is in power, we have to live this way. The powerful, the loyal, the purebloods, the rich – they make the rules, and anyone who doesn’t follow them gets crushed beneath them. It’s not fair – it’s not fair that I’m the only one of all my siblings that are allowed to attend Hogwarts, it’s not fair that I have to live so far away from my family, it’s not fair that my parents work day and night for some pathetic Ministry wage that could barely cover my tuition, it’s not fair that a girl as bright as you can only take correspondence magic courses when there are idiots like Pansy Parkinson attending the finest wizarding school in Europe. None of this is fair, but it’s the way this world works, and I have no choice but to try to survive in it.”

“Ginny…” Hermione said, her eyes shining. Ginny smiled weakly at her.

“If you let them crush you underneath all that unfairness, then they win. And poor as we are, Weasleys are not losers,” Ginny said. Hermione lunged forward, hugging her and spilling hot tea into her lap in the process, and Ginny felt some degree of satisfaction that Hermione, at least, had bought her brave act, even despite the fact thather swollen lower lip had trembled through the entire speech.


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“Blaise! You actually came!” Crabbe cried in surprise, as Blaise Zabini ambled into the private room of the Hog’s Head, where many Slytherins had gathered. Draco Malfoy looked up, and waved his friend over to the table where he, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode were seated. Blaise nodded, and after exchanging a few pleasantries with the girls who stopped him to chat, he made his way through the room and sat down across from Draco.

“Thought that this wasn’t your scene,” Goyle commented as he eyed a pretty blonde across the room.

“I felt like hanging out tonight, and you’re all here,” Blaise said, shrugging casually. Draco smiled, and after titling his glass back, emptying its contents and slamming it down on the table – which was greeted by a chorus of oohs from Pansy and Millicent – he looked at his best friend.

“It’s good that you’re here, Blaise. We’ve just been discussing what to do about that bloody Weasley girl. I can’t leave this to our incompetent followers anymore, they keep messing it up. It’s time I took a personal role in this one,” Draco said, casting an angry glance at two boys cowering in the corner.

“How long are you planning on continuing this?” Blaise asked, his voice neutral, but Draco noted a seriousness in his eyes that caught his attention. He frowned, and he paused, obviously thinking it over.

“I don’t think she’s going to quit. She’s obviously very stubborn, or she wouldn’t have lasted two full days already. If she’s not going to quit, then I want to see her break, I want that pride of hers to be wiped away somehow,” he said, a smirk on his face. “I’ll call if off when we’ve made her… when we’ve made her cry.”

“Then you’ve already accomplished your goal,” Blaise said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. Draco stared at him, perplexed.

“When did that happen?” he demanded, suddenly angry.

“Just after your two thugs dragged her into an empty classroom, pinned her down and tried to tear off her clothes,” Blaise said, his voice still calm and even. Draco’s face froze, obviously taken aback by this information.

“They did what?” Draco asked after a long pause, his voice low and dangerous.

“They pulled her into a classroom and tried to rip off her blouse. And they hit her pretty hard, too, before I stopped them. Made her lip bleed,” Blaise said, leaning forward. Draco’s eyes had grown darker, and his jaw was clenched.

“But she’s a girl. They hit a girl…” he muttered, casting a dangerous glance over at Paul Green and Simon Stanley.

“Look, Draco, I can go along with your plans as long as they’re pretty harmless. Stupid pranks and jokes aren’t a big deal, because I know how she insulted you and everything. But you and I,” Blaise said, leaning closer, trying to edge out Pansy Parkinson, whose ears were straining to hear every word, and lowering his voice. “You and I always said that our generation would do things differently.”

A dead silence fell over the table, as their friends looked nervously between the two of them, the atmosphere growing very tense. Someone had just made the merest suggestion that something that Draco had done was wrong, an occurrence that was completely unheard, even from one of his best friends. They were all anxious as to how Draco would react to this.

His face was impassive as he nodded slowly at Blaise’s words, but there was a hard glint in his eyes. He sat back, picking up another glass and knocking back its contents, as his friends watched his reaction, tense with silence. He set the glass down, staring at it for a few moments. Finally, he looked up and noticed their eyes that were on him, and with a smile, he shrugged.

“I just give the orders. It’s not any of my concern how they’re carried out,” he said lightly, and his friends sighed, and returned to their conversations, a potential crisis averted. Only Blaise Zabini, from where he was seated directed across from him, noted the barely concealed rage in his eyes and knew that his words were said only for the benefit of those who were listening, and that he had entirely different designs for the two Slytherins who’d misconstrued his instructions so grievously.


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Ginny crept into the Great Hall, thankful that it was almost halfway through the lunch hour, and most of the students were busy eating or gossiping to notice her as she entered. She scanned the faces of the crowd quickly, and smiled to herself as she realized that the room was mostly empty of Slytherins. With that knowledge, she found a nearly empty table near the back of the hall, and sat herself down, letting the tension ease from the body. She threw down the heavy textbook she was carrying, the roll of parchment listing the questions she'd been given by Snape as a 'make up' assignment for the test she'd failed, and a thick envelope containing a letter from home that she'd found on her door that morning.

She stared at the envelope, debating with herself whether or not to open it. It was rare for her to receive two letters in one week, so it could be important news she had to read right away. But, she'd already received a letter, only a few days ago, and her mother was aware of her tendency to savour her letters, reading them slowly so that the slight connection they gave her to her family would last longer, and would have indicated that it was important she open it right away. She should save it, considering how things were going, for when she might really need the familiar comfort of her mother's handwriting and the no-nonsense instructions that always littered her mother's letters. But, her parents were due to visit shortly, as her mother had mentioned in her last letter. At the end of next week, she’d have a few precious hours with them, so surely opening the letter and reading it all wouldn’t be a complete waste.

And after the week she'd been having, she deserved it. Shortly after she arrived at school, a little bit late for Snape's class (this was, she grumbled to herself, the reason he'd assigned her to write out the ingredients and procedures for brewing 134 potions as a make-up assignment), she'd caught a group of fifth year Slytherins huddled in the hall. Ginny had frozen to the spot when she recognized Simon Stanley; one of the boys who'd attacked her the day before. Startled, she quickly grabbed her wand, and held it tightly in her hand as she passed by, barely daring to look in his direction.

But the strangest thing had happened. As she walked by Stanley and the group of four Slytherin hanging around him, a silence fell over them, and they all froze as she passed. Feeling vulnerable, she turned her head to look at them, and Stanley made a sound that was very similar to a yelp, and dashed off down the hallway. But before he could disappear around a corner, she was shocked to see that the big and physically intimidating boy appeared to have a black eye, had his left arm bandaged and hung in a sling, and appeared to be walking with a slight limp. She stopped in her tracks to wonder what could have happened to him, but remembering the fear that had been gnawing at her ever since yesterday's encounter, she decided that whatever it was, he'd gotten what he deserved and that was all she needed to know.

When she'd reached Snape's class, he'd greeted her with his usual scowl and informed her that Professor McGonagall needed to see her at the beginning of lunch. McGonagall, despite being despised by pretty much all the Slytherins and anyone associated with the current Voldemort regime, was widely acknowledged as one of the best Transfigurationists in the world. She was tolerated as a teacher, so long as her students continued to learn, and she remained neutral on all questions of politics, for, while there was no proof, it was no secret that she had been a top-level member of Dumbledore's faction before he disappeared. Now, she was the Head of Gryffindor, the dwindling House that no other professor wanted, but Ginny had a great deal of respect for the aging professor. She was definitely the epitome of all things Gryffindor - a very courageous lady. However, she was also as strict as could be, and an extremely demanding professor who knew Ginny's parents very well and often sent them personalized reports detailing how Ginny's performance at Hogwarts might improve greatly if she would just stop provoking Professor Snape. Figuring that McGonagall would want to discuss her recent failing marks, Ginny had sighed with resignation. She was already feeling fairly numb from everything that had happened, whatever it was McGonagall had to say couldn't hurt her much more than she was already hurting.

But it had been much worse than she'd anticipated. As she timidly entered her office, the stern-faced teacher had simply motioned to her to sit down, and she made her sit in silence for almost ten minutes as she read over a very long piece of parchment.

"Well, Miss Weasley, I've just been going over a number of comments from your teachers from the past two days. It seems you've been causing quite a ruckus in your classes. Care to explain?" she asked, her tone frosty. Ginny froze, unsure of how to respond. If she revealed the truth of it all, that she was being victimized and attacked by her fellow students for committing the grievous crime of defending a friend, there was no doubt in her mind that McGonagall would turn around the instant she left the classroom and send a lengthy owl off to her parents, to warn them of what was happening to their only daughter. But at the same time, McGonagall was one of the faculty sponsors of her scholarship - if she thought for an instant that Ginny wasn't taking her classes completely seriously, she wouldn’t hesitate to withdraw that support. Ginny stared back at the unyielding face, struggling to find a solution.

"And I've also heard that you've been charged with a very disturbing accusation of cheating in Professor Snape's class, that you've failed a test in Charms, you've been given four detentions in the past two days and been told to leave three of your classes," she continued, her voice stern and sharp. Ginny grimaced, biting her lip as she waited for the lecture to come, but decided to try to come up with some excuse.

"Professor, I know this all looks bad, but I assure you there is an explanation for it," she said, hoping to sound as sincere and apologetic as possible. McGonagall lifted an eyebrow, as if waiting for that explanation, and shook her head when Ginny found herself lacking one.

"Well, Miss Weasley, I would certainly love to hear your explanation as to how, after the repeated warnings that you've had both from me and your parents, you've managed to offend Draco Malfoy and his group of miscreants." Ginny stared at her in shock.

“How could you tell?” she asked, her voice quiet with awe. McGonagall, despite herself, smiled at her young student.

“Because I’ve been teaching at this school for years, and I know that a good student who is usually able to stay out of trouble – except in a certain professor’s class, and I do wish you’d stop antagonizing Snape – does not suddenly decide one day to be unruly and to fail or cheat on tests. This is the work of the Slytherins; of that, I have no doubt. However, this does put you into a very difficult position, in a number of ways, I’m afraid,” McGonagall said, her face transitioning from a knowing smile to a very grave expression.

“This will put my scholarship at risk,” Ginny said, bleakly.

“But there is more to it,” McGonagall said, her voice growing serious as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “You are the daughter of Arthur Weasley, a man with a number of enemies and too few friends at the Ministry. It’s going to be hard enough for you once you graduate, but if you have any desire to help us in the future to change things for the better, it’s imperative that you remain unnoticed by any of them, and you especially cannot be seen as an enemy.”

“I’m not; I’m just a target,” Ginny said, slightly bitter. She sighed heavily, and looked away from McGonagall’s stern face. “I’ve been told to stay quiet, to avoid notice, to focus on school, and how important all this is. The past five years haven’t been particularly easy, having to stand by and just watch some of the complete nonsense that goes on around here. No one stands up to them! Nobody has the courage to do it, or they just don’t seem to get angry enough to just come out and say that it’s not right. Well, they were picking on my friend, and I got angry, so I told them to stop. I won’t apologize for doing the right thing, even if it jeopardizes my future. Not that there’s much of a future for anyone who isn’t one of Voldemort’s loyalists.”

“That’s very disappointing to hear, Miss Weasley. I suggest you consider the sacrifices your parents have made to send you here, if you need to be reminded of how important this is to them,” she said briskly, standing, signaling that their meeting had ended.

And now she was sitting in the Great Hall, almost completely ignored and feeling rather low, and staring at the tempting envelope laying on the table in front of her. After a cursory glance around to make sure that no one had taken any notice of her, she snatched it up and tore it open, unfolding the parchment.


Dear Ginny,

Just a quick note today, dear, as I’m practically dashing around the house, trying to get all the boys off to work before I have to leave myself. I’ve been putting off writing this for over a day, because I hate to disappoint you, but our schedules for next week have changed, and your father and I won’t be stopping over in Hogsmeade after all. Dad is being sent to Berlin to investigate some new Muggle device, and I’m going to be needed at the Ministry. They’re holding some big event for all the Ministers, and needed some catering done, and I couldn’t very well turn them down.

But don’t worry, we’ll get together before the year is out, I promise. Your brothers send their love, and Fred and George wanted me to tell you they finally worked out a charm to block that Bat Boogey hex of yours and they’d like a new challenge the next time we’re all together. I do wish those two would spend half as much effort on more productive things than they do on their practical jokes and curses.

Take care, dear, and keep working hard!

Love Mum


Ginny set the letter down, and had to blink furiously in order to keep the tears from overflowing. She was lost in a fog of disappointment, and just sat, staring at the black ink on the parchment, feeling completely defeated.

She was so consumed with her own misery that she failed to realize that someone was standing over her, staring down at her, and that all the students in the Great Hall were watching her. It was only after a few minutes of utter silence had passed, causing Ginny to look up, wondering if she’d been staring for so long that she’d missed the start of the next class, that she realized that Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her, with his arms crossed and his steely gray eyes fixed on her.

She jumped slightly, and looked up at him warily. He seemed to be staring at the side of her face that was still slightly swollen and sore from the blow she’d taken yesterday at the hands of his minions, causing her to shift uncomfortably in her seat. Not now, she thought, just please…not now. I don’t have the energy to deal with this. She stared back at him, trying to muster a defiant expression, when his eyes fell on the letter in front of her. He leaned forward, putting his hands flat on the surface of the table, so that his eyes were level with hers and his face was a mere breadth away.

“What have we here, little weasel?” he asked, his voice slick with mocking. Those in earshot heard him, and started to laugh, and Ginny knew that by the end of the day, she’d no longer be known as Ginny Weasley, she’d be the Weasel. She bristled, reaching to snatch the parchment out of his line of sight, but his hand was on one corner, trapping in place. He smiled – a satisfied, smug kind of smile.

“It is somewhat reassuring to know that even the common trash of the wizarding world, such as your mother, at least know how to read and write,” he said, his voice loud and echoing throughout the silent hall. “If we have to endure your presence, contaminating our society, it’s a small comfort to see that there is some form of education among the lower classes.”

Ginny heard a smattering of laughter dispersed around the room, and felt her face burn as he insulted her mother. Her hands clenched into a fist as she glared at him, pure hatred coursing through her veins.

“And one has to commend the efforts you make to try to better yourself. You try to educate yourself, to improve your status, you try to fit in with the superior class, but it’s a wasted effort. I know this,” he said, casually picking up her mother’s letter, “I know this because I am one of your superiors, and as your better, I can assure you that it will never work. You can never become one of us.”

A few students cheered and she could see Pansy Parkinson laughing with her gaggle of followers out of the corner of her eye. The condescending tone in his voice made her so angry, but as she bit her lip to keep from screaming the retorts she so longed to scream, a sharp hiss of pain reminded her of the dangers of confronting Draco Malfoy, as she aggravated the wound she’d received yesterday. The ball of fear, forgotten as she lamented her recent misfortune, returned and hardened in her stomach as she realized that he was still only a few inches away from her, that he was twice her size and surrounded by people who’d do anything he’d tell them to do.

“Who says I even want to become one of you?” she muttered under her breath, looking away. The few people around her, who heard what she’d said, gasped in shock. Malfoy, who’d been prepared to turn away, paused. Ginny cursed her tongue when she saw a flash of anger in his eyes, and a tinge of red staining his pale cheeks.

“You can’t help it. Someone with your pathetic existence? It’s only natural that you aspire to greatness,” he said, his clipped words dripping with arrogance. He held up her letter, turning slowly so that everyone in the Great Hall could see it. When he was facing Ginny again, he slowly ripped the parchment down the center, drawing an anguished cry of protest from Ginny. His eyes met hers, and he smiled at her – a twisted smile that was part triumph and part smugness – as he continued to shred the letter to pieces, which scattered to the floor. “But your reality means that you can never attain it.”

“Aww, the Weasel looks like she’s about to cry!” Pansy’s shrill voice called out, mocking her as Ginny rushed to the floor, trying to gather up the pieces of what had been her mother’s letter as Draco Malfoy strode confidently away, satisfied that he’d managed to crush another student.

Her hands shaking with rage as she reached down, fingers brushing against the scraps of parchment. She knelt there, feeling all those eyes on her and hearing the laughter and catcalls from her fellow students, staring at the scattered words that her mother had written. Words were running through her head; words of warning she’d heard from McGonagall and words of smug superiority that Draco Malfoy had spoken. If you have any desire to help us in the future to change things for the better, McGonagall had said, her voice full of warning. I know this because I am one of your superiors, and as your better, I can assure you that it will never work, he’d said. His words were reverberating through her mind, repeating over and over again, competing with the jeers of the other students who were watching her trying to gather the remnants of her letter from home and the common sense warnings of the Head of Gryffindor House, growing louder until it reached a cacophonous level of noise.

Until suddenly a jolt ran down her spine, and she snapped her head up, realization hitting her like a Bludger, electrifying every nerve in her body. Watching his back as he walked away, arrogance apparent in his very movements, she was no longer afraid, and the very words he’d spoken were the reason she knew she no longer had any cause to fear him.

“Stop right there,” she commanded loudly, as a collective gasp of shock indicated that everyone had heard. A tense silence fell over the room, as Draco Malfoy turned slowly, his face registering surprise at her order. Ginny stood up, and walked towards him slowly, determination propelling her forward.

“Haven’t had enough, Weasley?” he asked crossly. She smiled, shaking her head.

“I’d like to know what it is that makes you feel you have any right to spout all that bollocks about being so superior to me. You, whose only power and influence comes from your parents and nothing that you’ve done on your own,” she said, striding forward. “What’s so great about being rich? You’ve never worked a day in your life, you’ve had everything handed to you and the only reason everyone acts like their scared of you is because they’re really just scared that if they upset you, you’ll run crying to your father!”

Draco Malfoy’s face was turning a deep shade of purple, and this normally would have been frightening to behold, but that was before Ginny’s realization. She could hear murmuring all around her, but her entire body was buzzing with energy and everything else had faded to the background, even the fact that his steely gray eyes were fixed on her, with an expression of complete rage.

“You don’t even do your dirty work yourself, you send your incompetent minions! You might think you’re so great, sending two guys twice my size to attack me, but to me, it just means that you’re a coward! So, guess what, Draco Malfoy? I’m not afraid of you, because I think you’re just a worthless spoiled brat with an inflated sense of self-importance,” she cried defiantly. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed, and he walked forward a few steps, stopping only when he was a few inches away from her, leaning over her, trying to intimidate her with his height. She stared up at him, all defiance and bravado.

“Brave words, Weasley. I can’t wait to see how long it will take before you’re back here, begging me to forgive you for ever saying them. Because I will make you regret it, I can promise you that,” he said, spitting his words out at her. Her right clenched into a fist, and she remembered not to tuck her thumb, just like her brothers had taught her.

“Oh, cut the crap!” she shouted, pushing all her weight into her right hook as she swung her fist at his face. She felt a bolt of pain flash down her arm and heard the satisfying thud as her fist connected to his face, and heard the echoes of students yelling as Malfoy stumbled backwards, falling to the ground.

After shaking her hand for a few seconds to relieve some of the throbbing pain, she stood straight, staring down triumphantly at Draco Malfoy, who was sprawled on the ground, looking dazed and shocked as a trickle of blood ran down his nose.

“Whatever you try to do to me, go ahead, because I’m not going to hide anymore, I’m not going to be afraid of someone as cowardly as you! Bring on whatever you’ve got, because I’m declaring WAR against you and all of your brainless followers! If you attack me, I’ll hit you right back. So, you’d better bring it on!” she shouted. She pulled out her wand, and with one last satisfying look at Draco Malfoy’s sprawled form, she cast a hex. Amid the shouting and hysterical cries of the Slytherin girls as they rushed to Malfoy’s side, Ginny walked away, feeling as though she was walking on air. She calmly picked up her books from the table where she’d been sitting at, and left the Great Hall and the sight of Draco Malfoy, the most feared and idolized student at Hogwarts, yelling and writhing on the floor as he suffered the effects of her particularly potent Bat Boogey Hex.


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A/N: I've been waiting to write this moment since I began the fic!

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to comment, and to everyone who as been reading. I never thought anyone would read my crazy CRACK AU Fic of Doom, so I'm just thrilled with some of the kind comments I've been getting! More to come very soon!

Drawn from HYD:
1) Draco's temper tantrum as to why they haven't succeeded in running Ginny out of school
2) the way his two thugs decide to "deal" with her*
3) Blaise's interference*
4) the conversation at the end, Ginny punching Malfoy in the face and declaring war on him

*the series deals with this scenario in a way that kinda made me really angry - there was almost no outrage, consequences or real condemnation of their actions. I wasn't comfortable with that, or with a 'romantic lead' who would have ordered him 'minions' to do that, therefore I changed it fairly significantly. Despite the changes, this event IS from HYD.

Standard disclaimer applies. Characters aren’t mine, they’re JKR’s, and the plot was inspired by Hana Yori Dango.


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Chapter Five: Stalemate

Draco Malfoy was right in the middle of pitching a serious temper tantrum, so much so that he was barely aware of the fact that three pairs of very amused eyes were watching as he paced around the room. Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise Zabini smiled to each other as their friend ranted furiously, arms flailing as his composure was completely sacrificed to his temper.

“Who does she think she it? Blasting all that crap about how I have no reason to act superior?” Draco raged, sitting down across from his friends, staring at them with a baffled expression, as if he just couldn’t process what Ginny had said. “What was all that nonsense about?”

“Mate, you were beat down by that short little girl. That’s a pretty good reason why you shouldn’t be acting too superior,” Crabbe laughed. Draco glared as his friends all joined in, mocking him.

“It’s a shame I missed it. I think I would have enjoyed seeing the mighty Draco Malfoy being put in his place by a lowly Weasley,” Blaise said, his low voice tinged with amusement.

“How dare she! If she thought it was bad for her before, she has another think coming. I’m going to be completely merciless. She hit me! She hit me!” he exclaimed. “And now she’s declared war on us? She is going to regret this for the rest of her life!”

“Hmm, you’re certainly reacting very strongly to this. Could it be fear motivating your anger?” Crabbe asked. “This is the first time you’ve ever been challenged, and by some dirt poor little Gryffindor! There has to be some voice in your head asking how can you possibly expect to take over your father’s empire if you can’t even control one stubborn girl?”

“Draco, you’d better calm down,” Blaise interjected, seeing the furious look in Draco’s eyes, and shooting Crabbe an exasperated glare. “We’ve got that reception tonight at Starlight Hotel, and you’re supposed to be filling in for your dad. You’re going to have trouble charming the Wizarding world’s finest when you’re still spitting mad. And you really should do something about your face – it’s still all bruised from where she punched you.”

“Of course I’m not afraid of her!” Draco shouted, ignoring Blaise’s attempts to divert his attention. “She’s the one with an unjustified sense of superiority! Acting as if she doesn’t care about money, as if it doesn’t affect her! Everyone can be bought, even self-righteous Gryffindors like her!”

“Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, but Annabelle Warren, your father’s assistant has arrived, wishing to brief you about the reception tonight,” a timid house elf said, cowering near the door, sensing his master’s mood and deciding it was best to keep a distance. Draco rolled his eyes, but then stopped, as if an idea had just struck him. He smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up with a malicious glow.

“We’ll have to teach her a little lesson in humility,” he said decisively, and then turned to his trembling house elf. “Send in Ms. Warren, we have a lot of work to do. I think a change in tonight’s venue will be in order.”


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Ginny had arrived at the Three Broomsticks breathless with exhilaration. The rest of the school day had been a complete blur, lost in all the excitement and the dizzying adrenaline rush brought on by her encounter with Malfoy. She had been cautious, however difficult it had been given her state of euphoria, but surprisingly, no one had retaliated against her. Most of her fellow students had maintained a fair distance from her, refusing to meet her eyes. It was as if they were all suddenly afraid of her.

She had chuckled to herself at that thought, knowing that even if they were afraid of her, it wouldn’t last. As soon as Malfoy and his minions regrouped, the rest would be on her again in due course, eager to please the circle of power at the school. They were all cowards, a bunch of self-serving cowards who were unwilling to stick their necks out unless there was some sort of benefit to them. Plus, she figured, after she’d bruised Malfoy’s ego, he’d want to be the one to retaliate first, and everyone would have known it and not wanted to risk his disfavour.

But she had still hurried away from the school, not wanting to test that theory. She arrived at the Three Broomsticks an hour early for her shift, running into Hermione on her way in. Breathless, Ginny had filled her in on what she’d done to Malfoy as they chose a table in the back of the restaurant, taking advantage of their free time to chat over a few Butterbeers.

“I can’t believe you actually said that! Well, actually, I can – I know how your tongue gets rather loose when you lose your temper – but I thought your common sense would have prevailed over your emotions,” Hermione exclaimed. “You hit him and declared war! Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but…Ginny!”

“It was like a volcano had exploded in my head, and all these words just came pouring out. I had no control – everything I had wanted to say since I started at that damn school and never could because I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I had this moment of clarity,” Ginny explained. “Who the hell is Draco Malfoy? What has he ever done that has everyone so afraid of him? Nothing! Everyone listens to him and does what he says, but he’s never done anything to earn that power!”

“But his father!” Hermione protested.

“Do you honestly think that Lucius Malfoy pays any attention to what happens at Hogwarts? Of course not! When I realized that – that Malfoy is nothing more than an arrogant spoiled rich kid that is all talk, I became absolutely furious! All this time, watching what he and his groupies do to other students, keeping silent because I was too afraid to stand up to him, and I just became so angry – mostly at myself for not realizing this sooner, that I just snapped!” Ginny exclaimed.

“But aren’t you worried about how they’re going to react? You’ve challenged them, declared war on them! Aren’t you afraid of what they’re going to do now?” Hermione asked. “Especially what they did to you before, and that was only for telling him off! I’m worried that you may have really crossed the line this time.”

Ginny paused, as if thinking it over, before she shook her head.

“No. I’m not afraid of what they’re going to do. There’s only one thing I’m really afraid of, and you know about that. It’s about time I remembered it,” Ginny said, thoughtfully. “It reminds me of why I’m in here in the first place.”

“Do you still get panic attacks in small spaces? Didn’t that spell I gave you work at all? It should have, it’s the most effective spell for claustrophobia I was able to find. Are you sure you’ve been saying the incantation right? It’s all in the pronunciation,” Hermione asked, her brow furrowed.

“By the time I realize what’s happening, I’m usually too much in a panic to remember it. Snape had us facing boggarts in a cupboard last week, and I was so panicked by the feeling of the walls closing in around me that I nearly passed out. He, of course, took a rather malicious pleasure in it, and he has threatened to make this year’s practical final something similar to that,” Ginny said with a shudder. “But…it has gotten better – it used to be I’d be terrified even in my own flat because it’s so small, but I’ve grown used to it.”

“It’s also been eleven years since the last time the Dark Mark was cast, ever since Dumbledore disappeared, putting an end to the war. That’s probably helped a bit,” Hermione said quietly, reaching for Ginny’s hand and giving it a comforting squeeze as she noticed Ginny’s face had grown very pale.

“I was only four, but I’ll never forget that night, as long as I live,” Ginny said weakly. “That is the type of thing to be afraid of; seeing that mark in the sky over your house. Some slimy Slytherin brat on a power trip isn’t worthy of my fear.”

“Ginny dear! I was hoping that you’d be in early today. I just got an urgent booking tonight for a private reception in the Merlin Room, and I desperately need a hostess,” Madame Rosemerta said, sitting down at the girls’ table. The Merlin Room was the exclusive and completely elegant section of the restaurant that made up the second floor of the building. After Hogsmeade had grown from a small village to the major center of the Wizarding world – outside of Diagon Alley in London, of course – Madame Rosemerta had renovated the Three Broomsticks, adding the Merlin Room, in order to meet the demands of the higher class who flooded the city. But, as clever as she was, she had been able to capitalize on the desire for exclusivity, only booking the room rarely, and then only for the most exclusive of patrons. Whoever had requested it on such short notice was surely an important person, otherwise Rosemerta would have denied their request with a laugh.

Ginny grimaced at her, knowing what a night spent coordinating and seeing to the every whim of the richest people in Hogsmeade would entail. She could use the extra money it would bring, but it was far more trouble than it was worth.

“Maybe you should ask Hermione – this is the type of thing that she’s better at. Plus, I only have my regular uniform, hardly the kind of thing you want me wearing to serve those types,” Ginny said, squirming slightly.

“Believe me, Hermione would normally be my first choice, but they’re of the pure-blood sort, and I don’t want her to have to deal with that nonsense. You’ll have to do,” she said with a wink. “Besides, this will give me a chance to finally dress you up. You dress so plainly, dear. I have no idea why you try to blend in so much, but it doesn’t matter tonight. I’ve got some robes that will be appropriate for the event that you can wear, and we can have you made up in time to get things set up.”

Ginny cast Hermione a mournful glance. After her delicious afternoon of triumph, she would have to spend the night catering to a group of rich, snotty wizards who fancied themselves the most powerful men in the world. With a reluctant sigh, she stood up and followed her boss to the back of the restaurant and through to the attached flat where Rosemerta lived, resigned to be a dressed up puppet for the night.

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Ginny crossed through the French doors into the Merlin Room. Hermione had been busy in there while Ginny had been suffering in Rosemerta’s merciless hands, and almost everything was prepared. The sound of the high heels that had been forced upon her clicked audibly on the marble floor, strange to her ears, as she walked around the room, feeling the breathless wonder she always did whenever she was alone in there, surrounded by its elegance and beauty.

It was a stunning room, with mirrored walls accented with gold, brilliant crystal chandeliers, deep mahogany tables and chairs. Ginny, wand in hand, walked from table to table, lighting the candles in the crystal holders of each table’s centerpiece. Her fingers grazed the rich silk of the champagne-colored tablecloths, admiring the dance of light from the candles reflecting off the mirrored walls and crystal fixtures. She took note of what still needed to be done before the guests were set to arrive – the hors d’oeuvres needed to be brought it, the bar needed to be stocked and she considered rearranging the way the tables had been positioned to make room for the violinist that Rosemerta had been able to secure for the evening. Keeping a running list in her head, she walked towards the gold-trimmed bar at the far end of the room in order to see what needed to be brought in, but she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and paused, surprised by the sight of herself, dressed as she was, in such an elegant setting.

Rosemerta had chosen a simple black dress, using a simple charm to tailor it to Ginny’s shape, causing it to cling to her hips, flare at her knees and give her the illusion of an actual bust-line, which Rosemerta had pointed out much to Ginny’s embarrassment. Throwing a simple gold chain and a pair of dangerously delicate-looking strappy high heels into the mix, and Ginny’s body no longer looked like her own. She stared back at herself, looking at a face which was also unfamiliar to her, given the make-up Rosemerta had carefully applied and the French knot she’d wrestled Ginny’s hair into, all the time lecturing the girl on the importance of appearance when dealing with the higher class patrons. Ginny had grumbled through the entire ordeal, wishing she could just go home, wipe the gunk off her face and curl up in bed. But now, staring at herself, against a backdrop of extravagance, Ginny was shocked to see the person staring back at her.

“You could almost pass for one of us,” a silky voice said, startling her and causing her to jump slightly. Her heart jumped into her throat and she felt her face burning with embarrassment as she turned around. And froze as she came face to face with Draco Malfoy, wearing dress robes, his hair slicked back, and an arrogant smirk on his face. “It’s amazing what a few Galleons can do.”

“What are you doing here?” she demanded weakly. He was examining her with those eyes again, looking her up and down intently, his eyes moving slowly over her body. She suddenly felt naked – despite the yards of black silk that was her dress, the make-up on her face and potion in her hair, she felt completely naked before those searching eyes and she longed to throw her arms in front of herself – anything to keeping him from looking at her.

She backed away as he moved towards her, and nearly jumped out of her skin when his hand touched her shoulder. He was standing over her, eyes fixed on her in a way that had her meekly complying as he turned her around to face the mirrored wall again. He moved in right behind her, his face hovering over her shoulder, next to her ear.

“Isn’t it funny how the power of money can transform even a plain girl into something resembling a decent-looking witch,” he said, his voice so soft and silky, one would hardly note that his words were actually an insult. “A few Galleons and you’ve been transformed. By the power of money, which you so arrogantly stated has no affect on you.”

“It doesn’t,” she stammered. The truth was that the whole effect had been almost mesmerizing, standing in the middle of the elegant room, dressed so nicely, looking and feeling so different. Even now, with him standing behind her, watching as she stared at her own reflection, her hands were itching to run over the smooth silk of her dress and a part of her was relishing in the chance to admire the changes in her reflection. But it all seemed to wrong with him there. He could see through the illusion.

“Of course it does. You feel different. You’re surrounded by expensive and elegant things, and you’ve tried to dress to suit those surroundings. Some might not even notice that you’re wearing a designer imitation that’s terribly outdated and has been magically altered. That’s the power of money – you can create illusions and make people see more than what’s really there. Sprinkle a few Galleons on, and people will see you in a different light,” he said, a casual smirk on his face. Ginny had been concentrating so intently on the preparations that she hadn’t even noticed that he’d been watching her almost the entire time she’d been in the room – watching as she’d paused at the unfamiliar sound of her shoes clicking on the marble floor, watching as she lit each centerpiece and the candlelight illuminated her face, making her warm eyes glow, watched as her fingers brushed over the tablecloths, and the way she’d paused after catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and the wide-eyed way she’d stared at her reflection.

“People see me how they see me. Money has nothing to do with it,” she snapped, her discomfort at the way he’d been looking at her finally wrenching her out of the almost-hypnotic state his tone of voice, mixed with her surroundings, had put her in. She twisted herself away, turning from the mirror to face him, her hands resting on her hips, assuming an air of defiance. “Now, what are you doing here, Malfoy?”

He smiled, and didn’t answer as he moved about the room as if appraising it. Ginny’s eyes narrowed as irritation flooded through her. She was just about to demand he leave when he finally spoke.

“Didn’t you hear, little weasel? I’ve bought you for the evening,” he said, raising one eyebrow infuriatingly as he spoke. Ginny crossed her arms, in an attempt to quell the urge to hit something and glared at him.

“What rubbish are you talking about now?” she asked, exasperated, glancing at the clock on the wall, calculating how much time she had before she was supposed to begin hostessing the event scheduled that night.

“This party that you’re preparing for – I’m the host,” he said, with a smug grin, as Ginny felt her heart sink in her chest. “Which means that I’ve purchased you for the evening, to see my every whim, and to the needs of my guests.”

“You have a completely ridiculous perception of reality, Malfoy,” Ginny sighed. “What you’ve purchased are the services of a waitress for one evening. Just because that waitress happens to be me does not mean that you’ve bought me. You’ve bought a service, not a possession or a person.”

“Everyone can be bought, weasel. I promise you that I’ll prove that to you before our game is over. It’s just a matter of the price,” he said, casually leaning against the wall, making Ginny groan. Pretty as they were, it was incredibly difficult to wipe smudges off those mirrored walls. She stared at him for a moment as he gloried in his own smug arrogance, and her wits, which had until then woefully abandoned her the minute his presence had caught her off guard, finally seemed to be returning.

“Malfoy, I’m not like the other girls at school. I’m not impressed by your money and I cannot be bought – not for any price, and especially not by you! Nor am I afraid of you. Shall I remind of how unwise it is for you to treat me like I am?” she said coyly, taking a step towards him, hardly believing her own daring as she reached out and brushed his cheek, sweeping along his high cheekbone towards his nose. He grimaced, obviously still tender where she’d struck him. He grabbed her hand at her wrist, yanking it away from his face, staring at her again without releasing it.

“Ginny! Madame Rosemerta needs you!” Hermione’s voice called, and Ginny wrenched herself free of Malfoy’s hold. His grip on her wrist hadn’t been tight at all, but there was something about his presence and the way his eyes were staring at her that almost seemed to hold her captive. She dashed towards the entrance, to where Hermione was giving her a quizzical look as she rushed past, her shoulder brushing that of the guest who Hermione had been leading to the Merlin Room.

“Ginny? Who was that?” Hermione asked, following behind her as Ginny practically ran down the stairs, heading straight for the kitchen where she’d knew she’d find Madame Rosemerta barking instructions at the staff and lecturing the other waiters who’d be helping her with the reception. She paused, hand gripping the railing, crouching down to catch her breath.

“Malfoy,” Ginny growled. “Just my bloody luck!”

“Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy? Oh Ginny, this is horrible,” Hermione said, crouching down beside her friend, throwing an arm around her shoulder. “But I doubt he’ll do anything to you tonight. I know this lot, they’re all about appearances, and picking on the waitress in front the rich and power is rather base, even for him.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s won this round already, and it’s barely begun,” she said mournfully. She could already see what lay before her – of course the other seventh-year Slytherins would be there, it was an excuse to gather and discuss how fabulous they all were, and she’d be there, serving them. And for the sake of Madame Rosemerta and the reputation of the Three Broomsticks, she’d have to jump to meet their every demand, and do it all with a polite smile. “He has barely done anything, and he’s already winning the game. How did he know?”

“Know what?” Hermione asked curiously, her tone calm, indicating that she obviously didn’t understand the gravity of the situation – that Ginny’s pride and dignity were about to be punished, and there was nothing that her temper was going to be able to do about it, because the consequences to the other people around her would be too great.

“How to hit me where it would hurt the most,” Ginny exclaimed, incredulous that Hermione was not grasping the absolute horror of this whole ordeal. “He’s boxed me in, and tonight, there’s no escaping.”


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The insolent redhead had just ran right past her, practically knocking her over in the process, without so much as a word of apology. In fact, she’d barely even noticed what she’d done. Pansy Parkinson stood at the entrance of the dining room, watching as the audacious pauper retreated from the scene, and felt her temper boil.

She’d heard most of her conversation with Draco Malfoy. She’d planned on arriving to his event early, so as to secure a few private moments with the most eligible seventh year Slytherin, but the impertinent brat had ruined that plan. And all that talk about not being able to be bought… Under normal circumstances, she would have found it highly amusing and would have walked into the room, spirits high, ready to laugh about it with Draco.

But he was staring after her, looking as if he’d been hit in the face with a Bludger and hadn’t even acknowledged that Pansy was there. And after all the time and money she’d spent getting ready for this night, preparing to act as the perfect counterpart to Draco Malfoy, it was unacceptable that anyone ignore her, and especially not because of that little brat. But that wasn’t the only thing that was making her angry. It was that unnerving light in his eyes, the second time she’d seen it when he was looking at the Weasel, that made her absolutely furious. For who was she, but a plain, ordinary-looking girl who usually had two ratty braids in her hair, wore ugly shoes and was dirt poor? She was certainly not someone who even deserved his attention, let alone a look like that from the likes of Draco Malfoy!

Everyone has their price, Draco had said, while the Weasel had fiercely denied it. Pansy grinned maliciously as an idea took root in her mind, inspired by their little discussion.

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A harried-looking Ginny rushed past Hermione, barely glancing at her friend as she dashed back up the stairs, carrying a tray laden with drinks – the fifth such trip she’d made in the past ten minutes. The Merlin Room was equipped with its own bar, and Rosemerta had found a bar tender to serve upstairs for the party, but some of the more particular demands of the guests were keeping Ginny frightfully busy as she dashed about, trying to meet them all, despite having a full serving staff to assist her. But what fun would ordering around people they didn’t want to torture for the night? The Slytherins had their target, and would accept no substitutes.

“Was it made correctly this time? Honestly, I don’t know what this place has come to, the quality of service has been steadily declining for quite a while now,” Pansy Parkinson sneered as Ginny approached, handing her a cocktail from her tray. Ginny bit her tongue and just smiled indulgingly at Parkinson’s comments. Pansy took the proffered drink, sipping it with precaution, before grimacing and holding it away from her.

“Is there something wrong with it this time?” Ginny said, praying that she sounded polite, and not like she wanted to throttle the demanding girl. Pansy narrowed her eyes, and with a cold smile, she tipped the glass, allowing the contents to spill to the floor. After the glass emptied, she tossed it down, letting it smash on the marble floor at Ginny’s feet.

“After you clean that up, I’d like another, and I do hope that it will taste better than that Bubotuber Pus you’ve been trying to serve me!” she exclaimed shrilly, drawing quite a bit of attention as other guests turned to stare at the commotion, Pansy’s voice clearly audible over the music. Ginny felt her face burn with embarrassment and anger, but she merely smiled and nodded, before turning away to find a free server to fetch the drink while she cleaned it up. She ignored the laughing group of Slytherins that were hovering near the door, all watching her.

“Please be more careful, I don’t want any of my guests to slip and fall because of your ineptitude as a waitress,” Draco Malfoy called out, causing her to pause as she made her way behind the bar. She turned towards him, the words she planned to snap back at him – that it was hardly her fault if his guests were severely courtesy-deficient – dying on her lips as she noted that he was standing in a circle of older men that represented the wealth and power of Hogsmeade. She recognized quite a few of them, as they frequented the Three Broomsticks, her eyes flicking across their faces quickly before settling on Malfoy’s smirking face.

“Of course. I can assure you that it will not happen again,” Ginny said, a tight smile on her face and a false cheeriness in her voice. “Is there anything I can get you gentlemen on my way through?”

“Mr. Nott, it appears as if your glass is empty. Care for another?” Malfoy asked, turning to the man on his right, who laughed and nodded, his eyes red and glassy. Ginny sighed inwardly, thinking to herself that the man had clearly already had his fair share of refreshments, but as the waitress, she could hardly question the matter.

“If you’ll just come with me to the bar, sir, we’ll take care of you straight away,” Ginny said, stepping forward, and taking the older man’s arm to lead him as he walked rather tipsily, indulging in the satisfaction of casting Malfoy a look of utter loathing as she passed, gasping slightly as the elderly man’s hand settled on an area demonstrably below her waist.

After seeing Mr. Nott safely to the bar, Ginny headed behind it, searching for a dustpan to take care of the broken glass that still littered the floor where Parkinson had tossed her glass, crouching down and searching below the counter. After giving up and deciding that it would just be easier to ask Madame Rosemerta to use one of her cleaning charms, she stood up and nearly cried out in surprise as she found herself face-to-face with Blaise Zabini, and felt her face immediately begin to burn. He stared at her, a slight smile on his face, and she desperately tried to collect her thought in order to form a coherent sentence, but his lovely brown eyes seemed to be twinkling at her with amusement and she was pretty sure that her brain had just melted.

“Glass of water please,” he said simply, and Ginny blinked in confusion, before realization hit her that she was a waitress, and he was a guest at the party and was ordering a drink from her. Shaking off her embarrassment, she tried to smile naturally at him as she reached for a glass and the pitcher of water, waiting for the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

“Here you go,” she said, as she handed him the glass, amazed at her own ability to hold it steady and to keep her voice from stuttering. He nodded his thanks, and was about to turn away when Malfoy strode up to the bar, smacking his friend on the shoulder.

“Zabini! You’re late! You’ve left me with all those old men for the whole damn night!” Malfoy cried. Blaise just shrugged his shoulders apologetically, offering no explanation. “There are only so many glorious war stories a bloke can take!”

“I was listening to the Quidditch game on the Wireless,” Zabini answered, to which Malfoy slowly nodded in understanding.

“I see. Well, that, I guess I can forgive. It is the World Cup playoffs, after all. How’d Cho’s team do?” Malfoy asked, with a sly grin at his friend. Ginny, who had been listening to their entire conversation, felt a jolt of curiosity, and wondered if they were talking about Cho Chang, the only female Seeker to ever play in the World Cup. Before she could consider the matter any further, Malfoy turned to her. “Hey, weasel, make sure you escort my guests to their carriages. Wouldn’t want anyone to fall down the stairs. I want to make sure my guests are getting what I’m paying for.”

As he spoke, he had cast a pointed look in the direction of the group of elderly men he’d been chatting to most of the evening – a group of rather intoxicated old men. He looked down at her with a smug smile, before leading Blaise away from the bar.


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Ginny’s temper was very brittle by the time she packed the drunken man into his expensive carriage, carefully brushing away his clumsy attempts to grope her as he slurred drunkenly about how impressive his fortune was. Heaving a sigh of relief, almost disbelieving the fact that she had made it through the entire night without yelling, screaming or recreating the scene at lunch today by punching Malfoy again, Ginny wearily made her way back up the stairs to assess the damage and begin cleaning up.

Assuming that everyone had left except the staff, she gratefully kicked off her heels, and yanked the pins holding her hair up, shaking out her hair and wanting to weep with how it wonderful it felt. Looking around the ballroom, she noted happily that the rest of the staff had taken care of most of the clean up while she’d been running around at the Slytherins’ beck and call. Hermione was in there, already diligently sweeping and clearing tables, and Ginny took a moment to sit down and relax. She’d been on her feet for almost six hours in those ridiculously impractical shoes.

“You survived,” Hermione called out, noticing her. Ginny laughed, as she looked down at the dress Madame Rosemerta had lent her for the night. The front was drenched and sticky from Pansy Parkinson’s last temper tantrum over the taste of her drink, and off to the side, there was a lovely smear from where Crabbe had bumped into her while she’d been holding a tray of hors d’oeuvres, smashing it into her dress. He’d actually apologized with the appearance of sincerity, but the barely concealed giggling of Millicent Bulstrode beside him indicated that he’d intended to do it. She merely sighed, and taken the blame, as was expected of a servant to the rich and powerful.

“I survived,” Ginny said, her voice sounding rather cynical. “I’ve been screamed at, humiliated a few times as I just had to stand there and apologize when they bumped into me and had my dignity trampled on a few times, but I’ve survived.”

“If it was that horrible for you, why do it?” a voice asked from the doorway, and Ginny felt her heart sink, recognizing its owner. “You claimed you weren’t going to put up with any of our… what did you call it? Oh yes, crap.”

“Because, Malfoy, I have obligations and responsibilities. That may be a concept you don’t understand, being the selfish and spoiled son of Lucius Malfoy, but some of us feel the need to honor them,” Ginny snapped, jumping up and twirling around to face him, furious that he’d caught her off guard again. She’d thought he had already left and that she was free of him at least until tomorrow. “If I’d given any of you what you really deserve, it would have been Madame Rosemerta who suffered, as my actions would have reflected on her because I’m her employee.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows were slightly raised as he observed her, a faint yet incredibly infuriating smile on his lips.

“It’s not for someone like you to decide what anyone better than you deserves. It would appear that you already know that, which is the real reason why you didn’t say or do anything. Tonight just proved what I’ve been telling you,” he said.

“It proves nothing! You trapped me in a situation where I couldn’t do or say anything without there being consequences for other people who have nothing to do with your stupid game, and you know it, which is why you did it so you can stop acting so superior!” Ginny cried, her voice rising as the strain of the day caught up with her and her temper snapped, unable to listen to any more of his self-superior nonsense. He regarded her for a moment, as if deep in thought.

“I’ll see you tomorrow at school, weasel,” he said simply, and without another word, he turned and left. Her brief moment of peace completely ruined, Ginny set about wiping off the rest of the tables, taking large angry swipes with her bar towel.

“That insufferable git! Can you believe that rubbish he was saying?” Ginny ranted to Hermione as she worked. Hermione was silent, causing Ginny to look up, having expected a sympathetic response from her friend. Hermione was looking at her thoughtfully, with the look she got in her eye when her mind was in full swing trying to decipher an Arithmancy problem. “Hermione!”

“Be careful, Ginny,” Hermione said suddenly. “There was something about the way he was looking at you… There’s a lot more to this game between you two than just the fact that you’ve insulted his pride.”

“That’s because it’s not a game. It’s a war,” Ginny said, shrugging off Hermione’s comment.


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A/N: Thank you so much to everyone for your comments! I've tried to respond to as many as I could, and some were so thought-provoking that I've been babbling about it all on my LiveJournal, to the chagrin of my flist that has to put up with my obsession with my own fic. If any of you are interested, I tend to post pieces of upcoming chapters there quite frequently.

Drawn from HYD:
1) The conversation that Ginny and Draco have about money before the party begins. In the series, this type of conversation takes places after she's been kidnapped and given a makeover, and they argue and she declares that she cannot be bought. I thought that was a little too... well, cheesy for me, so I created a sitaution where they could have the same type of conversation, hopefully with slightly less cheese.

Disclaimer: JKR’s character, plot loosely inspired by Hana Yori Dango (if you don’t know what that is, check out my bio, there’s some useful links to guide you)


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Chapter 6: Advancing the Offense

Ginny stifled a yawn as she staggered through the Great Hall, her eyes heavy with fatigue. By the time they’d finished cleaning and closing down the restaurant, it had been very late, and Ginny had still had a Potions essay to complete. Luckily, Hermione was feeling particularly generous towards her friend, given her rather difficult evening, and the two had worked together at it. Looking over it now, Ginny grimaced, noting that it wasn’t her best work, but she was happy that it was at least finished. Her pocket was feeling heavy with the bit of extra gold Rosmerta had paid her in return for hostessing last night, and as she rounded the corner into the corridor where her broom cupboard was, her thoughts turned to the ongoing list she kept in her head of the things that she needed to buy the next time she had a few extra Sickles. Shutting her broom safely inside, Ginny ruefully decided that what she needed most was a new set of quills.

“Practical necessities before pleasure,” she muttered to herself, hearing her mother’s words in her ears even as she spoke them. Unexpectedly, Ginny felt a faint wave of homesickness wash over her. Today was supposed to have been the day she would have spent with her parents, had their schedules not changed. With a sad smile, she picked up her books and started making her way towards class, barely noticing as others pointed at her still-blue sweater, whispering conspiratorially to each other as they pondered the fate of the girl who’d gotten a Howler and had refused to quietly leave the school.

It was only when she re-entered the Great Hall during the lunch hour, feeling ravenous and desperately in need of the sugar rush her pumpkin juice was sure to supply, that she noticed the pointing and whispering. Moving slowly towards a table in the back, she felt their eyes on her, heard the whispered comments and the shocked laughter. There was a different atmosphere about the actions of her fellow students – the day before, when she’d been the brunt of their bullying, there’d been lots of laughing and sneering. Today, Ginny couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone around her knew something about her, some deep dark secret, that was shocking and scandalous, and they were now judging her as she walked by, whispering about her as she passed.

At first, she glanced around, thinking that maybe she was just being paranoid. Perhaps Hermione had been right, that there was something more to this “game” with Malfoy. Remembering his last words to her the night before, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, weasel – could that have been a veiled threat? Could he have done something that she hadn’t noticed? She was so consumed with trying to decipher what trap Malfoy had laid for her today that it took her almost ten minutes to see the posters, and only then, because a large group of students had gathered around the large banner that acted as their centerpiece, drawing her attention to it.

As her eyes scanned over the banner, Ginny shot out of her chair, and ran towards the crowd, pushing her way through, panic and outrage making her heedless of who she pushed aside. She stood stock still, staring at the words and images above her, hardly able to move. Strewn across the wall was a large banner, with the words “Ginny Weasley prostitutes herself in order to pay her tuition.” Decorating the banner, and the matching posters that were posted all around it, were pictures of her, which appeared – based on what she was wearing – to have been taken the night before at the reception, walking out of the Three Broomsticks with several different men. Her face began to burn as she watched her photographic self trying to keep Theodore Nott, Sr., steady as she lead him out of the bar, her hands on his arms as he tried to slide them down to grab her ass. Given the context of what had been written, it certainly looked like what the poster claimed she was doing.

“How terrible! Can you believe they let girls like this into our school?” a fourth year girl was whispering, just head of where Ginny was standing. She could hear others talking about it, not taken any care to conceal their words from her ears.

“It’s always the plain and innocent-looking ones you need to watch out for,” she could hear Pansy Parkinson saying, standing near the front of the assembled group. “It’s hard to believe, what with the way she prances around here so self-righteously, but she is dirt poor so I don’t see how this couldn’t be true.”

At these words, Ginny released a strangled cry of outrage, and suddenly, everyone was staring at her. The judgmental looks in their eyes felt like a punch to the stomach and even though she knew that there was no truth in what the poster claimed, she still felt a flood of shame. Her eyes unexpectedly began to sting with tears. She dashed forward, elbowing her way through the hostile crowd, until she was standing right below the banner. Trembling with anger, Ginny jumped up, trying desperately to grab a corner of the banner so she could tear it down. She missed the first time, but unable to give up, she tried again, and again. The students started laughing, and someone cast a spell, causing the poster to hover lower as she prepared to jump for it, then raising it as she tried futilely to grab for it.

Finally, she snagged a corner, and a brief ripping noise quelled some of the laughter. However, only a small piece of the banner had ripped off. Her face burning and the tears in her eyes dangerously close to overflowing, Ginny turned and pushed her way back through the crowd, stopping only to tear down one of the smaller posters displaying the moving photo of her with Theodore Nott, Sr. She crumpled it up and tossed it into the crowd, a small rush of triumph fueling her steps as it hit Pansy Parkinson squarely on the forehead. She then turned and ran from the Great Hall.

She ran until she found an empty corridor, where she slid to the ground, releasing a few shuddering gasps. Her mind spun through the scenario, and her focus shifted from the humiliation of the moment to the possible culprits. Her mind zeroed in on Malfoy, considering his words and actions from the night before, and his insistence that everyone could be bought. She began to shake with rage as she remembered that she had escorted the older men from the party to their carriages at his demand. Jumping up and angrily wiping her tears away, she grabbed her bag and started running down the hall, determined that she was going to find Malfoy and make him pay.


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Draco was sitting in the courtyard with his friends, idly enjoying the fresh air and debating whether or not he should take his broom down to the Quidditch pitch to fly around with Zabini for a bit, in an effort to shake his friend out of the fog he’d been wandering around in for the past few weeks. His quiet deliberation was interrupted every few moments as Crabbe and Goyle’s game of Exploding Snap progressed. Despite the chill in the air, the sun was warm and it was nice to be away from the group of brown-nosers that usually hung around when they ate lunch in the Great Hall.

The quiet was shattered completely as a spitting-mad redhead marched into the courtyard, walking straight up to him and standing in front of where he sat on the stone bench, arms crossed and cheeks stained pink with rage. Feigning disinterest, Draco turned his head towards her and stared back, giving her a casual shrug of his shoulder.

“My purchase of your services ended last night, weasel. You don’t have to see to my needs anymore,” he said with a haughty smile.

“You must think you’re extremely clever,” she snapped. Her brown eyes were dark and intense as she stared at him, pure defiance.

“Only because I am,” he said matter-of-factly. She rolled her eyes in disgust, and took a step forward.

“I thought that I made it perfectly clear last night, but as you seem to be a little slow in grasping the concept, I’ll indulge your stupidity and repeat myself. I cannot be bought, not by you or anyone else, and not for any price. For you to imply otherwise, and with such an outright and completely ridiculous lie, is just petty, tasteless and tacky,” she cried. He sat up straighter, leaning his head to one side and raising an eyebrow.

“Weasley, a girl of your background? Of course you have a price!” he laughed arrogantly. “The game is only going to stop when I found out what that price is.”

“I expected dirty tricks – you’re a Slytherin, they’re the only things you know. But I thought they might be at least a little bit on the cunning side. But telling everyone I work as prostitute to pay my tuition? It’s devoid of any creativity and completely tacky, even for someone like you!” she shouted. “While I may be poor, it does not mean I’m devoid of any morals. Yes, I have to pay my own way through school, but I do it waitressing to arrogant brats like you, not the way that you’ve claimed. I’ll have you know that my…” she stammered, searching awkwardly for the right word, “…my…virtue is fully intact and nothing you say to slander me can change that fact!”

With an angry toss of her hair, the Weasley girl turned on her heel and started marching away, not seeing the way that Crabbe and Goyle were practically choking on their laughter.

“Could have fooled me!” he called after her. She paused for a mere moment, as if contemplating turning back around to face off with him again, before she ran off. Draco was slightly disappointed; harassing her was a highly entertaining activity. He turned to his friends, shooting them a baffled look. “What was that all about? And did she just say what I thought she just said?”

“Didn’t you see the poster in the Great Hall?” Goyle asked through his laughter. “It was Pansy’s doing, I helped her put it up this morning. It’s hilarious because if she wasn’t so poor, there is no way anyone would believe it. I mean, just look at the girl.”

“Too bad this scene hadn’t taken place in a more public area. The way she marched down here to prudishly declare to Malfoy that she’s actually a virgin and not a prostitute like Pansy’s poster would lead one to believe would be proof enough to anyone that the poster’s all nonsense,” Goyle chortled. Draco chuckled a bit, his eyes staring off in the direction that she’d gone.


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Ginny ran all the way down to the Quidditch pitch, and once she reached there, she was still so angry, she threw her book bag, swinging it around and releasing it so that it flew a quarter of the way across the open field. Flopping down in the grass, Ginny’s mind was stewing over her confrontation with Malfoy, and she was kicking herself for letting him get away so easily. She had gone to find him, fully intending to attack him, to use one of the curses her brothers had taught her, to do something to make him pay for what he’d done, but the instant she saw him, all those plans had eluded her, and she found herself yelling at him.

As her mind shifted to what she actually said, her face began to burn. She covered her face with her hands, and groaned.

“Did I really tell him that my virtue is still intact?” she groaned to herself, hardly believing that she could have actually have said that. It sounded so prim and ridiculous, the kind of thing you’d find in cheesy historical romance novels. Wallowing for a few moments in her regrettable choice of words, she eventually started to question herself why it bothered her so much that she’d made an idiot of herself in front of Malfoy. He was her nemesis, someone determined to bully and harass her, it shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. Even though she kept telling herself this, she couldn’t escape the knowledge that even though it shouldn’t matter, it did.

“That was some interesting choice of dialogue, Weasley,” a cool voice said, light with amusement. Ginny started, having been lost in her thoughts, surprised to find Blaise Zabini stretching out on the grass beside her. She stiffened, reaching hastily to straighten her blouse and ensure that the hem of her skirt was pulled down, determined that this was one Slytherin she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in front of… at least not this time.

“Heard about it already?” she asked cautiously, turning to face Blaise as she spoke. After a moment, she grew conscious of the fact that she was looking at him, and that if she looked too long, it would seem like she was staring at him. She quickly faced forward again, trying to satisfy herself with taking in his appearance from of the corner of her eyes.

“Actually heard the entire conversation. I went looking for the guys, and when I found them… you were busy giving Malfoy a tongue-lashing. It happens so rarely, I couldn’t bear to interrupt,” he said, with a crooked half-smile that Ginny could see out of the corner of her eyes. He was flipping through a magazine, not even looking at her as he spoke so she felt that it was safe to turn her head back in his direction, taking a few seconds to once again admire his beauty. But then the horrible realization that he’d heard the entire dreadful and absolutely humiliating speech she’d given hit her, and Ginny once again wished she knew a spell that would make the earth open up and swallow her whole.

“Do you know what time it would be in Japan right now?” he asked, his voice distant, as if he didn’t really expect her to answer.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Ginny answered regretfully. He shrugged, and continued flipping pages in the magazine. Curious, Ginny leaned over to see what he was reading so intently, feeling uncomfortable with his silence, and felt a rush of excitement as she recognized the article. It was one she herself had read, while waiting in line at the owl post office, all about the national Quidditch team, with a spotlight on the new Seeker, the first woman ever to play in the World Cup.

“You’re reading about Cho Chang? I think she’s a fabulous Seeker. Did you know she went to Hogwarts? I think she was about two years ahead of me. Did you know her?” Ginny asked energetically. Cho Chang’s success as a female Quidditch star was one thing she often flaunted in front of her brothers, whenever they tried to keep her on the sidelines when they scrimmaged, using the excuse that she was girl and they didn’t want her to get hurt. Given her popularity at being the first female on the national team, Cho Chang’s picture was everywhere, and she had become quite a celebrity in the Wizarding world, endorsing products, modeling for ads and speaking in public regularly in between games.

“We’re very good friends,” Blaise answered, his eyes meeting hers. Ginny felt herself flush, thinking that perhaps her exuberance was a little too much, but she’d found an area of mutual interest between the two of them, and she wasn’t about to let the subject drop.

“She’s one of the reasons I ever decided to try playing as a Seeker. Everyone kept telling me that girls should only play as Chasers, but her success proved that a girl could actually do it. Of course, I eventually grew to like playing as a Chaser better, but at least I got to try it,” she said, remembering her tryouts for the Quidditch team in her third year. “I guess the semi-finals for the Quidditch World Cup are happening today, right? Is that why you were wondering about the time difference between here and Japan?”

He nodded distractedly, eyes still fixed on the photo of a smiling Cho Chang, holding her broomstick out proudly, clutching a Snitch whose wings were still flapping, trying to get away.

“It would be brilliant if they win, and go on to the finals, wouldn’t it? The first female Seeker to win the World Cup… that would be fantastic,” Ginny sighed. Blaise turned his head slowly.

“I suppose it would be,” he said with a shrug. Ginny frowned, wondering if she’d said something that he disagreed with. He kept his eyes trained on the magazine, and she awkwardly began playing with the blades of grass, uncomfortable in his return to silence. She was just running through a list of topics in her mind, planning to try to strike up another conversation with him when she heard a couple gasps from behind her. She turned around, and saw Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode standing at the entrance to the pitch, the expressions on their faces full of shock and surprise.

“What are you doing talking to her?” Pansy shrieked in outrage, her eyes fixed on Blaise. Ginny’s temper prickled, but she was conscious of the fact that Blaise was sitting right next to her, had already witnessed one embarrassing rampage by her today, and decided to hold her tongue, not wanting to make yet another bad impression.

“We weren’t talking,” Blaise said, as he stood up. He left the pitch, walking past his friends without even another word or a glance in their direction. Ginny watched him go, inwardly cursing Pansy and Millicent for interrupting the most productive interaction she’d ever had with him. Pansy, obviously affronted by Blaise’s slight, strutted over to where Ginny was sitting and glared down at her.

“Even if you are a complete slut, the Slytherin boys are completely out of your league and would never take the time to even notice a plain little whore like you. Especially Blaise Zabini,” she spat, her face burning red with rage. Ginny smiled.

“If that’s the case, then you should have nothing to worry about, even if he was talking to me,” Ginny with a smile as she stood up, brushed the stray grass from her skirt and walked back towards the school, debating whether she should owl the twins for some practical joke consultation. After all, she owed Malfoy a favor.


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All Hallows, Hogsmeade’s only nightclub, was incredibly crowded when Draco Malfoy walked in. Despite the crush of people on the dance floor, his arrival drew quite a bit of attention as a number of girls rushed forward, eager to meet the infamous son of one of the most powerful men in their world. Brushing past them, he headed straight towards the staircase that lead him to where he knew he’d find his friends, the VIP lounge.

It was a typical Friday night; Crabbe had a witch that was at least ten years older than him in one corner, Goyle had some insipid blonde giggling after everything ridiculous thing he said, Blaise was perched on the plush sofa by the window that looked out over the dance floor, distractedly staring at that infernal magazine that he’d been carrying around with him for days, while Parkinson and her group of girls perked up as soon as he entered, apparently having been waiting for him.

He ignored their eager glances, and instead sat next to Blaise who barely looked up at him as he passed him the folded piece of parchment he’d been carrying in his hand. Blaise unfolded the crumpled parchment, and his eyes scanned over it, and then looked up, frowning over his friend’s sulking expression.

“He seemed rather pleased with the reports of the event. You should be relieved, not looking as though someone kicked your Kneazle,” Blaise said, exasperated. Draco glared at him.

“Oh he’s very pleased, his son can act as a competent poster boy whenever he can’t make his own public appearances. If I keep demonstrating such astounding levels of competency, my exciting future of stroking the egos of the same old men, over and over again while discussing the same topics over and over again and occasionally frightening small children will be cemented,” Draco sneered sarcastically, then sighed heavily. “They’re all the same, all of them, so dull that just talking to them makes me consider stabbing my own eyes out just to get out of these functions, and I’ll be plagued with them for the rest of my life. An endless parade of monotony.”

“Your reception the other night stands out for me, Draco,” Pansy said, sauntering over to them. “Of course, the live entertainment you provided in the form of the Weasel definitely added some spice.”

Draco glared at her for her interruption but it was short lived as he realized that she was right – watching Weasley answer to the ridiculous demands of his friends with that tight smile and barely concealed contemptuous look in her eyes had been very entertaining. He’d made sure he’d been able to see as much of her as possible that night, simply so he could gauge her reactions.

In response to Pansy’s interruption, Blaise simply stood up and walked away without another word, but that was a usual practice for Zabini – he wasn’t known for being one to make much small talk. It was actually the reason that so many girls were eager to snare him – the mysterious, stoic and notoriously anti-social Blaise Zabini was considered quite the catch. Pansy waited until he was out of hearing range before settling down next to Draco, leaning in conspiratorially.

“I can’t abide by that Weasley girl anymore, I don’t know how you’ve tolerated her for this long. I think it’s time we made a final strike, eliminated her once and for all,” Pansy said, a malicious glint in her eyes. Draco studied her for a moment.

“Weasley is mine. I’ll decide when and what needs to be done to handle her,” he said authoritatively, with the air of someone who was completely certain of being obeyed. “I won’t have any more disasters like the Green and Stanley incident last week.”

“Are you sure about that? That she’s all yours, I mean. I think Blaise has been messing with her as well,” Pansy said innocently.

“What do you mean?” Draco asked suspiciously, his jaw hardening at her words.

“I saw them together down at the pitch this afternoon. You should have seen it because it was so bizarre. The girl was practically throwing herself at him, and he actually seemed to like it! He was even talking to her!” Pansy said incredulously. “I think that’s why we need to crush her, before she gets any big ideas about Zabini.”

A long moment of silence followed, and Pansy noted the way that Draco was glaring moodily off into space, as if lost in thought. Blaise Zabini, at that moment, called out that he was leaving and that he’d see them all later, and that seemed to snap Draco’s focus back to what Pansy was saying.

“Parkinson,” he said, his voice level but edged with a frostiness that caused Pansy to draw back, “Weasley is mine to deal with. Blaise is utterly indifferent to what happens, he’s completely wrapped up with the idea that Cho could be coming back in only a few days, and he never gets involved in the game. If you ever try to imply that he would do something behind my back ever again, you’ll have a taste of what life is like for the weasels in this world.”


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It took less than a day for the twins to answer Ginny’s plea for help, and another two days for her to collect the necessary ingredients and make the preparations. The only thing that made this stretch of time in any form bearable was the weekend liberated her from the Slytherins reach for a blissful forty-eight hours. But the other two days were filled with constant harassment – the banner prank and its allegations that Ginny was a prostitute was a concept that everyone seemed to latch on to with delight. She came to expect the word ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ to be scrawled across her desk in almost every classroom, no matter how many times she would wipe it away. Some more aspiring student had charmed one of the smaller posters to follow her around all day, floating after her. She’d grab it, tear it to pieces, but soon enough, another would appear to take its place. But the one that really irritated her was the continual use of the blasted skirt-shrinking charm that they’d used on her the day she’d received the blue Howler, but after the third try one day, she started wearing a pair of shorts under her kilt, thus circumventing any embarrassment caused by that trick.

Despite all these efforts, the actions of her classmates and the Slytherins were almost subdued, compared to the level they’d been at directly after she’d received the Howler. It was as if they were waiting for something, carrying on only as much as necessary to remind her that she was still a marked person, but nothing more. It no longer seemed as though they were trying to break her, and they were proceeding with a great deal more caution than before. Ginny often amused herself with the notion that maybe, because she hadn’t broken, because she’d struck back and lived to tell about it, they were frightened of her. Especially because, now, when they tripped or pushed her, she would push right back and throw in a curse or two for good measure.

But the posters continued to follow her around, a constant reminder of the horrible way that arrogant prat had damaged her reputation and mortified her beyond measure. Arriving for school on Tuesday morning, armed with her plans for retaliation, Ginny walked into the school, proudly wearing her blue sweater against the late autumn chill that had descended over the city, ready to glory in her opponent’s comeuppance, as delivered by her.

It arrived at lunch, so that everyone could see.


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One of the results of Draco Malfoy’s status as one of the most desirable boys at Hogwarts, considering his family’s wealth and standing with the Lord Voldemort, was that he was often plagued with secret admirers, who would bestow a number of small gifts and sweets on him, as a sign of their affection and admiration. The older he got, the more common the sight of a handful of owls flying towards his table during lunch, bearing tokens from these admirers, became, to the point where few even remarked upon it any longer. Depending on his mood, Draco would either make a big show of unwrapping their contents, measuring the sincerity of the gift based on what it turned out to be – the girls who had the audacity to proffer some homemade confection were clearly uncommitted in their efforts – often distributing its contents among his friends as he bragged about his popularity and greatness, as evidenced by his desirability among the female population of Hogwarts.

Which is why, when a small package arrived by owl Tuesday afternoon at lunch, it was hardly noted as an irregular occurrence. Draco, who had been looking rather pensive throughout the morning and had reportedly been in a terrible mood, barely glanced at it as it landed next to his plate. It was a small box, but it was finely wrapped in silver paper and tied with a green bow, and it drew Crabbe’s attention.

“Who’s this one from?” he asked, picking it up and scrutinizing it. Draco glowered at him, and shrugged it away.

“Probably from one of his many admirers,” Pansy cooed. “I was beginning to worry about your popularity – after that incident with that bloody Weasley girl, you haven’t been getting as many owls.”

“Isn’t that much better for you? Less competition?” Goyle laughed, poking Pansy jokingly as he spoke. She cast him a nasty look.

“This one at least has discerning taste,” Goyle interjected.

“And how could you possibly know that? Unless you’re the one who sent it,” Crabbe jeered, to which Goyle smacked him on the shoulder.

“The color scheme is rather appropriate. Remember the red and gold one he got a few weeks back?” he said with a mock shudder. “Gryffindor colors, hardly suitable for impressing anyone, let alone such an ardent Slytherin as our friend Draco.”

“If I open the bloody thing, will you all shut up?” Draco growled, snatching the box out of Crabbe’s hand. His friends merely smiled at his gruffness, for they were used to his moods and never took much offence to what he said or did when he was in the middle of one. Scowling at them, he tore the paper and took the lid off the box. Peering down, he snorted derisively and set it down dismissively.

“What is it?” Goyle asked, peering into the box.

“It’s just a custard cream, nothing special about it,” Draco scoffed.

“Just one?” Goyle asked, as he reached for the box. “If you’re not going to eat it, I’ll take it!”

Draco snatched it out of his friend’s grasp, glaring at him, as everyone at the table started to laugh at him. It was a well-known fact that Draco was incredibly possessive about anything that could be considered his possession, and they always joked that he was like the dragon his name implied, hoarding his ‘treasure’ and protecting it from others. Shooting them all a dangerous look, he took the pastry out of the box, and with a heavy sigh, he bit into it. After chewing tentatively for a few moments, he swallowed and shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s not bad,” he pronounced, setting it down on the table in front of him. Someone further down the table said something that caught everyone’s attention, and Draco and his mysterious gift were completely forgotten. Which is why it came as such a great surprised when, less than sixty seconds later, he suddenly transfigured into a giant yellow canary.


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Ginny was watching from the hallway, peering into the door where she had a picturesque view of the Slytherin table, watching the arrival of the parcel, the exchange between him and his friends, and the beautiful culmination of four days’ effort, when the twins creation, The Canary Cream, took effect and transfigured the proudest and most arrogant student in the whole school into a giant, yellow canary. Ginny couldn’t help giggling as she watched him flap around in surprise, feathers flying everywhere as his helpless friends shot back from the table, surprised at what had happened. The noise level in the Great Hall indicated that it was absolute pandemonium, and Ginny watched with a satisfied amusement as her fellow students tripped over themselves to see what had happened.

It would only last a few minutes, Fred and George had written, before he would moult and return to the same pompous git that he’d always been, sans feathers. As Malfoy continued to flail, a harsh chirping noise escaping from his beak, feathers filled the air and it was hard to see what was going on.

“Is that a giant canary in the Great Hall?” an amused voice asked, and Ginny suddenly felt her heart leap into her throat as she recognized it. She looked up to her right, and saw him standing right next to her, a vaguely amused smile on his face.

“Haven’t you ever seen it before? It’s practically a permanent fixture these days,” she said, amazed at her own ability to speak in something beyond monosyllables or psychotic excited babble about Quidditch stars when he was in her presence. “It just decided to show off its feathers today.”

Blaise Zabini laughed. He actually threw his head back and laughed. Unsure as to what to make of it, Ginny looked straight ahead, and saw that the moulting was almost finished and it was now possible to make out Draco Malfoy’s furiously red face among the crowd and flying feathers.

“A giant yellow canary?” Blaise asked, shooting her an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

“I think the color is rather appropriate for a coward,” Ginny said in mock-defensiveness. She smiled up at him, and shrugged innocently. Blaise just shook his head, watching the drama unfold in the Great Hall as Malfoy, freed of his beak, began to shout, demanding to know what had happened and who had dared to play such an outrageous prank on him, The Great Draco Malfoy.

“At the very least, it’s a fairly clever bit of magic,” Blaise said, sounding slightly impressive. Ginny was surprised at how animated he seemed – he was usually so quiet and serious. “It must have taken you awhile to figure out how to transfigure something that large.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ginny said coyly, pure innocence. He looked down at her, his eyes sparkling with a knowing look, and she couldn’t help smiling at him, barely able to contain her giggling as her heart started beating even faster at the sight of those beautiful eyes twinkling at her as they shared a joke, just between the two of them.

It was only after he laughed one last time, and turned down the hall, away from the pandemonium, that she realized that she, in a kind-of-sort-of-maybe type of way, had flirted with Blaise Zabini!


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In the midst of the chaos, all the yelling, screaming and choked laughter, Draco Malfoy had turned his head, trying to remove a bit of feather fluff that had landed in his eyes after several unsuccessful attempts given that in place of arms, he now had wings. Through the feathers that littered the air around him, he could see two figures standing in the hall, watching the scene, laughing together as if they were sharing some secret joke.

Incensed, he started to move forward, forgetting that he didn’t have feet, but a bird’s claws, and fell over. Maneuvering his body, he shifted so he could see them through people’s feet, and he saw Blaise Zabini smiling down at that bloody Weasley girl, who was giggling with him while Draco flailed around on the floor, humiliated for all to see.

In the midst of all the commotion, Pansy’s mild accusation that Blaise may have his own designs for the weasel filled his head, and he narrowed his eyes angrily as he saw Ginny Weasley blush and smile at his best friend.


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A/N: Thanks again to all those who have been reading and commenting! I really appreciate it.

This chapter was originally over 30 pages long, so I decided to split it into a few pieces. The next chapter has already been written, and will be posted very shortly – a day or two at the most, as soon as I’ve finished editing.

Couple notes:

-the fact that the Quidditch World Cup is taking place in Japan is an homage to the fact that Hana Yori Dango, the manga/anime/drama series that inspired this crazy AU CrackFic, comes from Japan.

-the Canary Cream is obviously from GoF, and the part where Neville is unknowingly the first to try it is one of my favorite Twins moment.

Drawn from HYD:
1) the prank that calls Ginny a whore. The wording and extent of the prank is actually far less in HYD, but it's been twisted to fit the plot of CIC so far, and the magical world.
2) the part where Ginny tracks Malfoy down and delcares that the poster isn't true because she's a version was adopted from a similar scene in Meteor Garden. The context and wording have been changed, but really, that's the scene the idea came from.

Sorry this update took longer than promised, I had some Events In Computer Land that prevented my updating. To make up for it, I’ve posted more than I originally planned, making it a Monster Chapter of Doom.

This is quite possibly my favorite chapter I’ve ever written, and it’s totally for Jade Summers, who, in her own special way, complained that this fic is taking my attention away from BC. I don’t know if she’s even reading it, but I thought I’d be snarky dedicating a chapter of the fic that’s taken my attention away from BC to her. Hee.


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Chapter 7: Breaking the Impasse

The crush of people in the Three Broomsticks had destroyed the restaurant’s usually quiet and comfortable atmosphere. Instead of the families and business partners dining in the main area, there were crowds and crowds of rowdy Quidditch fans, gathered together to celebrate an incredible victory. Their team, through a marvelous move by Cho Chang, had won the Quidditch World Cup by ten points. The entire city was in a frenzy of excitement, with people running through the streets, shouting merrily.

Ginny looked around with a sigh, before she set back to work. By all appearances, the celebrations were never going to cease, and she would be there the entire night, despite the large pile of homework she had waiting for her, work that she’d neglected all weekend, choosing instead to plot her revenge on Malfoy. She glanced at Madame Rosmerta with a pleading look in her eyes, and the older woman smiled apologetically and shrugged. With a sigh, Ginny set back to work, enjoying the crowd’s excitement despite the fact that it meant it would be hours before she could be free to take part in her own celebrations – she had a Butterbeer and a recording of the wireless broadcast of the game that Hermione had made for her while she was at school waiting for her back at her flat (along with her gigantic pile of homework).

Making her way through the excited crowd, she spotted a tall blonde girl waving to get her attention. Ginny frowned when she finally spotted her, and froze when she realized that it was Claire Carmichael, looking at her with a tentative smile and pleading eyes. Ginny returned the smile before the rush of Claire’s betrayal hit her again – this was the girl who she’d stuck her neck out for, for whom she’d received the Howler, the girl who had abandoned her and looked the other way when it had been Ginny’s turn to need help. She set her jaw, and walked towards her, the pain of Claire’s silence over the week fresh on her mind.

“Ginny! I’ve been trying to get you alone for so long, but every time I try to find you, you’re always with the Slytherins,” Claire cried when Ginny finally made it through the crowd to the corner where Claire was waiting for her.

“You’d better stop talking to me. You don’t want to make it appear to anyone that we’re friends, you’d just get yourself into hot water and it would all be for nothing,” Ginny said venomously.

“I’ve been trying to apologize, to find a way to tell you that I’m sorry,” Claire said, looking around her suspiciously, checking to see if there were any other Hogwarts students around.

“I have to get back to work, Claire,” Ginny said, her voice cold impatient.

“When are you finished? Can I meet you after? I’d really like to talk, Ginny,” she pleaded, sounding desperate. Ginny remembered her earlier kindnesses and the thrill she’d felt upon believing that she’d actually made a true friend at Hogwarts, and her resolve to be cold towards the pretty girl melted.

“Rosmerta will probably close down around 11, and I should be done soon after, she has enough closers on tonight. Meet me here then,” Ginny said. Claire smiled, and jumped up excitedly.

“Thank you, Ginny,” she said, sincerely.


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The streets of Hogsmeade were alive with the victory celebrations; it was sheer chaos and any attempts to move around the streets were nearly impossible. In the center square, someone had erected a banner that was charmed to count down the hours until the Quidditch team was set to return to Hogsmeade, to attend the festivities that were being hastily arranged to welcome back the championship team to the city where many of the members were from; particularly Cho Chang, whose family had moved there when she had started attending Hogwarts, who was officially the hometown heroine.

Draco Malfoy and two of his closest friends were walking around the downtown area, watching with disdain as the lower classes celebrated in the streets, as they contemplated the best spot to enjoy themselves, away from the commoners who made up the crowd.

“The city is an absolute mess,” Goyle said, as a drunken wizard stumbled past him.

“It won’t be for long. The team is supposed to be returning tomorrow, and you know the mayor and many of the ministers are going to be breaking their backs to roll out the red carpet welcome for them,” Crabbe laughed.

“Where is Zabini?” Draco asked, the first time he’d spoken since his friends had appeared at his doorstep, insisting that he come out with them. After the “incident” at lunch (for that was what they were calling it, not daring to prod his temper by referring to it in any detail), he’d been deathly silent all afternoon, only responding to anyone who was brave enough to speak to him with a dangerous-looking glare that had enough barley controlled rage behind it to boil water.

“He’s probably camped out under that count-down banner in the square, watching the time until Cho comes back tick away,” Goyle said, with an impatient air. As a boy who had never had a real relationship, and switched from girl to girl as soon as he grew bored with one, he couldn’t quite comprehend Blaise’s preoccupation with just one girl that he’d known his whole life.

“He said he needed the night to himself, to ‘reflect’,” Crabbe said, with a roll of his eyes. “You’d think he’d be more excited – Cho’s going to be back here tomorrow, and he’s acting like it’s the end of the world.”

“It’s because they won. Now that they’re the World Champions, she won’t be staying here for long. She’ll probably join a pro-team, and be on tour and such, and then he’ll hardly ever see her,” Crabbe said.

“Let’s go to the town square, that’s where he’ll probably be,” Draco said, noting to himself that the Three Broomsticks was across the street from where they were heading.


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Things had miraculously started to calm down shortly after 10, as the reality of work the next morning began to settle in on those who had been celebrating since noon. The exhausted staff had banded together, working quickly to close the place down, most eager to join the last dregs of the celebrations occurring across the street in the town square. After wiping off the last of the tables and helping Hermione sweep the floor, Madame Rosmerta waved Ginny off, telling her to get home and take care of her homework and promising her a night off in return for agreeing to stay the couple hours after her shift was supposed to end in order to assist with the extra customers.

After changing out of her uniform and relating to Hermione the success of the twins’ creation, complete with an imitation of the sight of Malfoy flapping his wings around in surprise, Ginny spotted Claire waiting for her through the large store-front window. Calling goodnight to Hermione over her shoulder, Ginny grabbed her bag and headed out to meet her.

Their conversation was definitely stilted and awkward, as they walked slowly down the street, heading in no particular direction.

“I never had a chance to thank you for what you did for me, and after all the trouble it caused you, I was so afraid that you’d hate me for it,” Claire was explaining. “And… I saw everything they were doing to you, and I was terrified that the same thing would happen to me.”

Ginny looked up in surprise at Claire’s honesty, and nodded slowly. “I assumed that’s what happened.”

“You’ve just been so incredible, Ginny. I don’t know how you’ve stood up to Draco Malfoy! He’s terrifying, and you’ve just faced him down like you weren’t afraid at all,” Claire said earnestly.

“I was at first, but there’s really nothing to be afraid of. He’s just a pompous spoiled child who likes to kick and scream when he doesn’t get his way, but what has he ever done to keep everyone around him so afraid of displeasing him?” Ginny asked with exasperation. “Nothing, and it’s about time everyone realizes it, and takes away the only real power he has – fear.”

“But Ginny!” Claire exclaimed, stopping in her tracks, a look of abject horror in her eyes. “You have every reason to be afraid of Draco Malfoy! Haven’t you heard the stories?”

“What stories?” Ginny asked suspiciously, preparing to hear some tall tale rumor that she could later brush off as ridiculous embellishment.

“He knows how to use two of the three Unforgivables, and he’s the youngest person ever reported to have actually used the Cruciatus Curse on a human being! They say that when he was only 14, he got so angry with someone that he nearly killed him, and that it was only because Professor McGonagall was there to stop him that he didn’t, and because of who his father is, no teacher dares to punish him for whatever he does. He’s really a dangerous person, Ginny,” Claire said breathlessly. Ginny stared at her, this new information running through her mind.

“I’m sure that all sounds like it is true, Claire, but I’ve been at Hogwarts for six years with him and this is the first that I’ve heard of it,” Ginny said quietly, mostly to herself.

“But it is! The sister of the boy who was cursed was in my class at Beauxbatons, and she left the term early to visit her brother at Saint Mungo’s!” Claire cried and Ginny felt a chill run down her spine. “No one, even now, knows what provoked him to curse him so badly, but Jill always said that even her brother didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it. And you’ve done what no other person has ever dared to do – you stood up to him, you fought back and you’re still alive to tell about it!”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Ginny said, even though she fighting against a wave a panic that threatened to wash over her entire body. Claire grabbed her hand, squeezing tightly.

“You were just so brave Ginny, I could never have done what you did. And I was too scared even to speak to you at school, even after all you did for me. I’m really sorry,” she said emphatically, and Ginny felt her panic recede as she saw the absolute sincerity in her eyes.

“You were right not to speak up for me. In fact, if anyone were to see us together, it would be really bad, so you should probably go,” Ginny said, looking around her. “I wouldn’t want you to get caught and have a Howler sent to you, because then everything would have been a huge waste.”

“Hey, isn’t that Blaise Zabini standing there? What do you think he’s doing, just staring up at that banner with the count-down clock on it?” Claire said suddenly. Ginny looked over to the middle of the town square, and indeed, the tall form of Blaise Zabini was standing in the middle, watching the clock count down. Ginny felt her face flush as she remembered the moments they’d spent together, and the actual conversation they’d had that afternoon. It had felt almost like they were friends. After hearing the results of the final Quidditch World Cup match, she’d been wondering how he’d react – he hadn’t seem too excited by the prospect of Cho Chang’s success there. Telling Claire that she’d be right back, she ran across the street towards him.

“You must be excited about your friend returning,” she said, trying to appear as casual as possible, and not as if she’d just walked across the street to talk to him. Blaise looked down at her, appearing surprised to see her, as if he’d been lost in his own world and her voice had pulled him out of it. “And about the win, too, of course.”

“Yeah,” he said simply, without sounding excited at all. Ginny looked up at him in confusion and noted with surprise that he seemed almost sad. After a long pause, he spoke again. “Yeah, I guess I should be happy for her.”

“She’s a bit of a national hero already – her picture is in every magazine and newspaper and she endorses and models for all those products. Now everyone will know who she is,” Ginny said brightly, trying to think of something to cheer him up. Blaise’s face was so neutral and unemotional.

“And everyone can have a piece of her,” he said, with a strange tone to his voice that caused a swell of anxiety in Ginny as he spoke. He laughed – one soft little laugh that hardly seemed a laughed at all, and gave Ginny a wry half-smile. “She plans to stop by Hogwarts some time tomorrow. I’ll introduce you.”

“Really?” Ginny cried, grabbing his arm in her excitement. He nodded, and realizing what she’d done, she released his arm, dropping it as if she’d been burned. Feeling a flush of heat rush to her face, Ginny stood beside him awkwardly, trying to figure out what she should say, but he was already staring back at the clock again and was no longer aware of her existence. Nerves tingling with a mix of embarrassment and excitement, Ginny ran back over to Claire, who was waiting and watching her with a great deal of curiosity.

“Are you friends with Blaise Zabini?” she asked in an awed whisper. Ginny laughed, shaking her head.

“He’s not as bad as the others, he doesn’t seem to mind when I talk to him,” she said, remembering the way he’d come to her rescue the day she’d been pulled into that empty classroom by the two Slytherins that Malfoy had sent after her. “He seems rather snobby because he’s so quiet, but he can be pretty nice.”

Claire studied her for a moment, before smiling indulgently with a knowing look in her eyes.

“Sure, he’s nice. The fact that he’s bloody gorgeous has nothing at all to do with your opinion of him,” she laughed. “So bloody gorgeous, you seem to also be forgetting that he’s a Slytherin and your arch nemesis’ best friend!”

“Claire!” Ginny protested, dashing after her friend as she started walking down the street, laughing after her, completely oblivious to the fact that they were being watched by a pair of gray eyes that had been following them since they had exited the Three Broomsticks together.


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Snape’s face had taken on a lovely shade of puce by the end of his class, and he was threatening to curse the next person who answered his question with the wrong answer. Ginny watched with a great amount of amusement, as she was normally the one who was the object of Snape’s threats, but as nearly every student was preoccupied with the exciting rumor that the World Championship Seeker would be stopping by the school before the end of the day, the level of distraction was extremely high. So accustomed to being excluded from any major event that occurred by the sheer fact that she didn’t fit the ‘criteria’, Ginny felt a small thrill run down her spine as she thought of Blaise Zabini’s promise to introduce her to Cho Chang. She kept reminding herself that he was only a Slytherin and therefore, his word shouldn’t mean too much, but the possibility that he’d do something so nice and unexpected caused a flurry of butterflies to stir in her stomach.

By the end of the school day, however, no championship Quidditch team had appeared on the school grounds, and tempers began to run rather high. Ginny laughed to herself, despite her own disappointment, as she watched the spoiled and pampered brats try to deal with frustration of not getting what they wanted. The whole school would have been sulking by the end of the day, if word of the victory party that the Changs were hosting in Cho’s honour hadn’t spread around, renewing their hopes that they would get a chance to associate with the national hero – if they were among those lucky enough to receive an invitation.

Ginny had just stored her books in her bag, and was reaching into the storage cupboard where she kept her broomstick during school hours when a flurry of excitement caught her attention. A group of first year boys were running down the hall, obviously excited about something. Curiously, Ginny craned her neck in an attempt to glean what the excitement was all about.

“Peter, where are you going?” a stander-by called out.

“Didn’t you hear?” a short, pudgy boy who had been running with the pack asked incredulously as he paused to answer his friend. “There’s been another Howler! They’ve got her down by the pitch for the Slytherins’ Quidditch practice!”

“Her? Another girl?”

“It’s Claire Carmichael, one of the sixth years. She was caught talking to the Weasel by Draco Malfoy last night and he’s tagged her for it. Come on, I want to get down there as fast as possible! They say she started crying as soon as she got the Howler, not like that bloody stubborn Gryffindor, so she’s probably going to break pretty fast!”

Ginny’s head snapped up, feeling as though she’d been struck by lightning and it became very difficult to breathe as she became dizzy with anger. She was going to kill that arrogant little bastard! Without any further thought, without even considering the disturbing account that Claire had given her the night before of exactly what Malfoy was capable of, she wrenched her broom out of the cupboard, slamming the door shut, and she ran as fast as she could towards the pitch, not even noticing that she’d dropped her book bag on the floor.


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Claire Carmichael’s hands were shaking, and her ears were filled with the jeering of the other students, who were watching her as she stood in the middle of the pitch, clutching a Beater’s club tightly in her hands as she looked to the sky, half afraid that another Bludger would be heading her way. Her knees were covered in mud from the last time one of the heavy balls had rocketed towards her and she’d had to dash out of the way or face being smashed by the violently careening object. The shouting students who had come to watch the sixth year girl “help” the Slytherins with their Quidditch practice had formed a circle around her, so that she was unable to escape, and had taken to pushing her off balance whenever the members of the Quidditch team, circling above them, chose to bat a Bludger towards the shaking girl.

The crowd was so completely preoccupied on watching her struggle against them that they hardly noticed as Ginny Weasley pushed her way through them, clutching her broom tightly in her hand until she broke through the crowd, rushing to stand in front of Claire, swinging out wildly with her broom when some of the more eager boys tried to push her out of the way. They were all yelling and staring at her with eyes filled with anger and rage. They’d already been disappointed once today, and weren’t about to let someone they despised bring about another disappointment, but there was also a feeling of excitement, that the moment they’d been waiting for had finally come. The crazy Weasley girl, who had dared to challenge the Slytherins, who still hadn’t suffered the consequences of her actions, might have finally gone too far, and that possibility meant entertainment for the bored students who had gathered around to torture Claire.

“You lot of bloody cowards had better back away before I curse all of you,” she yelled, holding her broom out threateningly in front of her, just inches away from the faces of three third year Slytherins. She was so focused on glaring back at all those eyes that were glaring at her, that she almost didn’t notice the hissing noise of the Bludger as it was rammed through the air, towards her. Luckily, her Quidditch training kicked in, and she looked up in time to notice it. The crowd around her dashed away amid a flurry of startled cries. Driven purely by instinct borne of many afternoons spent out on the pitch, Ginny swung her broom out as hard as she could, and smashed the Bludger back up into the sky, hearing a large crack fill the air as the butt of her broom splintered from the impact.

Gasping after the Bludger was safely airborne again, Ginny looked above her, and spotted the smug face of Draco Malfoy, holding a Beater’s club. Trembling with anger, Ginny glared at him defiantly before looking down to figure out how much damage her broom had sustained in defense of its owner. Malfoy, who had been hovering just above the crowd, slowly lowered himself to the ground, dismounting gracefully right in front of her.

“Problem, weasel? You’re interfering with our Quidditch practice,” he said brightly, as if he hadn’t almost succeeded in taking her head off with a Bludger.

“You don’t even play Quidditch!” Ginny snapped without even thinking, and immediately cursed her tongue, wishing she’d had a wittier response prepared. But it was true that Malfoy did not play on his House’s Quidditch team, even though many of the girls who sighed after him often spoke about how well he played the game. It was rumored that he did not wish to play in a league where the level of competition was so “below” his level of “talent”. It was actually a blessing for those who did want to play Quidditch at Hogwarts, for if Malfoy or even one of the more high-profile Slytherins ever decided they wanted to play, a large majority of those on the opposing teams would ensure that they were not beaten, so as not to insult the powerful them and face the consequences, which would have killed any sense of competition at the school.

“We have an important game coming up, so, magnanimous person that I am, I offered my expertise in coaching our team,” he said, completely arrogant and completely unaware of how absolutely ridiculous he sounded. “Carmichael, here, was providing some assistance to our Beaters. And you are interfering, weasel. Careful, you may cost your House some points for such a show of bad sportsmanship.”

“You leave Claire out of this! This is between you and me, so you’d better leave her alone!” Ginny cried, stepping up to Malfoy, determined to glare at him as threateningly as she possibly could. He looked down at her with a strange half-smile on his face, before he looked away with a laugh.

“Are you confused about something, weasel? Or perhaps your memory isn’t very sharp – you are a poor little Weasley, it’s only to be expected,” he said, beginning to circle around her slowly, like a shark around its prey.

“What nonsense are you talking now, Malfoy? Or are you just trying to find some way to explain this situation that doesn’t make you look like a pathetic coward by getting your thugs to gang up on a terrified girl?” Ginny spat at him. He stopped in his tracks, a cold expression on his face and a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“You’re the one who declared war, weasel. Don’t blame me for what happens to your friends, because the minute you did that, they became fair game,” he said, his voice low and chilling. “Divide and conquer. You’ve already chosen your own war tactic, and I’ve merely followed suit.”

“War tactic?” she questioned, before remembering the prank she’d pulled with the Canary Cream. Had he known it was her? She had figured it was a risk, considering that there were not many people around who would otherwise be willing to anger the Malfoy heir to that extent, but since nothing had happened immediately following that incident, she’d hoped that he hadn’t been bright enough to figure out who it had been. But it seemed he did know, and that now Claire was paying the price for her petty revenge. “I told you that if you hit me, I was going to hit you right back. That was for the posters, and it has nothing to do with Claire. If you want to fight back, then I’m your target, not her or anybody else!”

Malfoy moved his eyes from their intent gaze at her, looking instead at Claire, who was now collapsed on the sodden ground, sobbing and covered with mud. When his eyes fell back on Ginny, she had to fight against the urge to squirm under that appraising and cold look, and she had to wonder how anyone could look so casually threatening while leaning nonchalantly against his broom.

“I’ll make you an offer, weasel, seeing as I’m such a great and generous man,” he said, stepping towards her with his trademark swagger, causing her to take a step back to avoid being too close to him. There was something about his physical presence that completely unnerved her – she’d experienced it at the Three Broomsticks the night he’d caught her in front of the mirror. She’d been powerless to move away from him, even as his closeness made her skin crawl. “I will call off the whole game – all of it, if you can do one thing.”

“Whatever it is, it had better be worth it, because I’m certainly won’t be letting you off too easily!” she cried out defiantly, which was answered with a number of loud jeering cries from their spectators. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she felt a swell of panic rush through her body and she became slightly light-headed. Malfoy, for his part, looked slightly startled at her challenge, before smiling maliciously, his eyes falling on her broom, the bottom of which had splintered from the impact of the Bludger.

“Everyone has heard you boast enough times at how well you fly, considering the laughable state of your pathetic second-hand broom. Let’s put that arrogance of yours to the test. If you can catch me, I’ll call the whole thing off, and I’ll even take back your friend’s Howler,” he said, his eyes bright with pleasure as he spoke. Looming over her, his voice silky and dangerous, he continued. “However, if it turns out that you’re just a noisy girl with no Quidditch skills after all, nothing changes. The war is still on, and everything and everyone is fair prey.”

“You’d better hope that fancy broom of yours has some really amazing built-in features. Because you are going to need all the help you can get,” Ginny answered, her eyes lit with the thrill of the challenge, clutching her broom, ignoring the shattered end and splintered shaft, and prepared to mount. “Shall I give you a head start? As a matter of courtesy, of course, because I’m inevitably going to destroy you.”


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They had been headed towards the Quidditch pitch, knowing that the Slytherins were holding practice after classes were over and since Slytherin practices always drew a crowd, it would be the place to go to find their friends. But as Blaise Zabini and Cho Chang neared closer, they spotted two people on brooms bolting through the air, flying away from the pitch. Even more curious was the crowd of people who were running after them, all with their heads craned back to watch the sky as they ran, following the flyers. As the students ran past where they’d stopped on the path in order to figure out what exactly was happening, hardly a single person noticed who they were or that they were standing there, they were all so engrossed in watching the happenings above them.

“What is this all about, do you think?” Cho asked with a curious smile on her face. “This isn’t the way I remember Quidditch practice at Hogwarts.”

“Let me find out,” Blaise answered, frowning as he recognized Draco as the one on the broomstick ahead of the one who was lagging behind. That broomstick was obviously malfunctioning, as was evident by the trail of smoke he or she was leaving behind him. Spotting Crabbe among the throng following after the two in the air, Blaise called out to him, asking what was happening.

“Malfoy challenged Weasley to a race. If she catches him, he’ll take back her Howler, and the one he sent the Carmichael girl this afternoon,” Crabbe called back. Hearing this, Blaise looked up to see where they were heading, and knowing his friend’s pride and the way he thought better than most, he groaned.

“He’s not headed where I think he’s heading, is he?” Cho’s soft voice asked, full of concern. “He can’t possibly be that foolish!”

“It’s Draco,” Blaise answered, with a pointed look. “Of course he’s that foolish.”

“You have to stop him!” Cho said, her dark eyes filled with worry. “He’ll get the both of them killed, but especially her, judging by the way her broomstick seems to be lagging behind. There’s no way she’ll be able to get around the tree, not like that.”

Blaise sighed heavily, but one look at the earnestly pleading eyes of Cho Chang, and he grabbed her hand, pulling her along with them as they followed the crowd, which was definitely headed in the direction of the Whomping Willow, a tree which Draco Malfoy had once successfully flown around twice in succession without being hit by the tree’s dangerously flailing limbs, a fact he often announced whenever someone even remotely questioned his flying abilities.


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If you can’t beat the speed of their broom, then make sure you out-fly them, her brother Charlie had always told her while she watched the boys play Quidditch. Charlie was the best player of her brothers, and probably could have had a shot at playing professionally, had he been allowed to attend a wizarding school that played Quidditch. As she followed behind Malfoy, the wind screaming past her, she could feel the way that her broom was pulling to the left, and the sluggish response it was giving to her movements. Not knowing quite how much damage that Bludger had actually done, Ginny knew that she would never be able to catch Malfoy, who was flying on a superior broom that wasn’t broken.

That just meant that she had to out-maneuver him. She’d followed him as he flew away from the pitch, looking up only to see that he seemed to be leading her closer to the edge the Forbidden Forest, a fact that gave her the advantage that she was looking for. The Weasley children were always playing Quidditch – out in the open spaces near their house when they it was dark enough to avoid detection by the Muggles who lived nearby, or in the woods when it wasn’t. That was where she’d learned to maneuver, in order to dodge all the tree branches. But that was never on a broken broom, a voice in her head warned her. Seeing Malfoy pull to the left suddenly, Ginny ignored the voice and followed him, determined to at least keep pace as closely as possible until her opportunity appeared.

Unfortunately, that opportunity would never emerge. Just as she was planning to swiftly change directions and cut off Malfoy’s route, the tree he’d lead her towards started to move. Cursing loudly, she realized with a jolt of fear that they’d flown right into the path of the bloody Whomping Willow. She swerved to the right as a large branch came hurtling towards her, and nearly screamed as she heard it swish past her ear, barely missing her head. She could feel the way her broom was pulling to the left, slowing her down and decreasing her ability to make any swift maneuvers. As another branch swung towards her, she considered pulling away, feeling that she probably couldn’t follow Malfoy as he wove in and out of the shifting branches, not with the way her broom was behaving. But just before she was about to turn out of her current flight path, away from danger and out of the tree’s reach, she saw him look over his shoulder, an arrogant smirk on his face and a knowing look in his eyes. He knew that there was no way she could keep up, and that common sense would force her to pull out, to let him win.

Well, Ginny was never one for common sense – at least not when there was a challenge thrown into the mix and her pride was on the line, along with all the other stakes. Gritting her teeth, she urged her broom on, following him through a large thick of branches, making slight adjustments to avoid being struck. He looked back again, and this time, instead of an arrogant smirk, his face flushed with rage, and he pushed his broom faster, taking a sudden veer upwards, shooting up through the branches, darting deftly as the branches swung towards him. Ginny followed him up, but she was too slow and she felt a hiss of pain as a tree branch whipped her forehead, causing her to cry out.

Shooting out of the trees, Malfoy suddenly changed directions, heading straight down. Smiling to herself, knowing that Wronski Feints were her specialty, Ginny dove after him, dodging branches as well as she could. A few snagged at her sweater, but she ignored him, her eyes focused on the ground in front of her. Just before he smashed headlong to the ground, Malfoy pulled up, taking a turn around the tree’s large trunk. As Ginny began to pull up herself, she felt a strange shudder from her broom, and nearly panicked as it refused to pull out of the dive. Yanking up, pulling with all her might, her hands slippery with perspiration, she was finally able to change directions. She’d been so caught up with trying to keep from crashing into the ground that she’d had no time to scout ahead of her, so when an enormous tree branch swung suddenly in front of her, she had no time to move out of its way.

It caught her on the side, smashing into her ribcage. The force of the impact sent her flying from her broom, and she threw her arms out in front of her, trying to break her fall with something other than her face. She landed, with her right arm curled under her body, hearing a sickening snap of her wrist and feeling a giant shock of pain jolt through her body. She lay on the cold, wet ground, feeling muddy water seep into her clothing as she struggled to move, to breathe, to do something. The force of her fall had knocked the wind from her, and her chest was protesting as she tried to draw a breath. Above the din of the crowd that had gathered and seen her fall, she could hear the whistling of the Whomping Willow’s tree branches as they swung through the air, and knew that she had to get out of its way before it decided that knocking her off her broom wasn’t sufficient and tried to smash her into the ground.


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She pushed herself up to her feet using her left arm while cradling her throbbing right hand to her body, crying out at the way her movements jarred her already-swelling wrist. She felt a wave of nausea wash over her as she saw the angle at which it was bent. Disoriented from her fall and pain, she stumbled away from the tree just in time, as a large branch swerved towards her, bashing the ground where she’d been laying. She could hear them laughing at her, but with her throbbing hand, the stinging cut across her forehead and the fact that she was covered in mud and shivering from the cold air, it was difficult to care.

What mattered most was the fact that she’d lost. The crowd was settling in around her, their eyes shining in triumph that their leader, their bloody idol, hadn’t lost to such a lowly Gryffindor who talked a big game. Ignoring them, she sloshed through the muddied ground to where her broom was lying in a giant puddle. Her movements were slow and stiff, as almost every muscle in her body was aching, and she noticed that the side of her body where the tree struck was beginning to throb painfully every time she took more than a shallow breath.

“I’m still waiting for you to destroy me, Weasley,” Draco Malfoy called out, his voice filled with amusement. He’d just jumped off his broom, landing a few feet in front of her. She lifted her head, unable to say anything in response. The most she could muster was a look that she could only hope communicated the depths of her hatred for him. “It looks like you really are only talk,” he said. “It’s a pity. I’m beginning to grow bored with the game, but it looks like it’s going to carry on a bit longer.”

“That’s fine. Just leave Claire out of it,” she muttered, hating how weak her voice sounded. Those eyes of his – the ones that could spot every weakness and sore point about her very being, so that he could use it to his advantage – were hard enough to face when she was a hundred percent, she never wanted to seem weak in front of him.

“You know I can’t possibly do that. You,” he said, raising his voice as he looked around at their spectators, “declared war on me and the rest of the Slytherins. What kind of precedent does this set for other peasant upstarts that might, by some stroke of sheer luck, find their way to our prestigious school? Lesser wizards and witches may get it into their heads that it is acceptable to challenge their betters.”

“If you’re going to keep singing the same old song, Malfoy, you should just get out of my way, because I don’t want to hear it,” she said wearily, clutching her broom with her good hand, leaning against it, not wanting to faint in front of everyone – and certainly not in front of Draco Malfoy.

“If you take back your declaration of war, admit that you were wrong and beg forgiveness,” he said, leaning forward, his voice a seductive whisper, “I’ll end it all.”

She took a step back, her eyes clouded with a mixture of loathing and fury, her lower lip trembling. His words, along with the warmth of his breath along her neck when he’d spoken, had sent shivers throughout her body, and the temptation to do what he asked was very great. Looking around her, looking at anything else just to avoid meeting his eyes, all she could see were the faces of her classmates – people who were just as tortured by him as she was, but who were smart enough to make their life easier by never challenging him. They were yelling at her, shouting at her to beg and plead because it would give them a much needed sense of superiority over her. Far behind the cheering group of 30 students encircling them, she could see Claire watching, tears streaming down her face. Ginny was hurt, wet, covered in mud, she was pretty sure there was blood from the cut on her forehead running down her face, and she was standing in the middle of a hostile crowd encouraging to throw her pride away and just put an end to all of this misery. The temptation of the relief that it would bring was so great, her knees were trembling at the thought of just releasing all her emotions, just crying and begging to have it all over, so that she didn’t have to try to be so strong any more.

But no. She may be wet, weak, and cold with a broken wrist, surrounded by people who hated her, but she was still Ginny Weasley, and she’d rather die before they saw her break.

“I won’t,” she said, her voice hoarse with the effort of keeping her tears in check.

“You will,” Malfoy declared coldly, with complete conviction. “And you’ll do it on your knees.”

“I won’t.” His mouth was tight with a twisted smile, and his eyes were burning with something she couldn’t quite make out through the haze of unshed tears welled up in her eyes.

“You will, whether you want to or not!” he shouted, snatching his wand from beneath his robes, pointing it out towards her. Claire’s warning ran through her head, he knows how to use two of the three Unforgivables, and he’s the youngest person ever reported to have actually used the Cruciatus Curse on a human being. Ginny didn’t even know where her wand was, but even if she did have it, it wouldn’t do her much good as her spirits were fairly broken, right along with that wrist of hers. Only her stubbornness was keeping her on her feet. All she could do was glare at him with defiance in her eyes, even if they were shining with tears.

“Imp-” Draco had begun to shout when someone called out, interrupting him.

“I’ve been trying to work out that clever bit of magic you used the other day at lunch, Weasley,” the voice called, and through the haze of pain, Ginny turned slightly, confused that she would be hearing Blaise Zabini’s voice, and that he would be saying something so casual, as if Draco Malfoy wasn’t about to use the Imperius Curse on her. But sure enough, there he was, standing calmly with his arms crossed at the edge of the crowd, as if it was a perfectly normal day. “I’ve been going over it and I still can’t figure out how you did it.”

“Family secret,” she croaked out as best as she could, as her throat was tight with the effort not to start sobbing with relief. Zabini smiled, a mischievous half-smile as he walked towards her. The crowd that had been cheering with malicious pleasure not moments ago had all fallen silent in shock, as if they’d swallowed their own tongues from the shock of witnessing Blaise Zabini talking to none other than Ginny Weasley.

“Well, we might just have to arrange a trade. I promised to introduce you to Cho Chang, but I’m going to hold that promise hostage until you let me in on that secret,” he said, bending down to smile at her, one eyebrow raised teasingly. He reached into his pocket, and pulling out a handkerchief, dabbed at the blood trailing down her forehead before pressing it into her hand. She tried not to yelp as it jarred her broken wrist.

“Stinksap,” she breathed. “The secret ingredient is a small dash of Stinksap in the pastry, it makes the incantation work.”

Blaise Zabini looked at her queerly, before throwing his head back and laughing, no doubt remembering the afternoon he’d encountered her covered in that very vile substance. Ginny smiled slightly despite her situation, before she turned her attention back towards Draco, who’d been standing stock still since his friend had interrupted him. He’d lowered his wand, but his eyes were staring at her with such intensity that she wanted nothing more than to hide behind Zabini’s height in order to shield herself from it. His face was a mask of stony ice as his gaze passed between his best friend and the girl who’d declared herself his worst enemy.

“It’s over,” he said suddenly, before turning away and beginning to push himself through the crowd. Ginny heard his words, and her knees collapsed under her with the relief that it gave her, her grip on her broom sliding down as she crouched on the ground. She could hear a murmur of disappointment travel throughout the groups that had assembled to watch, questioning each other why Blaise Zabini would interrupt their fun for the Weasel, of all people.

“Look! It’s Cho Chang!” a fourth year girl shrieked suddenly. Chaos broke out, as the group of students – who were naturally inclined to gravitate towards anyone with power, celebrity or influence – rushed towards a figure who had been standing off to the side, murmurs of excitement and shrieks of hysterical laughter filling the air as they each clamored to reach the famous player before anyone else, leaving Ginny forgotten on the sodden grass.

She breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the weight of scrutiny and judgment removed from her shoulders. Blaise Zabini had rushed off, undoubtedly to act as a buffer between his friend and the crowd rushing over to catch a glimpse of the current heroine of the wizarding world. Ginny carefully picked herself up off the ground, sighing dismally at the fact that she was completely smeared with mud – it was all up her legs, her kilt was encrusted with it, and there were splatters all over her blouse and sweater. She still clutched Blaise’s handkerchief in one hand, and was about to make use of it to wipe her face – figuring it was also splattered with mud – when a quiet voice called her name.

“You have to be Ginny Weasley,” she said. Ginny turned slowly, and nearly fell backwards when she realized that it was none other than Cho Chang standing before her. Caught completely off guard by her presence – and the fact that she even knew Ginny’s name – that Ginny stared openly at her. Standing across from her, even though they were roughly the same height, Ginny felt horribly intimidated by the mere fact that she was so beautiful. She had that perfect shiny black hair that always looked immaculate, her eyes were dark and beautiful, and she had a kind smile on her face. Remembering the fact that she was standing before her, covered in mud after a humiliating flying mishap, Ginny’s face began to burn with embarrassment – an embarrassment which burned even stronger when Blaise came up behind Cho, standing next to her. “Blaise told me all about you.”

“Hopefully not everything,” Ginny murmured, thinking of the Stinksap incident.

“That was some fairly impressive flying, in spite of the circumstances,” she said and Ginny felt a thrill run through her. The championship Seeker had just complimented her flying skills! She was about to thank her and undoubtedly begin to gush embarrassingly about how much she admired Cho as a player, when the throng of students – which had grown even in the mere minutes that her presence had been noted – caught up with her, and began crowding her.

“We’d better get going,” Blaise said, eying the crowd.

“Ginny, my parents are throwing a party to welcome the team back on Friday night. I’d love for you to come,” she said, and Ginny stared at her with complete shock, fairly certain that she was hallucinating. “We’ve got to run now, but I’ll get someone to give you the details…” she said, searching the crowd, before spotting Pansy Parkinson and waving her over. Ginny watched in a mix of horror and confusion – how could someone like Cho Chang consider Pansy a friend? “Pansy, could you give Ginny an invitation to the party?”

“Of course,” Pansy said with a cheerful smile, and Ginny realized the answer to her own question. Of course, Pansy Parkinson was quite adept at hiding the uglier side of her nature, and had obviously chosen to do so in order to gain favor with the most popular witch in the nation. Cho smiled to her friend, before excusing herself, as the demanding students who were crowding around their new celebrity began to demand her attention. Only Ginny seemed to notice the ice behind Pansy’s tone. She glared at Ginny, that look of complete disdain that she had probably perfected before she was even old enough to have any snobbish inclinations. Sighing heavily, Pansy shoved a folded piece of parchment into her injured hand, causing Ginny to yelp in pain. Her wrist was now swollen to almost twice its size and was throbbing more painfully than ever.

“Thanks,” Ginny said ruefully, snatching the piece of paper with her right hand.

“I hope to see you there!” Pansy said brightly, her words sharp as a knife.

“Don’t worry your pampered little head about it, Parkinson. I won’t be spoiling your evening by showing up,” Ginny said, slightly bitterly. “We both know that I don’t have the right kind of attire for this type of event.”

“Oh, don’t let that stop you. It’s just a casual party. Any old robe would be acceptable – well, at least for someone in my circumstance. You, on the other hand… well, just come in the closest thing you have that resembles respectable clothing,” Pansy answered. Ginny stared at her suspiciously. There was no reason that Pansy would ever even try to convince her to come unless there was something else to it. She was about to voice this thought, when Pansy silenced her doubts. “Of course, all of the Slytherins will be there, and adding you to the mix can only bring about added entertainment. That is, if you’re not too embarrassed after today.”

“Oh, I think you’ll see me there,” Ginny said before walking away, knowing full well that Parkinson had just challenged her – testing her courage to face a room full of her enemies after what had happened today. It was only a few moments later when she wondered to herself whther she had learning nothing from this humiliating afternoon, such as the fact that it probably wasn’t the brightest idea to answer to the challenge of a Slytherin. She made her way painfully back towards the school, her thoughts turning back to her wrist, wondering what she was going to do about that. Madame Pomfrey had probably left soon after the last class was over, and even when she was in the infirmary, there was not more she was allowed to do than just set the bone and wrap it. Bloody Voldemort and his stupid restrictions on magical healing, she thought as every step she took made it pulsate painfully.

She reached the courtyard, and thinking that she was out of sight from everyone who was still down by the Whomping Willow fawning over Cho Chang, she dropped her broom, hearing it hit the cobblestones, and slumped against the wall, gasping for breath, determined not to let the sobs that had been trapped inside escape. Covering her face with her good hand, she leaned against the wall until her gasps turned into shaky deep breaths and she had a good handle on her emotions – at least until the time she reached the privacy of her own room, where she knew she would be all alone.

“You are an incredibly stubborn little wench, weasel.” It was the unmistakable voice of Draco Malfoy, only its tone was soft and rather gentle, almost affectionate. She looked up, cursing herself that she’d let him see her in such a state, to see him leaning against the wall barely a foot away, facing her. The shock of seeing him there – that he’d been standing there without her even noticing – jolted through her.

“You’ve had your fun for the day. Just go away,” she said, instinctively cradling her injured wrist to her body, protecting her vulnerability. She made a move to rush past him, but he caught her elbow, stopping her in her tracks, and guiding her back against the wall. “Haven’t you done enough?” she cried.

“I didn’t do a single thing. It was entirely your choice to accept the challenge, your choice to follow me through the tree and your idiotic choice to attempt a dive with a broken broomstick,” he said, sounding very matter-of-fact, but surprisingly, there was no trace of mockery in his voice. She made a move to get away from him again, but he leaned one arm against the wall, barring her way. He reached out, pressing a finger against her injured hand, causing her to gasp. “You can hardly hold me accountable because they were unwise decisions.”

“Just get away from me,” she said, her voice cracking slightly as her eyes began to burn. He’d been focused on her wrist, but he looked up at her words, a quick yet searching glance that made her quiver. Whatever he was planning, she was powerless to stop him – she had nothing left to fight with at this point.

“Hold still, stubborn weasel,” he ordered softly, taking her broken wrist gently into his hands. Ginny watched, struck speechless, as he carefully ran his fingers from her elbow to her fingertips, examining the swollen flesh with a serious and professional air. His fingers were long and slender, and despite the throbbing pain of her wrist, they moved so carefully – such a light touch, it was barely making contact at all – across her skin that it almost felt nice. Feeling slightly detached from the strange incident happening before her eyes, Ginny couldn’t help thinking to herself that they were nice looking hands – capable looking. Even if he is a Malfoy. He gently applied a bit of pressure against the inside of her wrist, cringing slightly as she hissed in pain, but then nodded, having spotted the point where the bone had broken. There was a deep look of concentration on his face, and Ginny realized it was the first time she had ever seen him without either a look of rage or that infuriated sneer on his face. She watched his face, and noted the intense look of concentration – he was observing, something he seemed to always be doing. In a moment of hysteria she would later attribute to the pain she was feeling, Ginny noted that he actually was rather handsome when his face wasn’t contorted with some malicious smile. He then pulled out his wand, still cradling her injured wrist with his other arm. He had pointed it at her wrist, and was about to say the spell to mend the bone when Ginny stopped him.

“You can’t do that. It’s illegal!” she breathed. Soon after Voldemort’s rise to power, he had begun to place the most unusual restrictions on the use of magic, especially when it came to healing. Most wizards, when sick or injured, had to resort to using Muggle methods of treating themselves. It was whispered that Voldemort, who was rumored to be obsessed with obtaining eternal life, wanted to regulate the opportunities for others to extend their lives through magical means, even if it meant just mending a broken bone magically.

“Then you’d better hope, for your sake, that we don’t get caught,” he said, sounding highly amused, before saying the spell, ignoring Ginny’s noises of protest. She jumped a little as she felt the intense heat as her bones knitted back together, and the chill that soon followed, causing the swollen flesh around the injury to return to normal. “It’s illegal for people like you. For those of my sort, it’s just…discouraged.”

“Must be nice to be able to afford to take that kind of risk,” she said, flexing her hand, feeling weak with relief as she could now move it without pain. She had almost smiled up at him, but had been able to stop herself before she did. He had released her hand, and had now focused his attention to the laceration on her forehead, leaning in closer and pressing his fingers to it gently to see if it was still bleeding, stroking her skin slowly. Ginny’s breath caught in her throat, and she squirmed to get away – it was hard to breath when he was that close.

“Just leave that,” she whispered, barely able to trust her own voice. He leaned an arm against the wall, cutting off her retreat again, the look in his eyes almost soft. If she didn’t know better, she could almost believe there was a touch of concern in his eyes.

“It will probably scar,” he said.

“I’ll take my chances,” she said stiffly.

“Wouldn’t want any marks to ruin that ugly face of yours,” he said, with a twitch of a smile, his eyes dancing mischievously, making Ginny realize with a start that he was teasing her. She scoffed, thrusting her chin up defiantly.

“You mean plain face. I’m known as the plain Weasley girl, not the ugly one,” she said, hardly able to believe the teasing tone in her own voice.

“My mistake,” he said, reaching out to touch her forehead again. She dodged his touch, for it was far too unnerving to have any contact between the two of them be so…gentle.

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I wasn’t lying about that scar.”

“It doesn’t matter. Besides, I don’t want any favors from you,” she said boldly. He laughed; a quiet, short little laugh.

“Then consider it a favor to the rest of society. It would be a shame for such a plain face to be ruined for want of a little mending to avoid scarring. Now just be a good little weasel and stop squirming,” he said, tapping her forehead with his wand before she could protest even further. The slight sting was replaced with a pleasant tingling before the sensations faded away, leaving her skin smooth and un-lacerated.

“Where did you learn how to do that, anyway?” she asked suddenly, as an awkward silence fell over them, as he continued to examine her forehead, to ensure that it had indeed left no marks.

“I’m full of hidden talents. Just because I’m a worthless spoiled brat with an inflated sense of self importance does not mean I don’t have ambitions,” he said, with an arrogant smirk and suggestive look in his eyes as he tossed out the very insult she’d hurled at him, the day she’d punched him. Satisfied that her face was plain once again, he tucked his wand back into his robes, and walked away, completely casually as if, ten minutes before, he hadn’t been about to use an Unforgivable Curse on her.

She watched his retreating form, feeling a wave of uneasiness wash over her as she flexed the fingers on the hand that had been injured, remembering the gentle way he’d cradled her arm as he’d healed her. She shrugged off the feeling, figuring that she’d probably just hit her head when she’d fallen from her broom. That was the only way to explain how long it took for the spot on her forehead where he’d touched her skin to stop tingling.


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A/N: Just in case it wasn’t overly clear, ugly and plain are SO Draco-speak for pretty.

Drawn from HYD:
1) Draco seeing Claire and Ginny together, her conversations with Blaise about Cho coming back and how much Ginny admires her
2) The Slytherins targetting Claire, and Ginny interfering, claiming that she should be the one they bully, not Claire.
3) After the Whomping Willow knocks her off her broom, the part where Draco tells her to beg for forgiveness - this is inspired from a similar scene in Episode 2, as is the fact that Blaise interferes, and that Draco says that 'it's over'

Well, after much delay, here is the next update. It's ridiculously long, over 21 pages, and it doesn't really get exciting until the end, so I hope you enjoy it!


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Chapter 8: Reality and the Ideal


“Draco!” Blaise called, spying his best friend’s retreating back as he walked through the main doors of the school. Draco whipped around, his face stony and unreadable.

“What?” he asked, sounding extremely put out for being interrupted at he was preparing to enter the carriage waiting to take him home. Unfazed by his irritated response, Blaise stepped forward, closing the gap between the two.

“Interesting little show you just put on with the Weasley girl,” he said, his voice even. Draco’s face hardened almost imperceptibly – someone who didn’t know him as well as Blaise did would not have been able to see it.

“What difference does it make to you?” Draco asked angrily. “You never get involved. Why now?”

“I don’t think you know what you’re doing with this girl anymore. Bloody hell, you almost cursed her! For what? Refusing to worship the ground you walk on?” Blaise cried out. Draco stepped back, his gray eyes intent and reflecting a deep anger that left Blaise baffled. He strode the three steps’ distance between them.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Draco spat back. “What I’d like to know is what you’re doing. Questioning me like this? Just stay out of it, and we won’t have a problem.”

“Just don’t get the girl killed, alright? Show a little more control, and try to avoid throwing out Unforgivables, will you?” Blaise said, with a deep-suffering sigh. His best friend, glaring at him, ignored his words completely and after climbing into his carriage, left without saying another word.


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“Ginny,” Hermione said, with an intent look in her eyes, “it sounds like Blaise Zabini tried to save you!”

“What do you mean? He just interrupted Malfoy, and I’m not entirely sure he did it purposely. He’d only just arrived, you see,” Ginny scoffed. Saving her from two of Malfoy’s thugs who’d cornered her in an empty class was one thing, but openly interfering, by stepping between her and his best friend? Ginny hardly believed any Slytherin was capable of it, not even Blaise Zabini.

“I’m sure he just made some ridiculous excuse to talk to you in order to interfere without seeming like he was interfering. I’m certain he meant to keep Malfoy from finishing the curse,” she said thoughtfully, flipping through the large textbook she had propped up on their table in a dark corner of the Three Broomsticks. Ginny paused, drinking in this new information, feeling an electric thrill run through her at the very possibility that Blaise Zabini could have possibly done what Hermione was suggested he’d done on purpose.

“Do you really think so?” Ginny breathed. Hermione looked up from her textbook, taking in Ginny’s expression as she began to stare off into space. She sighed and then snapped her fingers, bringing Ginny’s attention back to the realm of reality.

“Look at you, mooning over the mere possibility! Honestly, Ginny, I don’t know how someone who has every reason to be completely practical can become such a hopeless romantic over the smallest thing! He just tried to stop that prat Malfoy from using an Unforgivable on you, it’s nothing to start writing poetry about,” she snapped. “And sure, he gave you a handkerchief, but did he even ask you if you were alright?”

“Hermione Granger, you wouldn’t be so quick to judge if you had just a bit of romance in your life,” Ginny declared, annoyed at her friend’s lack of romantic sensibilities. “And do not even try to convince me that your relationship with that Finnegan boy had any semblance of romance about it. I remember your description of your first kiss – stiff and awkward and right outside the owl post office, of all places!”

“It certainly wasn’t romantic, but then, Ginny, most first kisses aren’t. If you ask around, I’m sure you’ll find that most share the same awkward experience,” Hermione laughed.

“I could never settle for anything so incredibly disappointing. You only get one first kiss with someone, and if it were awkward and unromantic, I don’t think I could ever look at that person again, let alone continue dating them. I don’t know how you dated that boy for three months after he kissed in front of an owlery!” Ginny cried passionately. Hermione just looked at her, a sad smile on her face.

“For a girl who grew up in the wizarding world, there hasn’t been much magic in your life, has there, Gin?” Hermione asked softly. “I think that’s why you are such a hopeless romantic and can think that a boy refraining from bullying you is actually romantic. Love isn’t all moonlight and magic fairy gardens – it can be just as ugly and mundane as everything else around us. I just hope that with all these notions and expectations you have about first kisses and such, that you’re not too disappointed with reality.”

“You’re putting far too much thought into this, Hermione,” Ginny said with a laugh, despite the sad light in her eyes. “Can’t we just be teenaged girls who giggle every once in a while about boys and kisses and romance without it having to be a serious reflection on what this world has stolen from us?”

“If you were taking Arithmancy by correspondence, too, you’d be thinking along the same lines, just for a little intellectual stimulation,” Hermione scoffed. “These courses have frightfully low academic expectations.”

Ginny chuckled for Hermione’s benefit, and a companionable silence fell over the two, as Hermione returned to her textbook, and Ginny to her thoughts. She kept replaying the events of the afternoon over in her head, trying to decide whether she believed what Hermione thought about Blaise, that his interference was intentional and calculated to appear casual. It certainly would be very Slytherin of him. Her thoughts slowly shifted from a careful consideration of Blaise Zabini’s motives for helping her to the even more perplexing question of why Draco Malfoy had healed her wrist. As much as she tried to concentrate on the memory of Blaise Zabini stepping between her and Malfoy just as he was about to curse her, the vision kept transforming to the intent expression in Malfoy’s eyes as he gently examined her injured arm. Lost in thought, Ginny absently flexed the fingers of her right hand, rotating her wrist as she did so.

"Is it bothering you at all?" Hermione asked quietly. Ginny, startled out of her thoughts, looked down at her hand, remembering how only a few hours ago, it was hideously swollen, and shook her head.

"No, I’m fine," she answered. Hermione watched her friend carefully as Ginny gazed down at her hand, obviously perplexed. She looked up at Hermione, her brow furrowed. "I just don't know why he did it."

"Why he challenged you to a stupid race when you had a broken broom and led you straight to the Whomping Willow? To get you killed, obviously. Or, is it why he almost used an Unforgivable on you? Or, why he stopped?" Hermione asked acidly, her eyes flashing with anger as she recited the wrongs that Draco Malfoy had conducted against her best friend.

"Why he fixed my wrist," Ginny said softly. "It was so... unusual. He was still a conceited prat the whole time, but he just seemed... different, in the way he spoke to me and such. Almost as if he was looking at me like an equal. But even aside from that, just the fact that he did in the first place. I don't understand it."

"Because he's like a child, Ginny. A spoiled, temperamental child who broke its favorite toy," Hermione said with authority. "The Nott children are exactly like that whenever I look after them. They play too rough with their bloody toy broomsticks, and end up smashing them. At first, they sit there, like they're in shock, as if they can't believe what has just happened. Then, they start to try to fix it - calmly at first, then they get very frantic, and if it doesn't work, they end up tossing a giant tantrum. I really wish their parents would stop repairing them when they come home, it would save me a lot of headaches."

"So I'm Malfoy's favorite toy?" Ginny asked, dryly.

"What he's doing goes beyond just revenge for insulting him. I think he finds you entertaining. I was watching carefully when they were here for that reception, and he was always watching you with this smile on his face. You're a source of entertainment to him, and like a spoiled child, when you ended up with a broken wrist and looked like you weren't going to play any more, he did what he could to fix his favorite toy," Hermione explained, her eyes sparkling with concentration as they always did when her mind was spinning quickly to answer a question. "He wasn't speaking to you as an equal; it's just another example of how he looks down on you."

Ginny was quiet after Hermione finished speaking, her eyes fixed on her wrist. Even with the spell he'd used to heal her, there was still a small bruise where the bone had actually snapped, although it was fading quickly. She'd listened to what Hermione had said, and had to admit to herself that it seemed to fit what she knew about Draco Malfoy. Plus, Hermione was generally always right about just about every subject, so there was no reason to believe that she was wrong. But she hadn't been there, hadn't seen the strange look in his eyes or heard the edged gentleness in his voice. It made her shiver just to think about it.

"Prat or no, I'm relieved he healed my wrist. I couldn’t have worked like that," Ginny said, tearing her eyes away from her wrist and her thoughts away from her most recent encounter with Malfoy.

"You are incredibly lucky you didn't get caught. It would have been the end for you, for goodness knows you'd be blamed," Hermione said, her voice slightly shrill with her indignation. Then you'd better hope, for your sake, that we don't get caught, he'd said, with that tone of amusement in his voice that sounded almost as if he were gently teasing her. Ginny shook her head, trying to expel thoughts of Draco Malfoy from her head, along with the memory of his touch from tingling on her skin.

"Are you going to go to that party?" Hermione asked, gesturing towards the crumpled invitation that lay on the table between them. Ginny sighed heavily, trying to weigh her options. If her world were anything resembling normal, she should have been pleased to be invited to a party, especially by a celebrity and national hero. But the reality of the situation was nothing to be excited about.

"I haven't decided yet. Well, I told Parkinson that I'd go, but that was only because she practically dared me to do it and -"

"-You're far too stubborn and head-strong to turn down any thing you think of as a challenge," Hermione cut in, with a knowing smile.

"She questioned my courage, Hermione! How could I face going to school every day if they think I'm a coward?" Ginny cried. After a pause, with Hermione shaking her head in resigned exasperation, she continued. "Besides, I really would like the chance to talk to Cho Chang, and the opportunity may not come again... and there are other people there who aren't so bad."

"Like Blaise Zabini?" Hermione prodded, and Ginny felt her face burn.

"If it's like you said - if he did actually save me from that curse - then I should at least go and, you know, thank him for it," Ginny said, feeling awkward with embarassment as she struggled to justify the desire to see the handsome boy again.

"I think it would also be a great opportunity for you. Just think - some of the most powerful people in our world are going to be there, you'll get a chance to speak to them, do a little networking, gain an inside into their world. It'll come in handy for you one day," Hermione said with a pointed look.

"My mum would have kittens if she knew what you were suggesting I do," Ginny cried, before checking over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening to their conversation, and leaned in to whisper. "Cozying up to Slytherins and Death Eaters so I can spy on them? That's the kind of trick they would use. I'd like to think I'm above that."

"And that is exactly why they won the war," Hermione said quietly. "Nothing is above them. They use whatever they can, however they can. If there's ever going to be a chance for the Order to take it back, we need to be more strategic."

"It's devious, slimy and a fairly horrible lie. Befriending these people so that I can use them for information?" Ginny whispered fiercely, her voice filled with disgust. "It was hard enough just pretending I didn't loathe every single one of them and shout out to the world how ridiculous I find them. That's actually the only good thing that has come out of this whole ordeal with Malfoy - I can be myself and say what I like, because even if I don't, I'll still have the same consequences to face, so I might as well just be myself."

"It's just an idea, that's all. If it were me, that is what I would try to do," Hermione said, slightly defensively.

"Well, you're a bit cleverer than I. And good deal more sensible - I'd end up insulting the whole lot of them before too long, and actually worsen my chances to be of any use. If I haven't done that already," Ginny said with an easy smile, leaning back in her chair. Hermione relaxed, and appeared to be about to say something when a large commotion out on the street drew their attention. Frowning, Ginny stood up and walked over to the large store-front windows of the Three Broomsticks, and peered outside. And she felt her heart drop in panic at what she saw. Blood began to pound in her head as the adrenaline began to surge throughout her body. There was a group of about 10 men, dressed in dark robes, wearing hoods and masks. Death Eaters.

She rushed back to her table, barely slowing down as she grabbed Hermione by the arm and dragged her along with her as she dashed towards the back of the restaurant, ignoring Hermione's protests and questions as she ran. She didn't stop until they were crossed into the kitchen, and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Ginny, what's gotten into you?" Hermione demanded. Ginny waved her question away, peering cautiously through the door's window, feeling her heart beat furiously in her chest. She leaned her ear against the door, and felt a bolt of fear as she heard a number of cries and the smashing of glass out in the street. She turned to look at Hermione, and the older girl could tell by the intensely worried look in her friend's eyes and the panic – bordering on hysteria, that this was something very serious.

"Do you have all your papers here?" Ginny asked frantically. "Because you'd better run and get them." The kitchen staff, who had been busy preparing for that night's dinner service, had stopped when they had burst into the kitchen, and upon Ginny's question, they all started to scatter, dashing towards their lockers or Rosmerta's office, where many of them kept their copies of the important licensing and bloodline papers, which had to be produced on the demand of any "governmental official." Death Eaters who had earned their Marks and Hoods were classified as "governmental officials" and often went around, raiding the village, searching for Muggle-born witches or wizards who were violating the strict restrictions of magical use that were enforced on them.

"Ginny!" Hermione gasped, her eyes wide with panic. She was the only non-pureblood who was employed at the Three Broomsticks, and even if she had all her papers in order, if they entered the restaurant, it would undoubtedly mean trouble for her. Before Ginny could say anything, she heard a magnificent crash out in the lobby accompanied by the shattering of glass and the cacophonous crash of silverware as it fell to the ground.

"Someone find Rosmerta!" Ginny hollered behind her, as she peered out the window, and saw the terrifying sight of six or seven Death Eaters standing in the middle of the restaurant, surrounded by a few over-turned tables and an absolute mess of dishes and utensils, outfitted in their full regalia. Madame Rosmerta, as the owner and proprietor of the most popular restaurant in Hogsmeade, had quite a bit of influence that became useful in these types of raids. Hermione grabbed Ginny's arm as the two girls, standing on their tip-toes, strained to see what was happening. An echo of screams had them whipping around, seeing three hooded Death Eaters marching through the kitchen, the kitchen staff scattering out their way, especially as they were roughly leading Rosmerta out in front of them, pushing her along as she muttered about the inconvenience and the mess.

"You lot of trolls had better ensure that my establishment is returned to its proper state before you march yourselves out of here, and I expect to see every Sickle of the cost to replace my damaged property," she stated adamantly, even as the three large men - made even more intimidating by their hidden faces and long dark robes that an entire generation had grown up terrified of seeing - forced her along. As they passed, Ginny grabbed Hermione and they ducked behind a counter, and watched in horror as they pushed her forward.

"Order all of your staff out here now. We need to see their papers," one of the Death Eaters demanded gruffly. Ginny felt nauseous as she recognized his voice - he was one of their regular customers, who usually behaved like a decent human being; he was polite, soft-spoken and tipped well. In a bizarre moment of detachment, she wondered what it was about those hoods that could take the most decent person and turn them into a horrible creature filled with hate that is capable of doing such terrible things. Of course, she mused to herself, completely lost in the moment, any decent person would never agree to take the Hood in the first place.

The terrified kitchen staff started to file out of the kitchen, all holding their papers in their hands. One of the Death Eaters stomped towards where Hermione and Ginny were crouching, and looming over them, demanded that they start moving. Ginny, snapped back into the reality and the extreme danger of the moment, stood up, and managed to catch Rosmerta's eye through the door from where she was standing. Rosmerta was looking fiercely at Ginny, and almost imperceptibly, motioned her head towards them. Ginny realized with a start what Rosmerta was trying to tell her - to distract them, to keep their attention away from Hermione.

The Death Eater that had come over to them grabbed them each by the shoulder and pushed them out into the main part of the restaurant, ordering everyone to sit on the ground while they inspected their papers. Hermione shot Ginny a nervous glance, but Ginny just shook her head. She knew the clever girl wouldn't go anything stupid or unwise, especially not in this potentially dangerous situation, but she knew, far better than most, how scared she had to be.

They were going down the line, demanding to see everyone's Magical License and Bloodline Certificates. The leader of their group was interrogating each member of the staff while his henchmen began searching around the restaurant, as if Rosmerta was hiding someone.

"What has brought all this on?" Rosmerta demanded haughtily, watching with furious eyes as one lumbering Death Eater overturned a table, sending it flying with a splintering crash. "I have never given anyone cause to question my loyalty or accuse me of being involved in any criminal activities."

"Escaped convict, Rosmerta, that's all. No one's sure how he managed to escape, so we can't take any chances. He might be able to disguise himself, so no one can really be trusted," one explained, sounding apologetic. "The Dark Lord is absolutely livid and has ordered us all to search every house in Hogsmeade."

"This is most certainly not a house," Rosmerta commented coldly.

"He could be hiding among your staff without you even knowing it," he tried to explain, but she just shook her head in disgust. Seeming chastised, he continued with his interrogations, his tone becoming brusque and rough.

"Papers," he barked at Hermione when he reached where the girls were crouching. Hermione hesitantly reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded pieces of parchment that could mean her life if she ever left her home without them. Bloodline prejudice was a serious threat to anyone who wasn't born to wizarding parents. He snatched them, unfolding the parchment. Ginny watched his eyes scan down the paper, and even with the mask on his face, she could tell the second he read that Hermione had Muggle parents.

"Mudblood, are you? Rosmerta, I'm shocked you'd allow such a thing to work in your restaurant, where she could contaminate your patrons!" he grunted, catching the attention of the other Death Eaters, who stopped rummaging through the dining room, and began to form a little circle around Hermione, their eyes sparkling cruelly behind their masks. Hermione's hand had clutched for Ginny's arm, squeezing it tightly as she stood her ground, looking up at them with a neutral expression, doing her hardest not to betray her fear. The terror in the room had increased exponentially.

"She's an adequate waitress, despite her lack of finer qualities. Besides, what pureblood of any worth would lower themselves to wait on others?" Rosmerta asked with a pointed smile, and her signature charm. They ignored her, and another one of the Death Eaters reached down and grabbed Hermione by the arm, pulling her to her feet, causing her to yelp in surprise and pain. Ginny bolted to her feet, ready to throw herself between her best friend and these terrible men, but luckily for them all, their attention was drawn away by a terrific crash from out in the street, followed by a series of screams, shouting voices and a barking dog.

Cursing under his breath, the Death Eater who had grabbed Hermione released her suddenly, and she dropped to the floor, falling backwards, and stalked towards the door. He threw her papers down to the floor as he crossed the threshold. The others followed behind him, their heavy boots crunching on the broken glass.

"If you see or hear any of your employees doing anything that is even slightly out of the ordinary, you will contact us at once. There's no telling where this fugitive could be hiding," one ordered, before following the rest. As soon as they were gone, and Rosmerta had shut and locked the door behind them, quickly drawing the blinds, the entire staff breathed a giant sight of relief.

Ginny, standing in the middle of the dining room, felt a surge of anger. Eyeing her brilliant friend, who was now trembling as she crouched on the floor, recovering from that fright, having been targeted merely for whom her parents were, then turning to take in all the damage and havoc they'd wreaked on Rosmerta's carefully decorated restaurant, Ginny was overcome with the incredible injustice of it all. Hermione's earlier words rang through her head. "And that is exactly why they won the war...Nothing is above them, they use whatever they can however they can. If there's ever going to be a chance for the Order to take it back, we need to be more strategic."

"Hermione," Ginny said, crouching down next to her after picking up her papers where they’d been tossed by the Death Eater, "I need your help."

"With what?" she asked with a shaky smile, trying to show her concerned friend that she was alright.

"I need you to help me pick out an outfit for Cho Chang's party tomorrow."

It was time to get be a little more strategic.


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In front of her was quite possibly the most incredible building she’d ever seen in her entire life. The rich neighborhoods that surrounded the Hogsmeade city proper were an area that Ginny usually avoided as much as possible, mostly because it increased her chances of running into someone she greatly disliked, and therefore, she wasn’t really all that familiar with the pompous display of wealth that seemed to be a prerequisite for any building in that area. Standing at the gates of the Chang mansion, Ginny was awestruck by the level of luxury that was apparent. Wrought iron gates, a massive expanse of luscious gardens and rolling green lawns stood between her and the front door. Squinting in the dark, Ginny tried to estimate how many bedrooms the mansion contained, but shrouded the way it was by nightfall, there was no way to tell.

Looking around her furtively, Ginny stashed her broom – mended so that it was at least able to fly, thanks to a clever charm Hermione had found in one of her many books – in the bushes that surrounded the stone walls near the gate. Just as she was double-checking to ensure that she had her invitation with her, knowing that there would be nothing but problems for her should she forget it, the gates swung open, and a carriage with shaded windows turned up the long driveway. Ginny followed behind them, her eyes wide with wonder as stared up at the house ahead of her, tugging at her outfit uncomfortably as she went. Pansy had said it was a casual occasion, but despite this, she and Hermione had spent hours poring over both of their wardrobes, before finally settling on what they believed “casual” meant for a Slytherin occasion. Under her cloak, Ginny wore a simple black skirt, a beautiful emerald green silk top that Hermione had loaned her, and at Hermione’s insistence, a rather delicate pair of shoes with a decent yet still sensible two inch heel. After wrestling with her long hair for about twenty minutes, they’d just let it lay loose, shaping a few curls to frame her face.

Holding her breath, Ginny rang the door bell and waited, steeling herself for all manner of greetings she may receive. An unusually distinguished-looking house elf answered the door, and after spotting the invitation in her hand, ushered her through the main hall, and into what he called the ballroom. Ginny had been too busy gaping at the marble floors, gilded portraits on the wall and the spectacular crystal chandelier that hung over the magnificent staircase to notice the disdain that was clearly evident on the house elf’s face as he took in her outfit. Before showing her through the door, he relieved her of her cloak, and hustled her through the door, before she even had a chance to check and see if the mascara and lip gloss Rosmerta had advised her to wear was smudged.

It seemed she had made her entrance during a lull in the music, the sound of her heels clicking on the marble floor seemed to draw the attention of the occupants of the room. She was standing in front of a crowd of about 300 people, who were all staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. After the few seconds that it took for her to recover from the shock, Ginny realized why. Everyone in the room was decked out in very formal dress robes and she was incredibly underdressed. Feeling her face burn with embarrassment, Ginny fought the urge to escape through the door behind her, and forced herself to step forward. Luckily, at that moment, the orchestra began to play again, and slowly, the eyes that were staring at her found other things to focus their attention on.

“Weasley, what on earth are you wearing? I understand that you’re a bit of a whore, but there is no need to advertise the fact that you’re a classless cheap whore,” Pansy Parkinson said dryly, even as she smirked at Ginny. Parkinson was wearing beautiful dress robes in a pale pink silk, and knowing her parents’ connections, Ginny had no doubt they were custom made by a famous designer.

“You did tell me that it was a casual event,” Ginny said, forcing a bright smile as a few older wizards walked past, nodding in greeting towards Pansy.

“I had no idea you’d take me seriously! I was only joking. Imagine a casual party for the World Championship Quidditch team hosted by the Changs? Unbelievable!” Pansy chortled.

“Which one of us is really the one without any class?” Ginny fumed under her breath. The smirk on Pansy’s face slowly faded, replaced by anger, indicating that she’d heard what Ginny had said. She opened her mouth, preparing to fling another nasty comment, but a chorus of gasps ran through the crowd, and her attention was drawn the entrance. Ginny followed her gaze, and stiffened significantly as Draco Malfoy, followed by his two brainless minions, Crabbe and Goyle, entered the ballroom. As the other guests cleared a path for them as they walked past, Ginny started when Malfoy’s eyes met hers, and she looked away quickly, determined to avoid making eye contact, even as her heat began to beat wildly. She was still feeling rather raw from their encounter the day before, and had skived off her classes that day just to avoid having to see him, and was not prepared to have to deal with him quite yet.

“Even though Cho hasn’t made her entrance yet, the party has really started now. Don’t get caught trying to lift any of the silverware, Weasel,” Pansy chortled, before she trotted off, swaying precariously on her ridiculous spiked heels. Breathing a sigh of relief as she felt a bit of the tension in her shoulders drain away, as Malfoy and his groupies had passed her by without any incident, Ginny looked around. Everyone in the room was standing in little groups, talking amongst themselves, and none looked even vaguely inviting. Standing alone in the room rather awkwardly, she tried to find something to occupy herself.

She spotted Crabbe and Goyle leaning rather conspicuously against one of the marble pillars that were interspersed throughout the room. Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, she watched as Goyle acted as a look-out while Crabbe levitated an object before affixing it, out of sight for anyone who wasn’t watching them, to the pillar. Smiling wickedly at each other once their task was complete, they slyly walked away, without drawing any attention from any other guests, who were far too occupied with schmoozing with each other to notice. Curious, Ginny walked towards the pillar, trying to figure out what it was they’d placed up there and what they had planned. When she finally got close enough to see what it was, she nearly started to laugh herself.

She remembered the disastrous Christmas, before she’d started attending Hogwarts, when the twins had unveiled their first device in the art of practical jokes. A fairly innocuous piece of mistletoe had hung over the doorway, but little did everyone know that it had been charmed with a surprisingly powerful bit of magic that forced any two people standing underneath for longer than a few seconds to kiss. Three incidents later, including one with Aunt Mildred and her famous Bat Bogey Hex – which she’d since passed on to Ginny, figuring as the only girl in a family of boys, she’d need the advantage, and her mum had finally discovered what was causing all the spontaneous snogging. And now, before her very eyes, was that same product. She could tell by shape, size and the fact that the berries were distinctly orange in color. They’d mentioned looking around to find a vendor for it, and she guessed they must have found one, if Crabbe and Goyle had managed to get their hands on it.

She was busy giggling fondly to herself, remembering the giant row her mum and the twins had had after she’d discovered what they’d invented (even though most would consider it amazing, given the advanced magic they’d figured out at their young age), when a young lady was about to pass under it at the same time as an older wizard, whom she recognized as one of the more lecherous guests at the party she’d hostessed for Malfoy. Without even thinking, she grabbed her arm, pulling her back just in the nick of time.

“Trust me, you don’t want to do that,” Ginny said knowingly. By a sheer stroke of luck, Millicent Bulstrode also happened to be nearby, and was the unfortunate victim of the charmed mistletoe as it worked its magic, to the complete astonishment of the old man. “See?”

“How did you know that was going to happen?” the girl asked with a shocked laugh. Her words were spoken in very careful English, and even though her accent was almost spot-on, Ginny could tell that English was not her first language. Smiling back at her, Ginny pointed up near the top of the pillar.

“It’s someone’s idea of a practical joke. It’s charmed to work on any two people who happen to be caught underneath it at the same time,” Ginny said. The girl laughed again, her deep blue eyes wide with amusement as they both watched a flustered Millicent Bulstrode attempt to regain her composure as the outraged wizard demanded an explanation. A quick glance at her new companion revealed that she was a rather glamorous witch, wearing incredible dress robes in a mint green and was glittering from the jewels at her wrist and throat, and Ginny expected her to excuse herself before she was caught talking to the underdressed witch who obviously didn’t belong.

“I thank you very much from preventing me from experiencing its effects first hand,” she said emphatically, before holding out her hand for Ginny to shake. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Angelique Aristide. And you are?”

“Ginny Weasley. It’s nice to meet you,” Ginny said, pretending that she wasn’t completely shocked, especially as she recognized her surname. Aristide was one of the most prominent wizarding families in France – a magical line descended from French nobility! And she was talking to little Ginny Weasley as if she were an actual person!

“Ginny, why don’t you come with me and meet a few friends of mine? I’m sure they’d love to be warned about that little trick,” Angelique suggested. Ginny stared at her in open shock for about a second, before she remembered her decision to become more strategic before smiling and agreeing.


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As her captive audience's laughter filled her ears, Ginny was having such a good time she almost didn't stop to consider how surreal the whole situation had been; how easy it had been to be standing, feeling like a complete outsider, one moment, to be surrounded by 9 or 10 people who comprised the next generation of the most powerful people in her world. Angelique had indeed introduced her to a group of her friends - a group of people who did not attend Hogwarts and had no idea who she was. After Angelique had recounted her story of how Ginny had saved her from certain mortification, they had demanded to know how she had recognized the joke in progress. Before she really knew it, she had recounted the entire Christmas Incident, as well as a litany of other exploits she'd collected over the years, her family being the constant subject of their experiments. They were simply devouring everything she had to say, laughing uncontrollably at her imitation of Ron's reaction to the time the twins had changed his teddy bear into a spider, and she felt strangely exhilarated by their attention to her. It was almost intoxicating, the feeling of acceptance, and even admiration from a group of people who, if she had met them at school, would normally have shunned her.

“You are quite the interesting character, Miss Ginny Weasley,” Daniel Jacobs, a seventh year from Durmstrang, said with a flirtatious smile, leaning closer to her. Ginny threw her head back and laughed, unable to contain the giddy energy that this situation was sending coursing through her veins.

“Yes, she is quite the interesting character. Surely you’ve all heard about Ginny Weasley, the dirt poor blood traitor who tries to disguise herself as a respectable Hogwarts students while prostituting herself just to pay her tuition?” the sneering voice of Pansy Parkinson called out, causing an shocked laugh to travel throughout the group. Ginny’s smile faded as she turned to glare at Pansy, who’d pushed her way through the circle of people who had gathered around Ginny and was wearing a satisfied smirk on her face. A quick glance around the group indicated that Pansy’s words had struck a chord with most of them, and they were all looking at completely differently now. She glared at Pansy, her blood boiling even as her face burned with the same feeling of shame she’d felt the day those posters had been hung around the school.

“Ah, so it was you who was responsible for the poster and those pictures,” Ginny said, her voice calm and falsely bright, determined to maintain some semblance of a cheerful demeanor and not lose her temper, given her current audience. “It was so incredibly unimaginative and tacky; I should have known it could only have come from you.”

She felt a flare of triumph as Pansy’s face turned purple as Angelique erupted into giggles and felt some of her previous giddy energy return. She saw Millicent Bulstrode striding toward their group, moving in to stand behind Pansy, apparently having recovered from the mistletoe incident.

“You deserved it,” Pansy spat at her. Ginny felt her irritation flare, and her desire to keep her genial candor faded as her temper clouded her common sense.

“In what possible way could I have deserved having lies that questioned my reputation? I’ve never done anything to you!” Ginny cried. Pansy’s eyes were practically snapping at her, she was glaring at Ginny so fiercely.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just the fact that you walk around my school like you have a right to be there. The fact that you’re here right now when you’re nothing more than common street trash offends me. And I've seen the way you moon over Blaise Zabini, and I can't stand it!" Pansy declared, taking another step towards Ginny. The crowd around them was starting to grow, curious about the scene that Ginny was causing. "You have no idea the lengths that girls like us go to attract his attention and for a girl like you to think you are even in the same league is disgusting!"

"Strangely enough, Parkinson, I feel exactly the same way. Just the thought of being grouped into the same category as a girl like you is enough to make me ill," Ginny answered stonily, feeling her ears burn with embarrassment at her insinuation that she 'mooned' over Blaise Zabini.

"Your pathetic efforts to win his attention by making him feel sorry for your pathetic life are completely in vain. He already has a girlfriend; someone like you could never even dream of competing against her," Millicent Bulstrode shrieked. Pansy cut a vicious glance at her friend for interrupting, before turning back towards Ginny with triumphant eyes. A murmur had run through the crowd, starting by the entrance, working its way to where they were standing,

"Look, you can see them together right now," Pansy said triumphantly, as Ginny turned to see what was causing the commotion. The celebrity of the hour, Cho Chang, had just entered the ballroom on the arm of none other than Blaise Zabini. Pansy moved in beside Ginny as she craned her neck to see them walk past. "How could he ever notice something like you when he's in love with a girl like that?"

Ginny felt as if she'd been struck in the stomach, and it had nothing to do with what Pansy was saying. Her eyes were fixed on Blaise, looking as handsome as ever in his black dress robes. But it was the magnificent smile on his face, and the soft glow about his eyes that really had her attention. In that moment, as he smiled down at Cho Chang, looking fantastic in her red silk dress robes, the shroud of mystery that was always around him seemed to have faded away completely, and what he was thinking and feeling at that exact second in time was clear for everyone to see. And that was that he only had eyes for Cho, and could probably care less about every other person in the world, so long as she was the one beside him.

Until that moment, she’d largely felt that her little crush on Blaise Zabini was nothing more than that – simple admiration for the quiet and beautiful boy who’d shown her some small amount of kindness despite the fact that his natural predilection should have been to sneer at her, like the rest of his group of friends. But the way her stomach twisted when she saw this whole other side of him was an instant of realization. She wanted him to look at her that way, and it was an utter shock to realize that when she was watching him stare at such a beautiful girl who could very well be the love of his life.

A stunning sensation of cold dropping suddenly on her head made her shriek in surprise, twisting around to see Pansy’s nasty smirk as she held an empty glass in her hand. Sticky liquid was running down Ginny’s neck and dripping into her eyes, splashing to the floor around her, as Pansy had emptied the contents of her drink over her head.

“How very clumsy of you! You should really be going – it wouldn’t be very wise of you to stick around the party looking like that, you know. Although, it is an improvement on that outfit,” Pansy laughed nastily, as Ginny looked down, almost blinded by rage, at the vivid green silk shirt that was now stained. She was about to open her mouth to start shouting at Pansy, but the older girl snapped at her before she could. “Don’t make a scene and ruin Cho’s party, Weasel!”

She took a quick glance around her; the group of people that had been her appreciative audience not ten minutes before were now looking at her with varying looks of amusement, horror or pity. She could barely raise her head to meant Angelique’s eyes, not wanting to see what she was thinking about this whole mess. Her eyes caught for a moment as she spotted Draco Malfoy striding towards the huddled crowd purposefully, and she felt herself stiffened immediately as she met his eyes for a split second. But that split second was enough to remind her of what had happened earlier - the challenge he’d issued and the unfortunate results their race around the Whomping Willow had had for her. And as terrible as it had been, it didn’t compare to this, because then, she’d been fighting back. But now, she was standing there, letting bloody Pansy Parkinson push her around without even reacting with anything more than a few sarcastic comments? The hell with that! She’d just pulled out her wand, her mind searching through its catalogue of curses trying to find something suitable for the sneering girl when the cool and completely disarming voice of Blaise Zabini caused a complete shutdown of her high brain functions and cognitive abilities.

“Weasley. You’re looking a little damp,” he said, causing her to jump, surprised to find him behind her. She gaped at him stupidly, unsure of what to say. She just nodded, more aware than ever of the many pairs of eyes that were on her, especially because they now included his.

“Pansy! I’m so glad you could make it to the party,” Cho Chang’s voice rang out, as she stepped into the middle of the crowd, carrying a large champagne bottle with her. Pansy’s face instantly shifted from her nasty glare in Ginny’s direction to a mask of sweetness. “I was just looking around for someone to help me out with something. Would you mind?”

“Oh, of course not Cho! Anything you need!” Pansy said, practically tripping over herself, her efforts to embarrass and harass Ginny completely forgotten as she basked in Cho’s attention.

“I was just about to make a toast, in honor of my teammates and our successful year. Could you just hold this glass for me while I open the bottle? It’s being a little difficult,” Cho said, handing Pansy a crystal champagne flute while continuing to fiddle with the champagne bottle, shaking it around as she tried in vain to pop the cork out. Ginny stepped back from the scene upon seeing, to her shock, Cho wink at her. Then, without warning, the cork popped right out of the bottle in an explosion of liquid erupted forth, spraying anyone who happened to be in its path – such as the unfortunately positioned Pansy Parkinson. Laughing in surprise as she held the bottle away from her body as the carbonated liquid sprayed directly into Pansy’s face as her shrieks filled the air, Cho met Ginny’s eyes as she gave her a sly grin.

Handing the bottle off to a rather frazzled-looking house elf once the eruption had tapered off, Cho grabbed Ginny by the arm.

“Thanks Pansy, you were a great help,” she called over her shoulder, as she lead Ginny away from the scene. Giving Ginny an appraising look, who was still feeling slightly shocked, she smiled. “Let’s see if we can get you cleaned up a bit. Can’t have you feeling out of place because of a wanker like Pansy.”


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“Thank you,” Ginny said sincerely from behind a silk dressing screen. Her eyes had practically bugged out of her head as Cho had led her up to her bedroom, ushering her into the shower to clean the sticky liquid out of her hair, then ordering her behind the screen as she tossed dozens of dress robes over to the overwhelmed girl, declaring that she wanted to find suitably “fabulous” for her to make up for the rude actions of her guest. “I mean, for what you did to Pansy.”

“It’s something I’ve been waiting to do for years now! The only reason I’ve been friends with her is because I’ve done some modeling for her mother’s fashion line. But this season’s designs are just terrible, so that’s no longer a concern,” Cho said, her laughter a delicate tinkling-type noise. She threw another set of robes over the screen to Ginny. “Try that one! I think it might be perfect!”

Ginny picked up the brilliant green fabric, a beautiful green color that reminded her of the very green grass in the summer. Holding it out in front of her, she drew a shaky breath as she examined it. It was made a flowing, silky fabric, and was an elegant take on a Grecian toga. Slipping into it, she admired the way it wrapped around her, falling in folds to the ground from the waist, where a golden cord twisted about her torso, cinching the dress at her waist. She took a few tentative steps out from behind the silk screen, reveling in the feel of the dress as it trailed behind her, the filmy material swaying as she moved.

“Definitely perfect. Come look at yourself!” Cho cried out, her eyes wide with pleasure, dragging Ginny over to the full length mirror. “Oh Ginny, it’s fantastic!”

Ginny was trying to speak, to articulate just how much she appreciated her help, but she was too busy staring at herself. Unable to believe that the girl standing in such an amazing set of dress robes which cost more than two year’s tuition to Hogwarts, looking very much like she belonged in ancient Greece, was actually her, she just stared blankly at her. Cho was behind her, smiling indulgently at her amazement.

“It’s the perfect color for you,” she said, glancing at the range of black dresses she’d laid out as possibilities disdainfully. “You are definitely not a simple black dress. From everything Blaise has told me about you, you could be nothing other than a brilliantly colored one-of-a-kind dress.”

“I don’t know what Blaise has told you about me,” Ginny cried out, laughing. She watched Cho walk over to her closet, searching through the many shelves of shoes, trying to pick out a pair to match the dress.

“He’s told me quite a bit. That’s why I really wanted to meet you, it’s so rare that he ever talks about any of the girls he meets,” Cho said distractedly. Ginny felt her stomach leap into her throat, the thrill of excitement overwhelming her senses. “That’s how I know you had to be really unusual. And he was right, you are rather full of spirit and you have a very honest nature about you.”

“He said that?” Ginny breathed. Cho turned around, smiling at her as she handed her a flat pair of sandals that were so delicate, they looks as though they were nothing more than a few strips of tan leather to hold the sole to her foot.

“I think these will be perfect – very earthy. It will go quite nicely with the Greek thing we’ve got going on. I think we should leave your hair alone – it’s so lovely loose, and use just a small touch of makeup,” she said, motioning for Ginny to put the shoes on. Ginny slid them on to her foot, and remarked at how well they fit. Cho grabbed her arm, and led her towards the vanity table.

“This dress, these shoes… it’s all so incredible,” Ginny said, still overwhelmed by Cho’s comments regarding Blaise Zabini and what he’d said about her. “I really appreciate how kind you’re being.”

“Really, I owe you a favor. I worry about Blaise sometimes, especially when I’m so far away from him all the time, traveling with the team or with other commitments. He’s always been such a serious boy, and he avoids interacting with people far too much, especially girls. You seem to have broken through that shell of his a bit, which makes me very happy,” she said, laying out an array of cosmetics for Ginny to choose from. Ginny was far too distracted by her words to notice anything else. It sounded as if Cho was thanking her for spending time with Blaise, which given the way they were looking at each other as they’d walked into the ballroom, seemed rather odd to Ginny. If Blaise was her boyfriend, she wouldn’t want any other girl to get too close to him, especially if she had to be away from him a lot like Cho was.

“He talks about you a lot, too,” Ginny said tentatively. Cho paused, her dark eyes growing serious as she smiled sadly.

“He’s a really good friend. I hope he can find himself a nice girl to look after him after I leave again,” she said, her voice soft. Ginny frowned, surprised, but if Cho noticed her facial expression, she ignored it. “There, I think you’re ready!”


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“Not exactly the elegant affair Cho’s parents had in mind,” Goyle laughed, watching as yet another unsuspecting couple paused for a split second too long under the trick mistletoe they’d planted.

“Keeps it from being dull, mate. Did you catch the scene with the Weasel girl and Cho earlier? They really got Pansy!” Crabbe asked Draco, his voice enthusiastic, trying to drag his friend out of the gloomy stoicism that had been hanging around him for over a day. Draco was leaning idly against a marble pillar, glaring alternately across the room where Blaise was busy speaking to Cho’s parents and to the grand entranceway, as if he were waiting for someone to arrive.

“Why hasn’t Blaise come over here at all?” Goyle asked Draco pointedly. His friend glared at him coldly, and returned to watching the doors. “Did you two have a row or something? Haven’t seen you two talk at all since that other day by the Whomping Willow.”

“I have nothing to say to him,” Draco mumbled, sounding bored. At that moment, the doors swung open, and Cho entered, leading a very reluctant-looking Ginny Weasley into the ballroom. Draco’s demeanor changed instantly, as he straightened up and his face lit up.

The Weasley girl was walking tentatively down the steps, wearing a bright green set of dress robes whose filmy material whispered behind her as she walked. Her bright hair was a tumble of loose curls framing her face, and her eyes seemed to glow brightly. The combination of the bright-colored dress, the brightness of her hair and the way the material moved against her body drew many an admiring glance from the males in the room.

Goyle and Crabbe looked at each other in confusion, as they had both noticed the way that Draco’s eyes had locked onto the girl as soon as she’d entered, and how completely unaware he was that anything else existed, for he only had eyes for her.

“This is going to be interesting,” Crabbe said lowly, eliciting a sly grin from Goyle.


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This must be what Cinderella felt like, Ginny thought to herself as she walked into the ballroom alongside Cho. Walking in the first time, surrounded by such a beautiful place and walking into a party filled with people who’d probably spit at her if they met her on the street had been completely surreal, but this time, dressed so finely, was beyond anything she could have ever imagined. All eyes were on her as she and Cho entered. She had no doubt that the majority of the people were trying to figure out who she was, but she felt a thrill when she realized that at least a few of the glances were admiring. The whole thing felt like a dream.

She reached the bottom of the stairs and stood awkwardly for a moment, as the crowd remained still, watching as if waiting for something to happen. She saw Blaise Zabini pushing through the crowd, making his way over to Cho, and she looked away, blushing as she remembered what Cho had told her he’d said about her.

“Weasley!” he exclaimed, his voice low despite the surprise in his voice. He paused on his way over to the radiantly beaming Cho Chang, his dark eyes taking in the sight of Ginny Weasley wearing a magnificent dress. “You look really nice.”

Her heart soared to dizzying heights at his compliment, and suddenly, nothing else mattered. The fact that she was, despite the way she was currently dressed, a complete outsider and that come Monday morning, her dreary life at Hogwarts would return to normal once again – nothing mattered. It all just fell away.

“Zabini!” an irritated voice called out, snapping her out of her reverie. A chill ran down her spine as she spotted Draco Malfoy, his face a stony mask of anger, pushing through the circle of people around them.

“What’s the problem, Malfoy? You disagree?” Blaise asked with a wry smile.

“I happen to think the weasel looked better covered in mud, but that’s beside the point,” Malfoy said, stepping forward slowly, his movements seemingly casual but there was a strain of tension and barely contained anger behind them. Ginny felt her temper ignite at his casual insult. “The problem is the fact that you’re talking to her. You know I sent her a Howler. Who gave you permission to talk to her?”

“I’m not one of your brainless followers, Malfoy. I do what I please,” Blaise said, his voice deadly calm. Ginny, who moments before had felt giddying heights of joy, was now filled with horror. She was watching the only boy who’d ever really been nice to her argue with his best friend – because of her.

“Draco, as usual, you’re being frightfully obtuse and stubborn about this. Just agree with Blaise about how cute Ginny looks, and we can all get back to enjoying the party,” Cho suggested brightly, trying to dispel the sudden tension that filled the room. The stare-down between Blaise and Malfoy was interrupted as Malfoy turned to Cho, his eyes full of rage.

“I won’t let you speak to me like that, even if you are Cho Chang,” he said angrily.

“And I,” Blaise said, his voice commanding, stepping in front of Cho, “will not let you speak to her that way.”

“Stop interfering in matters that have nothing to do with you!” Malfoy spat.

“I’ll stop interfering once you stop acting like a mindless idiot,” Blaise said, his voice remarkably calm, still maintaining the neutral tone it always carried. Despite its neutrality, Malfoy apparently took his words the wrong way. His face flushing red, he pushed his best friend backwards. Blaise, obviously surprised, stumbled backwards a bit, as a chorus of shocked whispered filled the room.

Ginny had seen enough. Stomping forward, heedless of Cho’s delicate sandals that were on her feet and the yards of fabric that trailed after her, she marched over to the two quarreling idiots, and planted herself between them before Blaise could recover and retaliate, even as Malfoy took another step towards his friend, an intent look in his eyes. She intercepted him, and pushed him back as hard as she could. He stumbled backwards, and stared at her with a look of anger and surprise on his face. Facing Malfoy, whose eyes were filled with anger, she crossed her arms and stuck her chin out in defiance as she moved closer to him, blocking him against a marble pillar, trying to put his own intimidation tactics to use against him.

“Once again, you bloody idiot, you’ve gotten it all wrong,” she cried out. “The person you have the problem with here is me, not bloody Blaise Zabini and quarreling with him just makes you look like an ass.”

Malfoy stared down at her with a queer look on his face. Too late, she realized why. Looking above her in horror, she spotted the trick mistletoe hanging so innocuously above them. Feeling panicked, her met Malfoy’s, who had a look on his face that indicated that he was at least as equally horrified as she was. She could feel the spell take effect, propelling her forward even as she struggled against it. Within the blink of an eye, before her mind could properly grasp what she was doing and fight against the spell, she’d leaned against him, lifted her face towards his as his hands reached up to her face, guiding her. His face moved towards hers, and she closed her eyes tightly, willing this nightmare to end. She felt his lips press against hers while she struggled internally force her body to pull away, but the spell was too strong and she was unable to do anything but stand still as he kissed her.

After two seconds, the spell dissipated and she was able to move of her own free will. Jumping away from each other as if they’d been burned, Ginny took little comfort in the fact that he appeared as appalled as she felt. She backed away, her eyes locked on his, her heart pounding in her chest, barely able to breathe. She could hear everyone around them laughing in shock and the whispered comments as their audience tried to understand what had just happened. Tearing her eyes away from his intent gaze, she looked around her, at all the eyes on her that had just witnessed the horrible series of events that had just culminated in her very first kiss, courtesy of a piece of bloody spelled mistletoe.

She fled the room, pushing her way through the crowd, desperate to get away from it all; the staring, the mocking laughter, but most of all, that pair of grey eyes that were staring at her so intently, looking almost apologetically.

“Did you see the way she threw herself at Draco Malfoy? I never believed what those posters said about her, but now, I can’t be sure,” she heard a snide voice comment as she rushed past. She found the first set of doors she could find, and throwing them open, bursting outinto the cold night air.


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Her hasty retreat through the first door she could find had led her outdoors, to one of the Changs’ many gardens. Gasping for breath, placing a shaking hand against her stomach, she looked around her, trying to figure out where she was on their grounds, so that she could blast her way through the hedge out on the street, where she would grab her broken broom and fly as far away from this place as possible. Placing a hand against the smooth marble wall, she leaned against it, needing the support as her knees had grown weak. Her stomach was churning sickeningly, and the very fact that she couldn’t figure out if it was horror or something else completely that was affecting her so deeply did not make her feel any better. That instant, that terrible split-second that had destroyed the perfect image she’d always had about how her first kiss would take place, was replaying through her mind, making it harder to breath even as the cool air caressed her burning skin.

Hermione’s words of warning ran through her head, the way she’d warned her not to become too attached to her romantic notions because real life hardly ever turned out the way one would imagine it, and as her own hopes came crashing down around her, Ginny realized that she was right. “Love isn’t all moonlight and magic fairy gardens – it can be just as ugly and mundane as everything else around us,” Hermione had said. “I just hope that with all these notions and expectations you have about first kisses and such, that you’re not too disappointed with reality.” Well, Hermione had been correct, as always. Reality was terribly disappointing. Feeling tears begin to burn behind her eyes, she exhaled slowly, trying to dispel them. Something as stupid as not taking place the way she’d always hoped was nothing to cry about after all, she kept trying to tell herself.

That was how Draco found her, after he’d followed her out of the ballroom, leaning against the wall, gasping with a hand pressed against her stomach, obviously upset. She’d found her way to the most boasted-about feature of the Changs’ estate – one of the last inhabited fairy gardens in Europe, which explained the way the bushes and trees were lit with soft white light, as the tiny magical creatures emanated a bright glow as they flitted about, from tree to flower. Standing with her back to him, he was struck by the total effect: the soft way the moonlight was reflecting off her bright hair, the way the light of the fairies illuminated the brilliant color of her dress. Looking around him, he decided that this was as good a place as any. He’d seen the devastated look in her eyes once the spell had run its course and they’d regained control of their bodies, and the way it had made him feel uncomfortably guilty had compelled him to follow her out there.

His footsteps as he moved towards her caught her attention, and she turned around, caught off guard. The second she set eyes on him, she started backing away. He paused, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes serious as they met hers. Her heart immediately began to race, and she cursed the talent Draco Malfoy had for continually catching her while she was in her most vulnerable state. She could the feel the tears that had been threatening her earlier welling in her eyes, and she struggled to regain her composure, but it was so hard, with the way he was staring at her and the memory of his lips pressed against hers still making her stomach flutter.

“Was that your first kiss?” he asked, his voice low. Meeting his eyes, she was struck by the way the moonlight altered their color, giving their usual cold grey a silvery sheen. Bristling at that thought, she tossed her head back and relied on her best defense mechanism.

“What, a dirt poor common prostitute like me? Surely you must be joking!” she declared acidly, looking away. He moved in closer, those ever-observant eyes seeing through her weak defense, spotting the telltale shine of unshed tears in her eyes.

“Not exactly the way you’d imagined it,” he said simply, as if he was stating a well known fact. As she stared at him in shock, he leaned in closer, his face a breadth away from hers, forcing her to move back against the wall.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice shaky. He smiled softly.

“Just be a good girl and hold still, and we’ll see if we can’t create something a touch more romantic,” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down her spine. Before his words could register, one of his arms had wound itself around her waist, pulling her against him as the other reach up, cupping her face, guiding it towards his as he kissed her.

Shocked beyond all rational thought, she tried to pull away, but his arm was wrapped too tightly around her waist. But then, as his lips moved gently against hers, the strangest thing happened. A thrilling sensation overwhelmed her senses, running down her spine to tingle in her toes, and it rendered her completely unable to resist as she gave into the amazing sensations filling her body. His thumb was gently stroking her skin where he held her, and even though her mind was still sputtering over the fact that Draco Malfoy was kissing her, she felt herself melt against his body and began to respond.

It was all so foreign to her – she didn’t know how to breathe, what to do with her hands, whether or not she should open her eyes or keep them closed. But as she tentatively moved a hand to rest at his waist, his lips still moving gently against hers, he pulled her even closer to him, pressing her body right against him, deepening the kiss, igniting a desperate need within her that left her gasping and startled.

He pulled away gently, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. Blinking, she remembered to start breathing again, and the reality of who this was, that the person who had just kissed her in a bloody moonlit fairy garden was someone she’d sworn to hate for the rest of her life. Backing away, struggling out of the grip he had on her, she pushed him away, feeling disoriented as she stumbled away, clutching her shaking hands to her chest as she tried to regain control of her senses, which were still buzzing with excitement.

Malfoy was staring at her, a slightly smug grin on his face and a soft look in his eyes, looking extremely pleased with himself. It was such a change from the furious person who’d earlier fought with his best friend. At the thought of Blaise, Ginny’s hand moved to her lips in horror. What if he’d seen them? After she’d been the cause of a row between him and his friend, it was probably not good form to get caught snogging said best friend. She looked around her, terrified that someone had been watching the entire scene.

“Bloody hell, do you think anyone saw that?” she asked Malfoy, her voice shaky. His face changed slowly, from the smug smile and soft light in his eyes to hard and cold. He stared at her, stone-faced, for a moment while he adjusted his black dress robes.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you,” his said, his voice deadly soft. She was taken aback by the sudden coldness, and felt a strange twist of guilt as he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in a garden that was softly swaying with the light of fairies.


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A/N:

Drawn from HYD:
1) pretty much everything that happens during the scenes at the party is inspired by the dorama; the fact that she arrives in the wrong kind of outfit, the way Pansy picks on her, Blaise’s comment, Cho helping her out, dressing her, the fight between Malfoy and Zabini, the accidental kiss (although with my own twist on it). The scene at the end was inspired by a scene in Meteor Garden (Taiwanese version of HYD), where the main boy follows the girl outside afterwards and offers to make the kiss a “little more romantic”. However, my version is very different, and the rest of that scene, such as it is,is my own creation, having been unsatisfied with how that scene ended in the series. Despite these plot points, the characters' motivations, emotions, thoughts and the dialogue are all my own.

I have no idea when the next update will come. Best place to find out is my LJ, where I often post about the fic itself as well as cookies and fic bits as I write the next chapter.

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Chapter 9: The Other Shoe Drops

It was late when Draco returned home, sauntering through the main hallway and brushing away the trembling house elf trying to relieve him of his robe with a pointed glare in its direction. It had attempted to stammer something that was supposed to resemble English as he stormed past, but abandoned its feeble attempts as its master paused momentarily to glare at it, his eyes cold and dangerous. The elf squeaked out something about a visitor before it fled, tripping over its own feet no less than four times before it disappeared.

Draco Malfoy was so furious that everything around him just served to irritate him even further, making it difficult to keep track of the original source of his anger. As he stormed through the empty hallways of his parents’ house, he made his way towards his bedroom, slamming the door behind him with enough force to send the house elves into hiding for a month. He collapsed into a plush leather chair, images from that night flashing through his mind as he was reminded what exactly was causing his current temper tantrum.

“Bloody hell, do you think anyone saw that?” the little wench had asked, looking horror-struck at the very idea of being caught snogging him. She clearly had an incredibly warped sense of reality, as he was the one who should have been concerned about their getting caught. And yet, she was the one who looked horrified. Seething, he jumped up from his chair, beginning to pace around his room.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, just as he was examining his bookshelves for a suitably breakable object to hurl at the wall.

“WHAT?” he barked, outraged that any of the house elves would dare to interrupt him. He strode towards the door, yanking it open, prepared to lay into whichever trembling servant had the misfortune to be on the other side of the door.

“Is that any way to greet your favorite cousin?” an amused voice asked. Draco stared for a moment in surprise, before moving out of the way as his purple-haired cousin, Nymphadora Rookwood, strolled into his room with a wide smile, her eyes twinkling mischievously. Feeling slightly less furious, Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching his older cousin stroll happily over to the chair he’d just abandoned, seating herself down with a sigh. “Seriously, Draco, try not to act too pleased to see me, it’s embarrassing!”

“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly. She cast him a sardonic look and rolled her eyes.

“When the cat’s away, the mouse will play,” she said with a shrug.

“Which cat are we talking about, Cousin Mouse? Your cat or mine?” Draco asked, walking over towards the set of French doors that led to the balcony off his bedroom. He threw them open, despite the chill in the air, allowing the fresh air into the room.

“Don’t be silly, your cats are always away,” she laughed.

“That explains your hair color, then. Your husband would hardly be impressed by your choice. Really, purple?” he asked, with a raised eyebrow.

“I sneezed and it changed, hardly something I could help,” she said, her eyes twinkling knowingly. Draco had to laugh – the Metamorphmagus’ tendency to change her appearance was a constant source of embarrass with his family, who endeavored to pressure her into looking “normal”, encouraging her against using her powers. After her mother, Andromeda, and that Muggle she’d runaway with, had been killed in an ‘accident’, their daughter had been the only person found alive in the village where they’d been hiding. Upon hearing this, Draco’s mother had insisted on taking the child, determined that she would be raised properly – in order to ‘erase the damage done to the Black family name created by her sister’s terrible choice’. Luckily, due to Lucius Malfoy’s influence, very few actually knew the truth about Nymphadora’s father and those who did know the truth were far too worried about the consequences to ever speak about it.

“So, either your husband’s away or you were sent by my parents to check up on me,” Draco said with a pointed look. His cousin’s smile faded slightly at the mention of her husband, Augustus. She’d been married to the infamous Death Eater just after she turned 19, and the Minister of the Department of Mysteries was often away on mysterious trips about which he never told his young wife any of the details.

“Oh, the husband’s away,” she said, with a roll of her eyes. “If your parents wanted anyone to check up on you, they would hardly ask me. That would imply that they’d have to let me out of their sight for longer than 12 hours, and the Dark Lord only knows what trouble I would cause the family name during that time!”

She’d been sorted into Gryffindor, a fact that was an endless source of embarrassment for his parents. Her complete lack of grace and knack for being utterly clumsy and awkward in nearly every social situation were also sore points with them. Having a rather rebellious nature, she often made friends with ‘the wrong sort’ and repeated her ridiculous ideals, such as tolerance for non-purebloods, which certainly did not belong in the Malfoy home. Just before she graduated from Hogwarts, she told them that she was planning on marrying some peasant she’d met in the village. Acting as quickly as possible in order to prevent this travesty in the face of everything they’d try to do for that “ungrateful wretch”, they had found a suitable member of society – Augustus Rookwood – and in exchange for a prominent position, he offered marriage and silence, and Nymphadora’s intended fiancé had disappeared the same night the last of the arrangements had been made. Left with no way out, she’d had no choice but to comply.

“Rightly so. You are a bad influence on me, you know,” Draco said.

“I know. Those horrible things I’ve tried to teach you – how to have fun, how to laugh at yourself and the secrets of executing the perfect Wronski Feint – have corrupted your moral fiber beyond all repair. Your mother would faint if she knew that her impressionable son was currently at the mercy of his delinquent half-blood cousin,” she said sarcastically.

“How long are you planning on staying for?” he asked, attempting to appear nonchalant as he looked down at his hands, but he was unable to hide the hopeful look in his eyes. She knew how much time he spent alone in that empty house, with both of his parents permanently in London on Ministry business.

“Until I get bored with you and your filthy temper. Which, by the way, what has got your knickers in such a twist? The poor house elf who tried to tell you I was here practically fainted!”

“Nothing!” Draco snapped, his face cloudy with anger as she reminded him of the temper tantrum she’d so rudely interrupted. She laughed.

“Sounds like girl trouble to me,” she said with a knowing look. Draco glared at her. “It’s the only thing I know that can create that exact combination of anger and brooding. Remember how you were when that incident with –”

“It’s none of your business!” he shouted, and she threw her head back and laughed. Standing up, she grabbed his arm and started to pull him out of his room.

“Come on, broody. The only cure for romantic trouble that is guaranteed to transform even a foul git like you into something resembling a human being is ice cream,” she declared, as she dragged him down the hallway.

“It’s not a girl problem. It’s a…” Draco muttered under his breath as she led him down the hallway. “It’s a weasel problem.”


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Everyone was still gossiping, laughing and whispering about what had happened at Cho Chang’s party Friday night. A whole weekend had passed since that incident, and it was still the topic on everyone else’s mind, a fact that was driving Pansy Parkinson completely mental. She watched them all, the gossiping sycophants, as they passed through the halls between classes, feeling their barely concealed smiles as they passed by her, still laughing about what they’d heard the Weasley girl had said to her, and what Cho Chang had done. She was not willing to stand for it. The girl had been completely out of line, and she was sick of waiting for Draco Malfoy to strike first – despite the fact that, by all means, having had to suffer the Weasel lunging at him for a snog in the middle of the ballroom, he should have been ahead of the game, with regards to plotting suitable revenge.

She spotted her, sporting her tatty robes and hideous shoes, and after pulling out her wand, made ready to descend upon her and put the uppity pauper in her place. Just as she was to begin her planned assault, someone reached out from behind and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. Spinning around, practically spitting with rage, Pansy was about to lay into the person who dared to interrupt her when she realized who her attacker was. Looming over her, his eyes dark and serious, was none other than the Weasel’s latest victim, Draco Malfoy.

“Parkinson, have you misunderstood anything that I’ve said to you, in regards to Weasley?” Draco said, his voice quietly dangerous, his grip tight on her wrist.

“Of course not, Draco!”

“Then stay away from her. Far away,” he ordered, releasing her wrist, and beginning to stalk away.

“You’re not just planning on letting her get away with everything she’s done, are you?” Pansy shrieked, unable to contain herself. Her sense of justice was feeling horribly wronged, where she was the one who was victimized in front of all of her peers and some of the best of wizarding society, and yet the Weasel was getting away scott free! Draco paused, and turned around slowly.

“I don’t like having to repeat myself, Parkinson. She’s mine, and if you mess with her again, you’ll have a lot more than just public humiliation to deal with. Leave her to me or else,” he said with a pointed look, before turning and walking down the hall, without another word. Pansy watched him as he left, her mouth gaping open in shock, feeling completely incapable of saying anything else.


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Ginny wasn’t sure which was worse – the knowledge that everyone at school had heard about The Incident on Friday night, or that she couldn’t shake the memory of what had happened afterwards from her mind. As she made her way to her last class of the day, having survived the whole day under constant scrutiny and having to hear the whispers and the laughter whenever she passed while managing to bravely ignore the jeers about how she had thrown herself at Malfoy, she cursed the day she had ever stood up to Draco Malfoy. Her life had resembled nothing short of chaos ever since that moment.

“Put your books away. Today, you are going to have a practical pop quiz. Take out your wands and line up in front of the wardrobe,” Snape ordered as soon as all the students were seated in the class. Everyone groaned, but complied, while whispering to each other what sort of creature they’d have to battle this time. Snape, lacking a great deal of creativity when it came to designing his practical tests, often just threw a magical creature into the giant wardrobe in the far corner of the classroom, forcing each student in turn to defeat it. Ginny felt her heart drop at this announcement, and tried to keep herself from panicking. After the incident with the test a few weeks ago, she needed a good grade to balance the zero he’d given her, even if it meant climbing into a dark, closed in space.

Following her classmates, Ginny hovered near the back of the reluctant line that had formed in front of the wardrobe, students pushing each other out of the way as they tried to stand as far away from it as possible. Snape scowled at them all as he walked past, his eyes scanning through the students as if searching for a victim.

“This is an incredibly basic magical creature that any Hogwarts student should be able to successfully neutralize as early as their first year. Given the spectacular display of underwhelming abilities during your last practical test, I felt it necessary to bring you back to the basics. It’s simple: there is a Boggart in this wardrobe. You will be given three minutes alone inside. If it still forms the shape of your greatest fear by the time your three minutes are up, you fail,” Snape explained. A whisper of excitement passed through the room, as those who had seemed nervous about the pop quiz realized that this was practically a gift. Everyone knew how to defeat a Boggart. Ginny, however, wasn’t feeling quite the same – a thick ball of fear had formed in her stomach and she was doing the best she could not to vomit. The thought of climbing into that space, having the heavy wooden door shut behind her for three minutes, was almost more than she could bear.

“Miss Weasley, as punishment for your academic dishonesty during our last quiz, I feel that it is appropriate that you should take your practical test first,” Snape said, his dark eyes glittering as they fell on her, undoubtedly catching the unease on her face that she was too preoccupied to hide. She cursed herself, cursed Snape. She had forgotten the first rule of survival – never show any weaknesses.

“Fine by me,” she muttered, walking slowly to the front of the crowd. Her limbs felt heavy, her movements stiff and slow, as if she were walking through water. She reluctantly pulled out her wand, and as she was about to reach the wardrobe, she whispered a spell softly, making her wand glow.

"What are you doing, Miss Weasley?" Snape demanded, a twisted smile on his face. Ginny paused, looking around her, trying to figure out what she had done to deserve the question, her mind clouded by her efforts to quell the panic she could feel spreading out from her stomach.

"I'm about to climb into a wardrobe to fight a Boggart, like you asked me to," she answered slowly; uncertain as to why this was suddenly an issue with him. She was doing it, wasn't she? He knew - he knew why this was hard for her, and so he should be pleased that she was about to complete his stupid pop quiz without a word of complaint.

"I didn't say that you could use Lumos. I want all of you to be able to conquer a Boggart without using any light produced from your wand," he said. The very fragile dam that had been holding in the storm of emotions that had threatened to consume her in the few minutes that had passed since he had announced this little 'test' shattered to pieces, and she was unable to stop herself from speaking.

"It's impossible to fight a Boggart without being able to see it! Riddikulus won't work unless you are able to laugh at it, to turn your greatest fear into something you can laugh at, and you can't do that without being able to see it!" Ginny protested. Snape smiled, a cold look of triumph in his eyes.

"Then you'll have to find a way that doesn't use Riddikulus. You're supposed to be such a brilliant student - that's why the school gives you such a generous scholarship, surely you can figure something out," he said nastily, while opening the door to the wardrobe and holding it open for her. She stared at the dark, empty space she could see and felt a strong urge to vomit at the thought of going in there. "Quickly, Miss Weasley, before the Boggart escapes and I have to send you scouring the castle for another one. After grading you a zero, of course."

"I won't," she said, her voice firm despite the way her limbs were shaking.

"If you expect to pass this class, you will," Snape said, his voice a low hiss.

"I can't. And you know why," Ginny protested desperately. She and Snape certainly had their differences, but long ago, during her first year, she'd confessed to him the difficulties she had climbing into small, dark spaces, and he'd understood, slightly (while simultaneously being completely sarcastic and mocking about it).

"If you don't, then you fail the quiz. I'm not willing to make exceptions for any of my students," Snape said firmly. Staring at his impassive face, Ginny felt a surge of hatred for him, as he smiled at her smugly. Steeling herself, trying to remember the charm that Hermione had taught her to help alleviate the debilitating panic she felt any time she was faced with a small, enclosed space, she took two steps towards the wardrobe. Her breathing became shallower as it became harder to breath as she peered inside, catching a glimpse in the dim light of the dimensions of the room. It was very small.

She took a tentative step into the wardrobe, forcing herself to keep moving, reminding herself how much she needed a good mark on the quiz. She felt the door close behind her, and she was enclosed in the dark. There were a few traces of light along the cracks in the door, allowing her a small field of vision, and she looked around her, trying to spot the Boggart, planning on using Riddikulus despite what Snape had said.

And suddenly, she couldn't see anything. The noise from the classroom beyond the wardrobe had completely disappeared, and along with it, the small amount of light. Feeling her hands begin to shake and a huge wave of panic swell throughout her body, Ginny tried to breath deeply, to force herself to calm down.

But then, she heard the noises. Inauspicious sounds of a quiet forest at night, a sound that in another world would have been comforting or peaceful, filled her ears. The air became colder, and she felt her heart drop as the small space was filled with an eerie green glow. Appearing as if it were far away and partially obscured by tree tops, Ginny saw what the Boggart had chosen as her greatest fear, even as the space around her seemed to cave in on her - the Dark Mark.

Dropping her wand, Ginny clawed at the walls around her, desperately feeling her way in the dark, seeking the exit. She found it, and shoved it open, stumbling at the force with which it gave way. Unable to speak and completely ignoring the inquiring looks and muffled giggles of her classmates, Ginny breezed past her scowling professor, quickly threw her parchment and quill into her bag and ran out of the classroom.


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Ginny had been walking the grounds of the school for almost an hour, wandering aimlessly through the hallways and out into the fields, heedless of which direction she was going. It didn't really matter; she was just trying to kill enough time so that she could creep back into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and retrieve her wand, planning on waiting long enough so that Snape would have already left the classroom for his office.

She had heard classes end, and seen the majority of students leaving, so she knew it was almost safe to go back. She was still feeling rather skittish and emotionally raw, lamenting the day she'd ever let Snape in on her secret. She had the distinct feeling that he'd chosen that particular test for her special benefit, as some form of revenge for whatever wrong she'd committed lately. She ran through a list of their encounters in her mind, searching endlessly for what she might have done to upset him so much to bring about such a drastic attack on her.

Absorbed in her thoughts and still feeling the jittery paranoia that had consumed her since she'd fled her last class of the day, Ginny poked her head around the corner, checking to see if there was anyone in the courtyard, planning to cut across it and into the school to retrieve her wand - but only if there was no one around. Peering around her, she watched one straggler until he turned the corner, and decided it was safe. She was so consumed with remaining hidden until he was safely out of sight that she didn't even notice the group that came up behind her, watching her as she half-hid behind the corner, attempting to stealthily avoid notice from the person she was watching.

"Hey look, it's Weasley!" a voice called out, nearly causing her heart to stop beating from the surprise, her nerves still frayed from her earlier experience. She spun around, her eyes wild, and was dismayed to see a group mixed with people she would ordinarily be delighted to see - Blaise Zabini and Cho Chang - and a group which she decidedly not pleased to see - Crabbe, Goyle and Draco Malfoy. Her eyes scanned the group, noting that almost all of them were wearing casual smiles and there didn't seem to be much hostility coming from them. Until her eyes met Malfoy's, who was stone-faced and serious. She felt her stomach lurch as they made eye contact with each other, their last interaction that past Friday still very fresh on her mind. She looked away as quickly as possible, awkwardly trying to avoid looking at him. If only Draco Malfoy could be easily ignored, she'd never have any other trouble in life. She focused on the ground, figuring it was the safest place to look.

"Who were you spying on?" Crabbe asked, his voice tinged with amusement. Ginny started when he spoke, looking up at him, her eyes wild with surprise.

"A Gryffindor, attempting any activity requiring stealth? Inconceivable!" Goyle chortled. Ginny felt her nerves bristle and a flash of irritation run through her as she realized that she was about to shout out some defense in the name of all Gryffindors while simultaneously denying that she was actually spying on anyone. She snapped her mouth shut before she could say anything unwise, and settled for glaring at him.

"Ginny, you disappeared so quickly Friday night, I didn't have a chance to thank you for coming," Cho said with a smile, while jabbing Goyle with her elbow. Relieved to have the attention drawn away from what she had been doing earlier, knowing she’d never be able to explain why she wanted to get back to Snape’s classroom without being seen without having to go into what had transpired, she smiled at Cho and was about to thank her once again for all her kindness that night when Goyle chimed in.

“That’s because she fled after throwing herself at Draco and snogging him senseless!” he laughed, Crabbe eagerly joining. Feeling her face begin to burn, she desperately tried to avoid looking at Blaise, but she was dying to know how he reacted to that comment. She needed to explain, she wanted him to know the sequence of events, to know that she had never wanted to kiss Malfoy.

“That’s not at all what happened! I didn’t throw myself at him, as you two very well know, what with that spelled mistletoe you plant in the ballroom!” Ginny shouted. “I wouldn’t willingly kiss Draco Malfoy, and the only reason I did was because I was magically forced to!”

“You don’t have to explain it to us, Weasley. It makes no difference to us who you snog,” Blaise said, and Ginny’s eyes instantly fell to the floor, knowing that he must have caught the way she’d been looking at him as she defended herself, trying to gauge if he believed her or not.

“Don’t delude yourself, weasel. No girl has to be magically forced into anything with me,” Malfoy said, arrogantly swaggering forward, his fixed on hers. She opened her mouth, desperate to refute that statement, but the memory of that second kiss was still hovering very near the surface of her subconscious, and she felt a shiver run down her spine, rendering her speechless.

“Ginny, we were just discussing going out for dinner. Would you like to join us?” Cho asked, elbowing Draco aside with an exasperated roll of her eyes. “That’s if you can tolerate the excessive amounts of male ego we’ll have to share the table with, of course.”

“I’d like to, but I’m working tonight. In fact, I should really be going. I still have to get my wand back,” she said, the last part mostly to herself.

“Hey, Weasel, I heard you had a complete breakdown in Snape’s class this afternoon trying to defeat a Boggart,” a snotty voice called out from behind. Groaning, Ginny turned, and sure enough, the smug face of Pansy Parkinson was behind her, twirling a wand in her right hand and grinning like a Cheshire cat. Ginny felt her heart sink as she realized that Pansy was holding her wand – she must have heard about the whole ordeal after class and retrieved it, planning to torture her with the story. Ginny’s mind jumped into action, trying to find a way to defuse the situation before Pansy could make it too uncomfortable for her. The last thing she wanted was for Draco Malfoy and his goons to hear about it. Don’t show any weakness. “For a girl who claims she’s not afraid of any of us, that seems rather odd. It must have a truly terrifying sight.”

“Well, let us just say, Parkinson, that try as I might,” Ginny said brightly, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the horrifying sight of my face slowly transforming into yours. I think I’ve been scarred for life.”

An explosion of laughter erupted behind her, and Ginny tried not to giggle herself, especially when Pansy’s face started to turn purple with rage. Striding forward, Ginny reached out and plucked her wand from Pansy’s grasp.

“Thanks for brining me my wand, Parkinson! You’ve saved me a trip!” Ginny called over her shoulder as she strode away, remembering that unless she hurried, she was probably going to be late for work.


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“All I want is for my life to get back to normal! The good old days, when I was invisible at school, and the Slytherins would see right through me, I was so insignificant,” Ginny groaned, taking a moment to complain to her friend. The night had been very busy, and in between serving customers and trying to snatch a few moments to browse over her textbooks, she’d hardly had a chance to speak to her friend.

“You want to go back to the days where you were so consumed with being invisible and unnoticed that you held your tongue and pretended you were someone you’re not? And by extension, by not protesting or standing up to their actions, you were in a roundabout way, supporting what they were doing,” Hermione asked, with a sly smile. Ginny scoffed in mock indignation, and flung her wet bar towel at her friend, laughing as she did so.

“You are far too clever for your own good,” Ginny cried, before recovering her bar towel. She worked silently for a minute, before looking up at Hermione, a pensive look on her face. “I don’t think anything will ever be normal again, ‘Mione. He’s ruined it.”

“Which ‘he’ are we talking about this time?” Hermione asked, her eyes staring at Ginny knowingly.

“Which ‘he’ do you think I’m talking about? The giant prat whose very being seems to have a detrimental aspect on every facet of my life!” Ginny cried incredulously, as if she couldn’t believe that Hermione honestly didn’t know who she was talking about.

A feigned cough caught their attention before Hermione could retaliate, and they both turned around to see the coolly smiling face of Rosmerta, watching them with her eyebrows raised.

“Are we being professional and productive, ladies?” she asked, her tone slightly admonishing. Ginny smiled sheepishly, and looked around her, noting that there were few customers who still lingering at their tables.

“Sorry, just got a little caught up with the girl-talk,” Ginny said apologetically. Rosmerta shook her head with an amused yet long-suffering sigh and then gestured for Ginny to follow her.

“There is a young man here to see you,” she said, pointing to someone with their back turned to them. Ginny’s heart immediately began beating heavily in her chest, afraid it would be him, planning something awful to get revenge for whatever wrong she had committed this time. She walked towards him, gearing up, determined to not be caught off guard by him again. As she approached, he turned around, and with a flood of relief – and a slight jolt of surprise – she realized that it wasn’t Malfoy at all, it was his best friend.

"What are you doing here?" Ginny asked, startled to see him there. Blaise raised an eyebrow, looking slightly taken aback by her curt question. "No, it's just that... aren't you supposed to be out with your friends? With Cho, and Malfoy and the lot of them? What are you doing here?"

"Cho asked me to come see if you were finished work yet. She'd like you to join us, if you are," he said, with a casual shrug. Ginny looked at him inquisitively for a moment, unsure how she wanted to react to this new development. Based on what little he'd said, it was becoming clear to Ginny that there wasn't a lot that Blaise wouldn't do, so long as Cho asked. That was surprising to her, for she'd always thought that there was a streak of stubbornness or strong-headedness in Blaise, given the way that he didn't seem to buy into Malfoy's nonsense with the Howlers and all. But with the way he was standing in front of her, looking slightly annoyed and a little aloof, it seemed as though he didn't want to be there asking her to come with them. Yet he was here, and it was because Cho had asked.

"I'm finished work, but I have to get home. I've got homework, a test to study for," she said, trying to sound as if she regretted the fact that she couldn't come, as she quickly untied her apron and went about gathering her books - which had scattered behind the counter as she tried to study between customers. After what had happened at Cho's party, she wanted to be as far away from that social circle as possible, even if it meant giving up a night spent in the company of the gorgeous Blaise Zabini.

"There won't be any tests tomorrow," he said simply, brushing off her excuse. Ginny stared at him, open-mouthed, shocked by how certain he sounded.

"How can you be so certain? Snape gave us a pop quiz today - which I definitely failed," she muttered to herself. "Just because you say there aren't going to be any tests doesn't make it a reality."

"Just trust me, and come along. Cho is waiting," he said, turning around and walking out to the street without another word.


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Ginny was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed in front of her, doing whatever she could to keep away from Draco Malfoy. As soon as they'd arrived at All Hallows, Cho had greeted her enthusiastically before her attention was diverted by the others in the private room with them, and she was shuffled off, leaving Ginny alone in the crowded room with people she either didn't know or didn't want to have anything to do with. Malfoy was there, sitting on the other side of the room, surrounded by his usual horde - Parkinson and her army of mindless twitterers, Crabbe and Goyle. She'd felt his eyes on her earlier; that feeling that instantly made her conscious of what she was doing, where she was and who she was with, as if she were being singled out from a crowd of hundreds - a feeling that was becoming all too familiar for her comfort. Luckily, he seemed to be absorbed in conversation with an older-looking girl with silvery hair, and his attention was no longer on her.

Someone had handed her a drink as she'd entered, and she held the glass, feeling it grow warm in her hand, grateful to have something to do with her hands as she stood there, feeling awkward and slightly unwanted. A few non-Hogwarts students had given her funny glances, but so far, none had stopped to speak with her and she felt sorely out of place. She took a tentative sip from her glass and tried not to grimace at the taste. Fire Whiskey, no matter what fruity concoction it was mixed with, had a horrible flavor that burned down your throat, and Ginny avoided it whenever possible. It was bad enough she had to endure the smell of alcohol while she was working. However, feeling bored and unsure whether or not it would be rude of her to just leave, she began to idly sip on the drink. After awhile, the burning sensation began to feel rather pleasant, and the urge to gag had disappeared.

Twenty minutes and another drink later, her boredom got the best of her, and she began to wander around the room, hoping to find something to capture her interest. The surreal feeling of being in the fabled VIP lounge at the exclusive All Hallows' night club where so many of the snotty Slytherins frequented was punctuated by the alcohol that was going straight to her head, and it all seemed to feel rather fuzzy and amusing. She knew that if she had arrived with anyone less than Blaise Zabini, she would have been tossed out without a second thought, but seeing as she had, she was granted an all-access view of what Slytherins did for fun.

She found it all very boring. How interesting could it be to meet with the same people you saw at school every day, talking about how great you were with each other? With one last distasteful glance around her, Ginny spotted an obscure set of doors that seemed to lead out to a balcony, and noticing just how much her head felt as if it were wrapped in cotton, she stepped outside, longing for fresh air.

It was a very cold night, as the air had started to take on a bitter chill that indicated that the last days of autumn were almost behind them and that winter was just around the corner. She breathed deeply, trying to clear her head. Just as she was about to walk towards the railing in order to get a better look at the view, she heard voices engrossed in conversation, and turned her head to see Blaise and Cho. She was about to call out to them, hoping to finally get a chance to speak with Cho for more than a few minutes, when she noticed something that made her pause.

She was sitting on the railing, her feet dangling below her, hands clutching the side for balance, and he was leaning against the railing, looking up at her with his face tilted towards her. Ginny could hear Cho giggling, and from the smile on Blaise's face, it looked as if they were sharing a private joke. Feeling suddenly panicky and desperate not to interrupt their tête-à-tête, she ducked back around the corner, pressing herself against the wall.

Ginny kept telling herself to go back inside, but the shock of the fresh air felt too good and she was dreading having to back inside and wander around the crowded room awkwardly. She could hear their laughter, and tried to drown it out, not wanting to eavesdrop.

But it became very difficult to ignore what was being said.

"I'm happy to finally have a moment alone with you. I feel like we haven't had a chance to talk at all since I've been back - at least not alone, not like we used to," Cho said, with a heavy sigh, sounding exhausted.

"If you hadn't flown off and become a national hero, you could have had all the time in the world to talk to me," Blaise answered, his voice so low that Ginny was barely able to hear what he had said.

"What's going to happen with you when I leave at the end of the week? I don't know for sure how long I'll be gone this time," Cho said. Even with the distance between them and all the background noise interfering, Ginny could hear a note of sadness and worry in her voice. Leaning out, she strained to hear more, her curiosity overcoming her sense that it was wrong to eavesdrop of their conversation.

“I know there’s nothing I can say to change your mind about going, so I won’t even try,” he said, with an edge in his voice. Cho looked away, as if stung by his words. She paused for a moment, before resuming her cheerful front, smiling once again.

“I’ll just have to find you a nice girl who I can trust enough to look after you while I’m gone. You really should start dating, Blaise. You’ve got a reputation for being rather antisocial,” she said breezily, edging away from him as he looked up at her and reached for his hand. Ginny watched, fascinated to see this dynamic – to see that any girl could resist Blaise Zabini when he was reaching out to her, even someone like Cho Chang. Either she was completely oblivious to his feelings, or she knew and was trying at all costs to act as if they didn’t exist. He turned his back to her, and even in the dark, she could see a pained expression on his face.

“And who would you recommend I start dating, if you’re so concerned for my reputation?” he asked, his voice ice cold. Cho, despite his tone, smiled, jumping down from the railing where she’d been perched.

“How about Ginny? From what I’ve seen of your classmates, she’s the pick of the litter around here,” Cho suggested cheerfully. Ginny had to clutch the wall to keep herself from falling, as her knees had suddenly grown very week, and her head felt so light, she thought she was going to float away. A moment of silence followed, and Ginny hardly dared to breath, lest she be discovered and never find out what his response would be.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but his response certainly wasn’t it. He laughed.

“Ginny Weasley? Surely you are joking!” he said, barely audible through his laughter. Ginny froze, biting her lip as her heart plummeted.

“Why not? She’s not some vapid, mindless little social climber who only cares about how prestigious your family is. And she has honest eyes; you can always tell exactly what she’s thinking and feeling,” Cho cried, her tone indignant.

“But she’s a Weasley! Even if I was willing to entertain your suggestion as something more than what you’re actually trying to do, it wouldn’t change the fact that she’s still a Weasley! She’s a funny girl, interesting to have around, but, let’s be serious!” he scoffed. Ginny edged away from the wall, turning around from them. Hunching her shoulders, crossing her arms and hugging them closely to her body against the sudden chill in the air, she leaned against the wall, and tried to stop listening. She didn’t want to hear any more.

“What do you mean, what I’m actually trying to do?” Cho demanded. A charged second of silence followed, but none of it mattered to Ginny. She felt as if she’d been stabbed in the stomach.

“How can you so blatantly pretend that you have no idea how I feel?” Blaise demanded, his voice infused with more emotion than Ginny had ever heard from the usually stoic boy. “Even if you succeed in pawning me off on some girl so you don’t feel guilty about us anymore won’t change the way I feel about you.”

“Blaise…” Cho said quietly. Ginny heard footsteps, and assumed she was walking towards him. “I’m leaving in a few days. I don’t know when I’ll be back. No matter how… how either of us feels about the other, that is the one thing that will not change. You even said that nothing you could say would change the fact that I’m leaving. I just… I want to make sure that you’ll be alright after I’m gone, that you won’t become that silent, lonely boy again, the one that I met ten years ago. Just because I’m going doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“It just means you care about yourself more,” he spat. Ginny nearly gasped, unable to believe that someone who never seemed to be able to take his eyes off Cho whenever she was in the room, who had that soft look on his face whenever he spoke to or about her, could possibly have sounded so angry and cruel. She heard his footsteps as he stormed away, and backed into the corner, desperate to remain hidden. He passed by without noticing.

She heard Cho sigh; a long, sad sigh. With a lot to think about, Ginny crept towards the door and slipped away from the balcony, leaving Cho all alone, standing the cold fresh air.


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Draco’s foot was tapping impatiently, his irritation growing with each passing second. He was standing outside, waiting for his cousin to show up. As it was, he’d already been waiting for her to arrive for over twenty minutes. As uncouth and rough around the edges as Nymphadora Rookwood was reputed to be, she always demanded that the men in her life treated her as she’d been raised to expect; if they didn’t hold doors open for her, adhere strictly the “ladies first” rules of etiquette, pull out her chair or wait for her outside when she was coming to meet them, she had absolutely no reservations about cursing them in order to ensure they never made the same mistake twice. Having been on the receiving end of her little “lessons in proper gentlemanly etiquette” far too many times, Draco had begrudgingly left the party and had been waiting outside for her ever since.

It was a bit of a relief to get away from it, he had to admit. With Cho back in town, there were social events happening every night, as everyone wanted to get a few moments alone with her before she left again, and the monotony never seemed to bother anyone but him. Of course, it had been rather shocking when Blaise Zabini arrived, pulling a rather reluctant-looking Ginny Weasley with him. But minutes after they’d entered the room, he had abandoned her in favor of Cho, and the Weasley girl had been left to her own devices. He’d laughed, once, as she’d glowered at a passing wizard who cast an inquisitive glance, thus scaring him – and anyone else curious enough about her to want to speak with her – away.

He checked his watch and sighed heavily as a fine misty rain started to fall, once again cursing his inconsiderate cousin under his breath. Just as he was sizing up his surroundings, looking for a suitable object which he could kick in order to demonstrate just how annoyed and frustrated he was feeling, a peculiar sight caught his eyes, and he paused. The Weasley girl was coming out of the club, and stumbled over her feet, despite the ugly pair of perfectly practical shoes she always wore - a touchy subject with Parkinson who often commented on them to him.

Recovering from her little stumble, and seeming slightly unsteady, she stopped, standing still before throwing her arms out and her head back, she heaved a great sigh, and then turned on her heel and started to walk away. He bit back a smile, recalling watching her snatch a drink that was proffered to her, and wondered if she knew exactly what was really in it.

Watching her make her way down the street, Draco watched her trip over her own feet twice, catching herself against the wall of the building. Casting a shrewd glance at the darkened street, and noting that the misty rain was steadily growing more persistent, he started to follow her.

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For some reason Ginny couldn't fathom, her feet seemed to have grown four sizes and were becoming impossibly heavy. What could be causing this phenomenon, she wasn't exactly sure, but it was becoming rather uncomfortable, especially as her head had grown so light, it felt as if it were going to float away. Of course, having her heart cruelly ripped out of her chest, unbeknownst to those whom had done that ripping, could probably explain her coordination difficulties.

She squinted, trying to make out where she was and remember where she was going. The slight bit of rain had created a thick fog, making all the lights on the street appear misty and soft, and in her fuzzy state of mind, she stopped to admire how pretty it all looked. After a moment passed, and the a cool breeze whipping through her hair snapped her out of her daze, she looked around, and realized that she really had no idea what street she was standing on. Hogsmeade was continually growing, as more and more wizards left their homes in the Muggle parts of the country, afraid that they were no longer safe, flocking to the steadily growing city. It was now hard to imagine that it had ever been the sleepy little village that her parents remembered from their days at Hogwarts. As a result of all this growth, the city had become an unimaginable tangle of streets and buildings that appeared have little rhyme or reason about them, straying in different directions and spontaneously changing names at the whim of those who occupied it.

She'd wandered down a fairly shady-looking street that was eerily quiet and fairly dark. Looking around her, Ginny fervently wished she had her broom with her. But it was lying in a broken heap under her bed, thanks in part to that bloody Draco Malfoy and his unreasonable ego. She was just about to fish around in her pocket for her wand in order to provide herself with a little more light, when a voice calling out from the shadows startled her.

"What's a little thing like you doing out here at this time of night?" a sinister-sounding voice asked. Jumping around, her wand out in front of her, she saw a man she didn't recognize emerging from behind one of the rubbish bins that lined the alleyway. Staring at him steadily, Ginny didn't answer, she just started to back away as he made a move to start walking towards her, smiling at her with a lecherous grin that made her stomach turn. "Have you gotten yourself lost?"

Even with her mind as fuzzy as it was, she knew that she needed to get away from there, as fast as possible. If her mum ever found out that she'd been walking around alone this late at night, no matter what the circumstances or how much Ginny lied in saying that it was perfectly safe, she'd kill Ginny herself. Turning around quickly and dashing back towards the direction she'd come, hoping to make it to the main street where there'd hopefully more people around, she screamed as she ran face-first into someone else.

As she stumbled backwards, a pair of hands reached out to grab her arms before she fell to the ground, holding her steady until she regained her footing. She glanced up and was strangely relieved to find Draco Malfoy staring back at her, even if he did have that infuriating smirk on his face.

"Enjoying the night life, weasel?" he asked, raising one eyebrow quizzically. Ginny narrowed her eyes and glared at him, suddenly very angry with him - mostly because he was still holding her arms and it was doing strange things to her stomach. He glanced over her head, at the man hovering behind Ginny, and with complete authority that would make any underling jump about ten feet, called out to him. "Is there a problem here?"

Ginny wrenched herself free from Malfoy's grip and pushed him away, just as the strange man answered his question, sounding suddenly nervous and eager to please.

"Oh, no, of course not, Mr. Malfoy. Just thought the girl was lost and offering my help, that's all," he stammered, his eyes growing wide with panic. Ginny turned to look at Malfoy, hardly surprised that the shady character hiding behind rubbish bins in a dark alley would be acquainted with him.

"Friend of yours?" she asked snippily, with a pointed look, before starting back towards the main street.

"As you were the one secretly rendezvousing with him in a dark alley, I think I'm the one that should be asking you that," he called back in answer. Ginny stopped, outraged. Given the fact that her heart had just been brutally ripped from her chest by his best friend, she was feeling rather less inclined to tolerate him than usual. Turning, deciding to give him a piece of her mind, she then tripped spectacularly over her own feet. Again.

He lunged forward and caught her before she fell. Again. Helping her back to her feet, she could tell that he was biting back a laugh, and it served only to infuriate her. Wishing, for once, that she could walk away from any dealing with Malfoy with even a small bit of her pride and dignity in tact, she squirmed out of his grip angrily, growing even more frustrated when he started to laugh at her.

"You've been drinking the punch," he said with a knowing laugh. She stared at him, gape-mouthed, trying to think of something snappy to say.

"What?" was all that she was able to manage, but to her credit, she was able to infuse the word with as much attitude as she could muster. Malfoy laughed again.

"You are aware that there was Fire Whiskey in the punch, weasel? I know that you may not have an appreciation for the finer things in life, but every working class ruffian knows about Fire Whiskey," he said easily, as the two of them started walking down the street, almost without realizing that they were walking along together. "You're completely sotted!"

"Of course I know about Fire Whiskey, I have six older brothers. But I only had two glasses, so I am not - nor have I ever been - sotted," she declared indignantly. Malfoy laughed again, throwing his head back and laughing as if he were any normal person and not the incarnation of pure evil. Ginny stared at him incredulously.

"That's top-shelf Fire Whiskey, weasel, which is four times as potent as that common stuff. You are extremely sotted," he said, looking down at her with his eyes - eyes that she was so used to seeing staring at her with that uncanny intensity, or in rage - were shining with amusement. She stared at him incredulously, registering that piece of information.

"No... No! I can't be!" she protested adamantly, but the whole situation suddenly struck her as incredibly funny, and she started to laugh.

"That's the answer you're sticking with?"

"Oh, bugger, I am," she said, her eyes wide and serious, until waves laughter overwhelmed her. She leaned against the wall as she giggled uncontrollably, before realizing that she was standing in a darkened alley with Draco bloody Malfoy and then clapped her hand over her mouth in a feeble attempt to contain her laughter.

"Do you often walk around dodgy neighborhoods late at night, quaffed out of your mind?" he asked, with a sneering glance around at their surroundings.

"If you hadn't broken my broomstick, I wouldn’t have to walk!" she cried indignantly, her laughter immediately forgotten.

"I didn't break your broomstick, that was entirely your own doing," he retorted.

"If you hadn't bloody attacked me with a BLUDGER, I wouldn't have had to use it to protect myself from being bashed in the face!" she yelled, stepping towards him, looking up at his sneering face. “My very plain face!”

"If you hadn't interfered in our Quidditch game, you wouldn't have gotten in the way," he replied simply, as he too took a step forward. Ginny was beginning to see red, as her temper kicked into overdrive.

"You weren't playing Quidditch, you were being an unbelievable prat by targeting someone else to get to me, and using a bloody Bludger to do it with!" she shouted. As she finished her small tirade, she noted a strange spark in Malfoy's eye, and in that instant, she realized that he'd been baiting her, trying to make her angry. Before she could try to figure out why, a strange look came over Malfoy. As she finished her small tirade, she noted a strange spark in Malfoy's eye, and in that instant, she realized that he'd been baiting her, trying to make her angry. Now he was looking at her with a slight smile on his face and a glint in his eyes that felt like he was looking right through her, as if he knew and saw everything there was about her. It made her uneasy.

"Stop looking at me like that!" she snapped.

"Like what?" he asked, taking a step forward, dangerously close to her. The butterflies in her stomach, the ones that had been an almost constant presence ever since the night of Cho's party when he'd kissed her out in the garden, fluttering occasionally whenever he was around to remind of their presence - and that night - kicked up, sending a thrill throughout her body. He reached out a hand towards her face, and in that instant, Ginny knew that he intended to kiss her again. And that she was screaming at herself to move, to duck out of the way, but her body didn't seem to be as willing to comply, leaving her fixated to the spot.

Before she could try to figure out what to do or what to say, a strange look came over Malfoy. His shoulders seemed to stiffened, and he gave this strange startled groan. He started learning forward, as if he was falling forward. Startled, ripped from the fixated near-trance she'd been in and unsure of what was happening, Ginny ducked out of the way, as he tumbled forward, landing face-first, with all his limbs stiffly pressed against his body. Staring at him in shock, Ginny realized that someone has put him in a full-bodied Leg Locker Curse.

"Draco Malfoy, I warned you about standing me up!" an enraged voice called out. Shocked, Ginny turned to see a woman marching towards them, her short hair bright purple in color. Malfoy emitted some kind of enraged mumbles that were completely unintelligible, but from the way it sounded, he was cursing rather profusely. "Abandoning your own cousin to run after some little girl?

"Cousin?" Ginny asked, astounded. The purple-haired cousin turned to Ginny, and grinned at her.

"Not too loudly, I try to avoid acknowledging my family connection to this prat whenever possible," she said brightly, while nudging Malfoy's ribcage with the tip of her boot as she spoke. Ginny stared, dumbfounded. "Nymphadora Rookwood, but you can call me Tonks."

"Tonks?" Ginny said, uncertainly. Despite the purple hair, the way she was dressed indicated a great deal of wealth - she was wearing the latest design by Parkinson's mother, and from the display in the boutique downtown, Ginny was well aware that that garment alone was worth more than five years at Hogwarts! And her stylish boots were made of dragonhide, a certain sophistication that few indulged in, given the increasing rarity of dragons. Eyeing her, Ginny noted just how incongruous the name "Tonks" seemed for someone of her status...

"It's my maiden name, used to go by it at school, because how could anyone endure the torturous 'Nymphadora'? Don' t know what my mum was thinking," she said, leaning over and pointing her wand at Malfoy, still paralyzed and lying face-down. "Suppose I should release the spell. What do you think?"

She didn't wait for Ginny to respond, and as soon as he was freed from the paralyzing effects of the curse, he jumped up, brushing off the front of his clothes angrily.

"You'd better not let my parents hear you calling yourself that," he mumbled petulantly, crossing his arms and glaring at his cousin.

"Despite your perceptions - based on that startlingly high pedestal you have those people on - your parents do not have superhuman capabilities, and cannot hear me talking from all the way in London. And even if they did, it's not like they can have anything to say on the matter - I'm married now and free from their reign of terror," Tonks chided, and Ginny's incredulousness grew as Malfoy lapsed into a sulky silence and didn't offer any retorts. Focusing her attention back on Ginny, Tonks spoke again. "Has my cousin been bothering you?"

"Bothering me?" Ginny snorted, still slightly inebriated. "Not at all. Systematic torture is more like what he's been doing."

Tonks gave her an appraising look, then smiled widely, her eyes bright with amusement.

"So, you must be Ginny Weasley! From what I've been hearing about town, you've been giving as good as you've been getting," she exclaimed happily. "My dear Draco, the consensus across the board is that you've finally met your match and everyone that hates you - even those that love you - couldn't be more thrilled with that development!"

"Pure stubborness, no matter the quantity, is not nearly a match for me, and that's all the weasel's got," he said moodily, cutting a vicious glare at his cousin. Before Ginny could say anything in response, he straightened up, and after casting one of those appraising glances that always set her skin crawling and her heart racing, he started walking down the alley towards the main street without another word.

"I've seen to have touched a fairly sensitive spot with my cousin, don't you think Ginny?" Tonks asked, with a gleeful smile. Ginny was still slightly thunderstruck by the entire encounter, for she could recognize in the way that Malfoy and his cousin interacted with each other shades of the same kind of relationship she shared with her older brothers, particularly the twins. They were always teasing her and trying to get her temper up, but always responded with pride whenever she tried to give it right back to them. And he hadn't reacted the way she'd have expected - she'd cursed him, caused him to fall to the wet ground and lay there for a few minutes while she teased him, and he'd just stood up and acted sulky instead of flying into a rage or seeking retribution. They must be fairly close, Ginny observed, judging from his reaction.

"Don't know what got his knickers all in a twist," Tonks laughed. "Now, Miss Weasley, why are you out on such a dodgy street at this time of night?"

"I'm just going home," Ginny said, gesturing vaguely around her. She remembered that she was slightly lost, and didn't exactly know where 'home' was from where she was standing.

"Where about do you live? I'd be happy to give you a lift - now that Draco's all in a strop, he won't be very much fun at the party so there's not much point in going," she explained, grabbing Ginny's arm and pulling her along as she headed back towards the main street.

"I have a small flat over Honeydukes, right in the center of the city," Ginny replied.

"Oh... yes, I know that place well," Tonks replied softly. Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny noted that she had a slightly sad and wistful look on her face. "A friend of mine used to live there… Well, come along then, let's get going."

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The next day, even though her head was pounding and she had the distinct impression that she had made a fool of herself in some capacity she wasn't aware of, Ginny ultimately decided that the whole event was a remarkable success. Not only did she meetnTonks, who she had a chance to get to know better on the carriage ride home from All Hallows, but she had the distinct satisfaction of infuriating Pansy Parkinson yet again.

After they had made the trek back to All Hallows, laughing merrily as Tonks recounted her favorite anecdotes from her interactions with the Ministry officials - Ginny was surprised to learn that Tonks found them, and most of the pure-blooded 'upper crust' of society, completely ridiculous - they had arrived just in time to see a group of Slytherin girls leaving. Milicent Bulstrode caught sight of Tonks, unmistakable in her purple hair, and started squealing, calling all the other girls over in a frenzy. Tonks had discreetly rolled her eyes at Ginny, but played along as the girls starting rapid-firing questions about why she was in Hogsmeade, how her husband was, and how long she'd be staying. It seemed as if all the Slytherin girls already knew that Tonks and her cousin were very close, and played nice with Tonks as a means to recommend themselves to the most sought-after Slytherin at Hogwarts.

Pansy Parkinson, however, had flushed red with anger as she spotted Ginny standing with Tonks, and had marched over there, eager to communicate her displeasure at seeing her there.

"Nymphadora, is this...girl bothering you?" Pansy demanded, glaring at Ginny, who couldn't help herself from smiling smugly at her. "The Weasel hasn't learned proper social etiquette, and I'd hate for her to have offended you. Draco has had a lot of problems with her as well."

"No, not at all," Tonks replied cordially, yet dismissively. At that time, her horseless carriage arrived, and after her House Elf opened the door and she had climbed in, she popped her head out and called out to Ginny. "Well, come on, Ginny! Aren't you coming?"

Ginny had barely been able to bite back a laugh as she climbed into the carriage, the sight of Pansy's face slowly growing purple one that she would relish for days to come.

"Ugh, that girl is horrible! I hated girls like her when I was at Hogwarts, and now all of them are constantly trying to get their claws into Draco. So far, he's been too smart to allow that nonsense, but he IS a teenage male, and his common sense may fail him one day, and then I'll be stuck dealing with a beast like her during holidays and Christmases," Tonks said with an exasperated sigh. Ginny started laughing, and soon Tonks joined in, and they ended up gossiping and laughing all the way to Ginny's flat.

After thanking Tonks profusely for the ride and before she stepped out onto the street, Tonks had handed her a card with her name and London address on it, telling her to feel free to write if she ever needed to. Ginny had happily accepted it, and had practically skipped her way up the stairs to her room, unable to believe that someone like Tonks could possibly be related to Draco-bloody-Malfoy.

After a bleary-eyed day at school, where she'd walked around cursing Fire Whiskey as an evil beverage while also trying to avoid Malfoy's mocking smile - he seemed to know that she was suffering, and was certainly enjoying it - Ginny had crawled into work, grateful that today she only had a blissfully short 3-hour shift to work. It had been an easy shift as well, as the number of patrons had been steadily diminishing over the past few days. Ginny had wondered out loud what could be the cause - The Three Broomsticks was such a popular spot, only to have Hermione elbow her with a pointed look at Rosemerta, who seemed worried and uptight.

"They are still hunting for that fugitive," Hermione whispered furiously to her. "The Death Eaters are all about the town, every single day, and they stop by here most afternoons. It makes her nervous, especially with me working here. Can't you feel the tension in the air? It feels like something is going to happen, but no one knows what or which side will strike first."

"With all this concern over one prisoner, one would think that they would release his name or photo, in order to help identify him," Ginny said, her voice low and cautious. The identity of most of the Death Eaters who prowled around Hogsmeade was well-known, but there were a few who were able to maintain their anonymity, a constant source of paranoia for those who were brave enough to speak out about Voldemort's reign. "By keeping this all such a secret, it's making the gossip all that more powerful."

"He escaped from Azkaban, Ginny! No wizard has ever done that, and that has to have them scared," Hermione said breathlessly. "If it turns out to be someone notorious for their anti-Dark Lord stance or who might be considered powerful enough... they're afraid of what kind of ideas this might given anyone unsatisfied with life in the wizarding world."

"You're going to have to be a lot more careful, Hermione. Things have been getting better for Muggle-borns lately, but when they get tense, they start looking for easy targets," Ginny said, her eyes dark with worry. Hermione nodded.

"I'm the epitome of vigilance, Ginny, you have nothing to worry about," she said, with a wry half-smile. "Now, you look terrible, go home and get some rest."

Ginny obeyed Hermione, quickly changing out of her uniform and gathering her things. She hadn't told Hermione the reason she wasn't feeling a hundred percent that day, knowing it would earn her absolutely no sympathy, a litany of disapproving sniffs, a high-browed lecture about responsibility and constant inquiries about the status of her homework.

After saying goodbye to the kitchen staff on her way out, Ginny stopped by the bar to ask Hermione for some help with her Potions essay that was due in a week. Just as she was listing the details of the assignment, she noticed that someone was casually waving to her. Turning, she was surprised to see Cho Chang sitting at a small table all by herself. It was the first time she'd ever seen the Quidditch star without a crowd - or Blaise Zabini - around her. After saying goodbye to Hermione, she reluctantly walked over, still feeling raw from what she'd overheard the night before and unsure how to act around her. But Cho had been waving her over to the table, and after all the kindness she'd shown her, the last thing Ginny wanted to do was act rude or blow her off in any way.

"Every time I try to catch a few minutes with you so that we can talk, something always seems to happen!" Cho said cheerfully. "Have a seat; I've been waiting for you to finish work."

"I really can't stay too long, I have a lot of homework," Ginny said, feebly searching for an excuse.

"I just wanted a chance to chat. I'll be leaving in two days, and I wanted a chance to tell you about the national team, as we're always looking for strong Chasers," she said. Ginny felt a dizzying mix of emotions - elation that her Quidditch idol seemed to think she had any chance at a Quidditch career beyond the walls of Hogwarts, but also a twinge of sadness that she was leaving and that this would undoubtedly send Blaise Zabini back into his stoic world of aloofness.

"You're really leaving?" Ginny asked quietly, looking down at her hands as she fidgeted awkwardly with the cuff of her sweater.

"Of course! We're going to be training starting on Monday, traveling all around Europe. All the professional teams want matches against us, and it's an important opportunity, as they don't allow female players on professional teams. Just think of it, Ginny," Cho said, her eyes lit with excitement. "We might actually have a chance at showing them how wrong that silly rule is, and I've come too close to turn away from that chance."

"I just thought... you know, with...” Ginny stammered, unable to form a sentence in her mind that would state what she wanted to say without revealing the fact that she had overheard her row with Blaise last night. Cho was looking at her curiously, with an odd smile on her face.

"Ginny?" she prompted. Before Ginny could stop herself, the whole truth was blurting out of her mouth, a tumble of words and explanations she was completely unable to stop.

"I heard you last night! I swear, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I wandered outside to get away from all the noise and the insipid chatter inside - not that all your friends are insipid, I'm sure some of them are really nice and intelligent and that I just haven't met them yet - but I needed to get away and I didn't know if it would be polite for me to leave, considering I'd only just got there and you'd sent Blaise all the way here to get me and we'd only just said hello. And I went outside, and saw you two there and was going to say hello but it looked like you were having a moment that shouldn't be interrupted, but I couldn't go back inside, because then you would have heard me and known I was there, and that also would have interrupted your moment, and I didn't know what else to do, so I just hid behind the corner, but I could hear everything!" she exclaimed quickly, fully aware of the fact that she was rambling but unable to stem the flow of words from her mouth. Cho looked surprised, and the smile slowly faded from her face and her expression grew serious.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that, Blaise isn't normally like that and I'm sure he didn't mean what he said. He wasn't himself last night," Cho said.

"He was more himself then than I've ever seen him! You have no idea; he's a completely different person when you're not here. He's quiet and aloof and he avoids people, almost like he's not really part of our world. Always reading, sometimes watching, but never participating! It's only when you came back that he seemed to come alive! I've never seen someone so obviously in love with someone else!" Ginny cried desperately. "And when you go, he's just going to be that same person again, instead of the way he is - so full of life - around you!"

"Ginny..." Cho said with a heavy sigh. A long moment of silence passed between the two of them. "I've had to make a lot of hard decisions in my life, and leaving Hogsmeade and the people here has always been one of the hardest. But there are things that I want out of life, things that I want to accomplish, that I can't do here. If I stayed for any reason other than truly wanting to be here, I would feel like a caged bird... or like you must feel, with a broken broomstick and your ability to fly taken away from you. If he ever asked me to stay, I can honestly tell you that I don't know what I would say. But no matter how he acts or what you heard him say last night, he really does understand that I need to leave - that it has nothing to do with how I feel about him - and he would never ask me to stay."

"He won't; but I will," Ginny said resolutely. "I know this sounds crazy because I barely know you and I'm being horribly meddlesome and you have every reason to go, but I'm asking you, please, don't. I don't want to see Blaise unhappy again, so for his sake, will you stay? I'm begging you,” Cho was staring at her, a sad smile on her face, but Ginny was afraid to meet her eyes, feeling that she had horribly overstepped her bounds and had destroyed her fledging friendship with the superstar player.

"You are a very nice person, Ginny, and I'm glad that Blaise has met someone like you," she said softly, her eyes shiny, seeming to be looking straight past Ginny. "It will actually help me leave with a clear conscious, knowing that there is someone who cares enough about him around to look after him for me when I go. Because I can't stay. Not even for his sake. I think you'll understand that someday."

With a sad shrug, Ginny nodded and stood up from the table, grabbing her bag and preparing to leave. She turned, and was horrified to see Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy standing nearby. From the cold look on Blaise's face, he had heard everything she'd said.

"Cho, Blaise was looking for you. We went to your house, but your parents said that you came here," Malfoy explained, his eyes fixed on Ginny with that strange expression they often got whenever he was staring at her. She was too busy gaping at Blaise, who was standing stiffly in front of her and glaring at her, as if he was trying to figure out what to say. A tense moment of silence passed, with Ginny frozen to the spot, unable to think of what to say, unable to move, wishing fervently that she could turn back time.

Finally, she pushed one foot forward, and started to walk past them, desperate to reach the door. Just as she was almost safe, Blaise turned his head towards her.

"You know, you might have an easier time at school if you learned your place, minded your own business and stopped interfering in matters that don't concern you... Weasel," he spat, his voice harsh and biting. Feeling as if she'd been slapped, she paused for a second as she absorbed the recoil, before she bolted for the door.

In that second before she started running, anyone who was watching could see the telltale signs that she was going to start crying at any second.

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"You've been avoiding me," the purple-haired hellion lying in ambush declared as he opened the door in an effort to stem the incessant knocking that had persisted for almost ten minutes.

"And you don't live here anymore, remember?" Draco sneered; walking back into mahogany-filled study he had been holed up inside since he arrived back at the manor. "If I choose to avoid you, that are entirely my prerogative, you uninvited house guest."

"Is that any way to treat family? Well, I guess it would make your parents proud to know that you're every bit as hospitable as they are," Tonks chided, planting herself in a plush leather armchair directly beside her sulky cousin, who was trying to avoid making eye contact with her. "But now that you've failed in your attempts to avoid me - surely you must have known they were futile, I am female descendant of the Noble House of Black and we are nothing if not tenacious - why don't you tell me about this girl?"

"What girl?" he growled.

"The one you ditched your very own cousin to stalk through the dodgiest street in Hogsmeade in the rain. What's this I hear about you being responsible for the state of her broomstick?" she asked with a Chesire cat-type grin on her face. He glared at her out of the corner of his eyes, gritting his teeth in annoyance. He ignored her question, and the two sat in silence, with her staring at him persistently as he refused to answer her.

"You're an incredibly stubborn girl with an infuriatingly iron will," he said suddenly, almost as if the notion had just occurred to him, as he turned towards her. "Why would someone like you, with the same characteristics, who has steadfastly refused to beg for anything - even something that is clearly in their own best interest - because they are too proud and stubborn to do so, suddenly turn around and in a fit of humility, suddenly beg for something on someone else's behalf? To just toss their pride out the window, like it was nothing, when before, it seemed like it was the most important thing in the world?"

"Oh, you sad lonely little boy. Narcissa is constantly insisting that you are perfectly fine out here all by yourself and that you even prefer to be on your own while the two of them are off licking Voldemort's boots, but how can that possibly be true if you don't know the answer to a simple question like that?" Tonks cried vehemently. "It's called love, you silly git! Caring about someone enough to sacrifice something for them, to be willing to give something, knowing that in the end, you get something even greater in return."

"Love?" he asked skeptically.

"And not necessarily the shallow romantic kind, which I know is all you're capable of wrapping your teenaged brain around. Oh, you're impossible, how can I possibly explain this in a way that you would understand?" she asked, exasperated. "Alright, here is an example. Look at Lord Voldemort. He is powerful, and he rules over the wizarding world, but not out of any emotion other than hate. He hates all of us, even your parents who act as if they love him more than their only son. And that's why no one loves him, and in fact, so many people hate him. In order to be loved, you have to be able to love, be willing to put yourself out there for someone, to give a little, so that you'll have a chance at getting a little in return."

"You have to be able to love in order to be loved..." Draco murmured to himself, a puzzled expression on his face. "That seems fairly straightforward, just like you need money in order to make money." Tonks stared at him incredulously.

"Well, you've obviously completely missed the point," she sighed. "It's all about balance, Draco, and it's not a possession, like wealth, that can be traded or can give you prestige or influence."

"No, it's actually quite logical, I understand it completely," he said, a far off expression on his face. "...I just don't know what I'm going to do about it yet."

Tonks bit back a smile, having a good sense that she knew what was going on.

"Give it a little. You never know what'll happen. At the very least, it couldn't hurt," she said, with a pointed look.

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She could have spotted the crowd milling around the train station from a mile away, and considering that the brightly-colored engine was still visible, she knew that she wasn't too late. Running, her bag hastily thrown over her shoulder and bouncing uncomfortably with each footstep, she was desperate to make sure she was there on time, vowing torturous revenge on Snape if she didn't make it on time. Pushing her way through the crowd, she waved when she caught sight of Cho, surrounded as always by Parkinson and her groupies.

"I was almost late, bloody Snape gave me detention this afternoon which is hardly something new, but I'm glad I made it on time," Ginny cried, gasping for breath, having run the entire way from school.

"I'm glad you could make it as well. We never did get a chance to talk about Quidditch, did we?" she laughed, while gesturing to the assistant who was holding her bags. "But it doesn't matter. I have something for you that I think will help you in that area better than anything I could say."

The assistant moved forward and pressed a tall package into Ginny's hands. Gasping as she realized what was inside; Ginny looked up at Cho with incredulous eyes, barely able to speak.

"Open it!" Cho laughed, and Ginny obliged, albeit with shaking fingers that struggled to untie the string holding the thick paper in place. As she carefully pushed the paper aside, she felt slightly dizzy as she saw what was underneath - a brand new Firebolt.

"I couldn't possibly accept this!" Ginny breathed, hardly able to keep herself from stroking the smooth varnished wood. Cho laughed.

"Of course you can. That's the broom I flew during our championship match. Firebolt is the team's sponsor, and as they are set to release their new model, we're not allowed to fly with the older version anymore. I'd rather see it in the hands of someone who will know how to use it and use it well instead of sitting in the attic collecting dust," Cho explained. Ginny's jaw dropped, and as much as she wanted to hand it back and refuse, her hands tightened around the handle and she just found herself nodding, her eyes bright with gratitude.

"Thank you," she answered hoarsely.

"You'll thank me when I see you playing professionally," Cho said. Just then, Ginny remembered something.

"I'd better go before Blaise sees me, the last thing I want to do is ruin your goodbye," Ginny said, looking around her. Cho's face fell slightly and her dark eyes grew sad.

"He told me he wasn't going to come," Cho said, with a small shrug. Ginny sighed heavily; upset that the one person she thought so highly of could be such a disappointment. Sensing Cho's feelings, she impulsively leaned in and gave the older girl a one-armed hug.

"He'll regret it tomorrow and send you a ridiculously apologetic letter telling you what an idiot he is," Ginny whispered. Cho laughed softly, nodding.

"You really don't know Blaise as well as you think you do," she said. At that, her assistant began tapping her on her shoulder, indicating that it was time to board the train. Waving goodbye to everyone one last time, Cho picked up the duffel bag that had been lying at her feet, and boarded the train.

Ginny watched it leave, feeling slightly wistful. Ever since Cho Chang had come to town, her life had certainly taken on surreal qualities, and as eager as she was to see an end to the chaotic incidents that kept happening to her, a small part of her was going to miss the excitement. After the train rounded the bend, and the only sign of it was the puff of white smoke trailing behind it, the crowd began to disperse. Ginny remained, her new broomstick clutched firmly in her hands, her mind full of all the possibilities that were now within in her reach. A real Firebolt, she thought happily to herself.

As she started to walk away from the station, plans of testing out the new broomstick dancing in her head, she stopped when she saw the tall, dark form of Blaise Zabini walking towards her, followed by Draco Malfoy. Incensed, she dashed towards him, anger permeating every one of her footsteps.

"When did you get here?" she demanded furiously. Blaise looked at her in surprise, and shrugged. "How long have you been here?"

"About an hour," Malfoy answered, a pointed look in his friend's direction.

"You heard what she said the other night! You know that she said that if you asked her to stay, she wouldn't know what to do! You had a chance and wouldn't ever take it; you just let her walk out of your life like that. You are such a coward, how could you let that happen? You have to work for what you want in life, to go after it with everything you have because it isn't just going to magically happen for you. Put yourself out there, take a risk. Go after her, if she's what you really want! Do ANYTHING except sit around here and wallow in your own misery!" Ginny cried emphatically, growing more incensed as Blaise listened to her rant with a calm, amused expression on his face. "And why are you smiling?"

"Because you're right," he said, holding up a train ticket. "That's why I'm taking the next train out, to go after her. If she can't stay here, then I'll have to go where she is."

Ginny gaped at him for a moment, feeling elated. But at the same time, staring up at him as he smiled at her so happily, she couldn’t help but feel a stab of envy, knowing that he was about to make a serious romantic gesture for another girl - an annoyingly perfect girl who was incredibly nice and just gave her an amazing broomstick so she wasn’t even able to hate her for it. Watching him smile, Ginny felt a wave of admiration for him and found herself fancying him even more than ever.

"That was a great speech, though," he said with a sly smile. "And if I already hadn't decided to go, I'm sure that would have convinced me."

Ginny laughed, feeling slightly embarrassed about her outburst, and was unsure what to say. Blaise reached forward and placed a hand on her shoulder, leaning down so that they were eye-to-eye.

"I'm sorry I was horrible to you the other day. You were just trying to be a good friend, even if you were overstepping your bounds," he said softly. Ginny shrugged slightly; painfully aware of how close he was to her. He suddenly learned forward, and before her mind could process what was happening, he was kissing her forehead and ruffling her hair, in a very big-brotherish manner that instantly reminded her of her brother Charlie. "Keep Malfoy in line for me while I'm gone, he sometimes loses his head and needs someone to screw it back on for him."

"I'd much prefer trying to beat some sense into him," Ginny muttered, glancing over Blaise's shoulder to see Malfoy standing nearby, glowering at them with his arms crossed. Blaise laughed.

"No, he'd like that too much," he chided, causing Ginny to recoil in horror.

"What?" she cried, her face flaming from embarrassment. Blaise didn't respond, he just threw his head back and laughed before patting her on the shoulder one last time. She watched him with wide eyes, still reeling from his quip. He walked up to Draco, and the two of them seemed to be engaged in a serious talk that Ginny couldn't hear. It didn't really matter all that much, because at that moment, Pansy and her group of friends had caught wind of the fact that Blaise Zabini was leaving Hogsmeade and had come galloping forward, eager to verify that fact from the source and lament the departure of one of their most prized male possessions.

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Weasley was standing off to the side as everyone said their prolonged goodbyes; nearly three quarters of an hour passed before Blaise was finally free of the frenzied mob, which gave him just enough time to board the next train heading London before it departed.

"I don't see why you wouldn't just Apparate, my father got the license for you a year ago," Draco said to his friend as he walked him towards the door. "It would save you all this time and trouble, and you'd be there waiting for her."

"I need that time to figure out what I'm going to say to her to explain why I'm there," Blaise said, with a nervous laugh. Blaise took a deep breath, and seemed to be preparing himself to say something that made him uncomfortable. "Thanks, Draco... you know, for what you said."

"Don't thank me," he responded stiffly, looking away. "Just repeating the lecture I got from Nymphadora."

"Don't do anything stupid," Blaise said, with a teasingly pointed look in Weasley's direction, who was hovering as close to the group watching Blaise leave as she could without actually being a part of it, patently avoiding the taunts that Parkinson was trying to throw at her. Draco followed his gaze, and grimaced when he realized what Blaise meant. "Or should I say, stop being stupid?"

"Just get on the bloody train, wanker. After all this commotion, you'd look like a buggering idiot if it were to leave without you," Draco said, pushing his friend towards the steps. "Try not to let Cho stomp all over your heart with her fancy designer heels."

"I'll be back when I've got the girl, once and for all," Blaise said, before finally climbing up the steps and disappearing.

As he stood, watching the train carrying his best friend pull away from the station, Draco was still amazed at how far Blaise was willing to go, for a girl he wasn't even sure felt the same as him. He was leaving behind his last year at school, his friends and was probably going to have to face a few stout lectures from his parents, who were much more involved in their son's life than other parents who were important and powerful in the wizarding world. All this, Blaise was leaving behind, and he had no guarantee that Cho would even want him there with her.

Draco's eyes zeroed in on Ginny Weasley, who was watching the train pull out of the station with a far-off look in her eye. Remembering what she'd yelled at Blaise, her words ran through his mind. You have to work for what you want in life, to go after it with everything you have because it isn't just going to magically happen for you. Put yourself out there, take a risk, she had yelled, her eyes lit with her anger. Coupled with the lecture that Nymphadora had given him the night before, as he watched her watching Blaise's train leave, a sudden bolt of determination ran down his spine as he realized what he wanted.

The cacophony of noise the engine was making was almost deafening, but Draco ignored it as he strode forward, ruthlessly pushing people out of his way. He stopped abruptly right in front of her, breaking her view of the train and causing her to look up, an annoyed frown on her face.

"What?" she asked warily. He paused, gearing himself up, searching for the right way to say what he wanted.

"Saturday. Town Square. Be there at one o'clock. Or else," he barked, sounding far more threatening than he'd intended. Feeling triumphant that he'd done what Nymphadora had suggested, he turned and marched away, leaving Weasley standing in a crowded of shocked spectators, whispering among themselves in amazement that Draco Malfoy - Draco Malfoy! - had just asked The Weasel out on a date.


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A/N: Sorry for the ridiculously long wait for this chapter... what can I say? It is almost 30 pages long, though... Just as a reminder, I write long chapters for this fic, and the delay between updates can be quite awhile - but I frequently post portions of upcoming updates on my LiveJournal (you can find the link on my bio page).
Aspects of the chapter I cannot claim as my own (ie. they come from HYD -anime, manga or Live Action, or Meteor Garden):
-Tonk's role as an "older sister" character, and her no-nonsense attitude towards Draco is straight out of HYD. I had to horribly manipulate her background and some of her character in order to make her fit, but she seemed like the only option (I was considering using Bellatrix, but there is WAY too much emotional baggage for her);
-the conversation between Cho and Blaise on the balcony that Ginny overhears is from Meteor Garden (Taiwanese version of HYD), although the dialogue is mine, the gist of it comes from MG;
-Tonk's attacking Malfoy in front of Ginny, her speech about love and the way it acts as an enlightening moment to Draco;
-Ginny and Cho's conversation in the Three Broomsticks, and the fact that Blaise overhears it;
-Ginny going to see Cho off, Cho giving her a present (in HYD, it was shoes), Blaise showing up late and Ginny lecturing him;
-Blaise leaving, and the fact that Malfoy demands that Ginny go on a date with him (because that's exactly what he was doing).

The rest, such as it is, was all mine.

If you are reading this right now, that means that you haven't given up on me and this fic, despite the fact that I'm the WORST UPDATER EVER. I'm really sorry about the length of time it takes to get this chapters up, but... I've already started the next chapter, so there won't be as much of a wait for the next update.

Quick thank you to all those awesome people who helped me with my dramatic grammar flailing on my LJ, your help is the reason this chapter got posted this week!


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Chapter 10: Stubborn Denials of Obvious Truths


Ginny watched Malfoy stalking away from her in dumbfounded silence, wondering what she'd done now to warrant the challenge he'd just issued her. At least that was what she was thinking until a very loud and shrill shriek pierced the air as the murmurings of those who had been standing around and had heard what Malfoy had demanded reached the ears of Pansy Parkinson.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM? What kind of curse did you cast on him? Or was it a love potion? That must be it! They’re strictly forbidden and the punishment is life in Azkaban!" she shrieked, pushing her way manically through the crowd, until she stumbled forward, grabbing Ginny by the shoulders and shaking her. Taken aback and slightly afraid at the hysterical look in Pansy's eyes, Ginny shrugged free of her grip and stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.

"That's just regular behaviour for Malfoy, what are you on about Parkinson?" she cried, feeling confused. Obviously, Pansy hadn't heard him properly. Hadn't he just been challenging to her a duel or something equally ridiculous as retribution for whatever wrong she'd committed against him lately? If that was the case, then there was no reason for Pansy to be hysterically demanding to know what Ginny had "done" to Malfoy.

"If you expect me to believe that Draco Malfoy asking something like you out is regular behaviour, you must think I'm an idiot!" Pansy shrieked. "Just who do you think you are?"

Ginny let out a giant burst of laughter, throwing her head back and laughing so hard, her stomach started to hurt and tears stung her eyes. She had never heard anything more ludicrous in her life. Gasping for breath, she covered her mouth, trying to reign in her laughter as Pansy glared at her murderously, looking just about ready to Avada Kedavra her.

"Is that what you think that was? Bloody hell, Parkinson, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about. Let's keep the discussion in the realm of the plausible, shall we? Have you hit your head on something? Because that obviously wasn't him asking me out, because that would... that would just be insane," Ginny said incredulously, unable to believe how deluded Parkinson had become. Obviously, Ginny's continued (and reluctant) involvement with the Slytherins and the group of important people that surrounded them had really started to take its toll on Pansy's sanity. She looked around; a group of students had gathered around them, staring at her with serious expressions, obviously not seeing the humour in the situation. Even more disconcerting where the expression of loathing jealousy on a fair number of her fellow female students, which she found rather startling. Jealous of Ginny Weasley? It was unheard of!

Slowly, as silence descended over the crowded location, Ginny's humour slipped away and a sinking feeling came over her.

"...You can't be serious! Why would he... of course he wouldn't!"

"We all heard it, so you can stop pretending to be so innocent," Milicent Bulstrode said coldly, but Ginny was too busy feeling as if she'd been struck by lightning to really notice. She replayed the scene that had just passed, trying to figure where they were getting this ridiculous notion.

"Has everyone gone insane??" she cried, frustrated. Ignoring the staring crowd, she pushed her way past them and ran down the street she'd seen Malfoy take, as he stalked away. She spotted his tall form up ahead and called to him. He froze as she called his name, and turned towards her, awkwardly trying to appear nonchalant.

"Question, weasel?" he asked calmly, a neutral expression on his face even as his fingers were fidgeting. Noticing, he quickly folded his arms across his chest. Ginny stalked towards him, wondering if she was hallucinating. He seemed nervous and the self-certainty that he ordinarily exuded seemed to have disappeared. She glared at him, trying to assess the situation.

"Er...What you said just now... about Saturday...what was that all about?" she asked awkwardly. "Because everyone heard you, and they are completely misinterpreting what you said as something so completely ridiculous and outside the realm of possibility..."

"What is it that they think I said?" he asked, and Ginny felt her frustration peak. Couldn't he just be direct and save them both a great deal of discomfort?

"They all think you asked me out!" she blurted out, sounding completely exasperated, but at this point, she didn’t care what his reaction was to her tone. "Parkinson's practically in hysterics over it."

"What do you think I said?" he asked, looking away from her.

"It sounded like you were challenging me - no, ordering me - to a bloody duel! So, you can see the confusion, regarding their interpretation and my own over what was said," she said snapped. She was startled when he seemed to be struggling not to smile.

"And it's completely out of the realm of possibility?" he asked, eyebrows raised teasingly.

"Which one?" she demanded, confused. "Because if it was the latter, you have quite a bit to learn about when it comes to women - ordering us to do something is a never-failing means to compel us to do the exact opposite. Also, if you were asking me out, it's rather inconvenient, considering the fact that I've sworn to hate you my entire life. And if it was the former, the only thing outside the realm of possibility is the fact that it hasn't happened before."

He was smiling now, his arrogance completely restored as he looked down at her in silence with that expression in his eyes that always made her want to fidget under his scrutiny.

"Either way, I suppose, you are right about one thing. It is a challenge. But, as for the rest?" he said, smirking proudly. "You'll have to wait until Saturday to find that out...It’s part of the challenge."

He walked away, leaving Ginny fuming, wondering if this was just another one of his plots to torture her. Because it was definitely working, as her outrage and frustration over the situation competed with her insatiable curiosity. And the fact that now that he had really issued a challenge, she was left with no choice but to go.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Malfoy, but I work Saturday," she hollered after him defiantly. He just waved at her over his shoulder, dismissing her protestation as if it were simply a stray fly. She scoffed at his arrogance, which gave her a few seconds of relief before her confusion returned.

Despite the chaotic turn of events her life had undergone in a few short weeks, this development was quite possibly the most baffling of them all.

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“So, what are you going to do?” Hermione asked her, an inquisitive expression on her face as she watched Ginny pace around, distraught. “Are you going to show up on Saturday?”

“Why, so he can curse me then laugh at my naiveté for actually showing up?” Ginny snapped.

“No, to find out what he wants. What happens if Parkinson was right and he really was asking you out?” Hermione asked thoughtfully, ignoring Ginny’s hostile attitude. Ginny sighed dramatically.

“Considering Parkinson is a raving lunatic, I find it hard to believe anything she has to say. And, besides! It hardly matters whether or not he was truly asking me out. Are we forgetting that this is someone I hate and who is the last person I’d ever date?” Ginny exclaimed loudly. She looked around her, grateful that she’d been able to hold out until the end of their shift before she broke down and spilled all the sordid details of the entire incident to her best friend, which meant that she was free to speak without an audience around to overhear their entire conversation. Hermione was her characteristically analytical self, listening calmly to all the details and peppering Ginny with questions as she spoke, frowning in concentration as she heard the answers.

“Are you so sure that he’s someone you hate?” Hermione asked, with that infuriating all-knowing look on her face.

“Of course I hate him! Do you want me to go through the list of reasons why?” Ginny cried out in indignation. “Ever since Claire accidentally bumped into him, he’s made my life completely miserable! Shall I remind you that his goons have been plaguing me with petty practical jokes, tripping me, tricking my professors into thinking I’ve been cheating on tests and using that awful skirt-shrinking charm every time I have my back turned? Then there are the two Slytherins who… who pulled me into that classroom and we both know how that turned out… And there’s the way that he’s always watching me with that knowing smirk, how he’s always teasing me to get me going and then laughing at me when I react exactly how he wanted me to! Not to mention that incident with the Whomping Willow and my broken wrist!”

“Don’t forget the kiss at Cho Chang’s party,” Hermione chimed in. Ginny froze, giving her friend a wary glance. She hadn’t told Hermione about what had happened after the practical joke mistletoe incident, how he’d followed her out to the garden or how he’d kissed her again. In a fairy garden. Bathed in moonlight.

“Wh-what about it?” Ginny stammered, her hands fumbling as she bent to pick up empty glasses left on the bar, almost knocking them over.

“Isn’t that just another reason for you to hate him?” Hermione asked with a frown. “Especially after all your romantic notions about your first kiss and all.”

“Of course it’s another reason I hate him,” she cried. I especially hate the fact that I can’t forget about it, she thought to herself. “Why would I consider going to meet him, considering all these facts? Besides, I’m working Saturday, so even if I wanted to go – which I don’t – I couldn’t.”

“There you two are! I though you would’ve been finished by now, girls,” Madame Rosmerta said, barely looking up from the stack of papers in her hands. “Oh, and Ginny? I’ve cancelled your shift Saturday.”

“What? Why?” Ginny cried, her heart pounding as she remembered the casual way that Malfoy had waved off her protestations that she had to work Saturday afternoon. Did he have something to do with this?

“Business has been slow. With all this extra security around town, people are more reluctant to be out on the street or in public places,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “I can’t wait until they catch this fugitive and our lives can get back to normal.”

“And that’s the only reason?” Ginny asked warily.

“Well, that and your mother has a rather nasty habit of sending me Howlers if she thinks you’ve been working too much. Take the day, have fun, be a teenager for an afternoon. It’ll do you good,” she said with a kind smile as she walked back into the kitchen, probably heading towards her office to finish the closing paperwork.

“Well, now you have a choice to make, Ginny. You can either show up to meet Malfoy… or you can hang out with me on Saturday. I also have the day off. I was going to go to the bookstore and…”

“And you can’t buy the textbooks you want to bury your nose in for a few days without a pureblood to sign off on the forms for you,” Ginny responded with a smile. Access to magical texts was restricted to anyone who wasn’t from a wizarding family, and for Muggleborns wanting to learn about magic, it was very difficult to get their hands on the necessary texts. One of the reasons that Ginny and Hermione had become such good friends was that Ginny was more than willing to completely disregard all the rules that she thought were ridiculous and kept the studious girl happily supplied with all the texts she could possibly want.

“Well, yes, but we also haven’t had a day to ourselves since last year, and it would be nice,” she said sheepishly. Ginny grinned mischievously, spotting an excellent opportunity to tease her friend.

“We did have time to ourselves this summer, but someone preferred to spend her vacation at the Burrow bickering with my knobby brother,” Ginny said with a knowing look.

“If he wasn’t so bloody stubborn… and reckless! Him and that friend of his, the one with the glasses… they’ll get themselves killed one day with all the rules they break! Rules are there for a reason – beyond being broken, of course – and I certainly refuse to take part in any of it,” Hermione retorted primly, her cheeks growing pink. Ginny laughed.

“Shall I remind you about your opinion with regards to rules while I’m buying you restricted magic books?” Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s different, these are books. It’s for… for a higher, nobler purpose – education and knowledge! Breaking the rules just so they can go off and practice that little game of theirs is inexcusable,” Hermione declared indignantly. Ginny laughed, knowing her friend’s passionate opinions about books.

“Of course it’s different…. You know what, Hermione? I think you’re absolutely right. I should just forget all about Malfoy and this whole ridiculous mess and just spend the day with you,” Ginny declared. She paused, and then sighed heavily. “Try to remember who I am. He’s got me all twisted.”

“Your thoughts on Malfoy seemed very black and white a few minutes ago, as you were declaring your eternal hatred for him.”

“Yes, of course…but… he does horrible things, but then he does something that’s not so horrible and it’s confusing.”

“Like when he healed your arm after the Whomping Willow incident?” Hermione asked.

“He was acting so strange then. It was like he was teasing me but that he was also concerned and angry with me for getting myself hurt, but trying to hide it with the teasing. And the other night… after I left All Hallows… he followed me down that alley, and if he hadn’t been there… well, it could have been really bad. But he was there…” Ginny trailed off, lost in thought. She looked up, a frown on her face, looking perplexed. “It sounds ridiculous, considering how much I hate him and all, but I was actually relieved when I realized he was there. Standing outside, in a dark street in the dodgy end of town with bloody Draco Malfoy, and I actually felt safe.”

“Ginny… remember that list you just rattled off about why you hate him,” Hermione said softly. “I really think you should be more careful around him.”

“You’re right. I know you’re right, but he has me all knocked off balance, and that’s what I hate most about him,” Ginny said. She sighed. “So, we are definitely on for Saturday.”

As Ginny continued cleaning off the tables, Hermione watched her friend as she moved about, and couldn’t help but notice how distracted and jumpy she was.

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As soon as she walked into the study, Tonks was overwhelmed by a sweltering wave of heat. She gasped, causing her cousin to look up from the piece of parchment he was scribbling on.

“My god, Draco, why is it so bloody hot in here?” she exclaimed, her eyes narrowing in on the blazing fire burning in the fireplace, feeling as if she was suffocating from the oppressive temperature. His face was flushed and his eyes were bright and glassy.

“I was cold. It’s always rather damp in the house around this time of year. Won’t be long before the snow starts,” he said, distractedly as he looked down at what he was writing.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked, slightly taken aback by how odd he looked. He looked positively feverish.

“Of course I’m fine,” he snapped, his voice sounding raspy and dry. Tonks scoffed, but growing up in that house, she was well-versed in the temperaments of Malfoy males, and knew he’d never admit it even if he was feeling as terrible as he looked.

“You should take a potion. You don’t want to get sick and miss your big date tomorrow,” she said with a smirk. His head snapped up, his eyes flashing in anger. “Oh, come on, Draco. You demand her presence – on threat of death – in front of an entire crowd and you think I’m not going to find out about it?”

“I thought I ordered the house elves to throw you out this morning. Customary practice for unwanted house guests who overstay their welcome,” he said petulantly, leaning back in his chair.

“Unfortunately for you, the house elves are terrified of me and would rather see you in a fury than me,” Tonks said with a cheeky smile. “Now, dear cousin, I think I should give you a quick lesson in romantic etiquette, as you demonstrably have absolutely no idea how you should act while asking a girl out. Someone told me she actually thought you were challenging her to a duel. A duel, Draco! You’ll be very lucky if she actually shows up.”

“She wouldn’t dare stand me up. Malfoys are never stood up,” he mumbled, continuing to write on his parchment. “And I don’t need any romantic advice from you as you haven’t exactly had a stellar record in that area.”

Tonks froze and a look of pain flashed on her face before she managed to regain her composure.

“Speaking of such pleasant topics, I received an owl from your mother this afternoon. She’s been hearing some rumors about your love life and demanded any information I might have,” Tonks said, her voice suddenly serious. Draco looked up, his eyes dark with concern. Tonks noted how openly he was showing his emotions and decided he really must not be feeling right, to show such a degree of vulnerability.

“What was she asking about?” he asked carefully.

“She just heard that Angelique Aristide put in an appearance at Cho’s party a few weeks ago and wanted to know if you two have reconciled yet,” Tonks said, and Draco snorted.

“Fat chance of that ever happening. Not after what she did,” he scoffed angrily. Tonks nodded knowingly before she leaned forward, catching his eyes.

“She doesn’t know anything about Weasley. Yet.”

“There’s nothing to know. I’ve only challenged Weasley to a duel, after all,” he said with a pointed look, and Tonks had to bite back a proud smile. It never ceased to amaze her how much he fit the textbook description on a Slytherin – scheming and plotting two steps ahead of everyone else. “What did you tell her about Angelique?”

“Only that I couldn’t understand why she was so eager to see her son with that kind of girl, despite her family’s reputation,” Tonks said. “Well, her rage over that my exact choice of wording will buy you some time before she reasserts herself into your love life.”

“Once she accepts that there is no possibility of that ever happening, we’ll both be happier,” Draco said with a heavy sigh.

“Unfortunately, mutual happiness isn’t a consideration in Nacrissa’s plans, that much I can tell you,” Tonks said, her voice hard with bitterness. Draco met her eyes and nodded slowly. “What are you working on?”

“Paper for Potions,” he said dismissively.

“Speaking of potions, you should really take one, you look terrible,” Tonks said as she left the room.

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Ginny cast one last longing look at her new broom, which was sitting unused in the corner, before grabbing her bag, in order to leave for the day. She'd woken up late, after a night of almost constant tossing and turning, and had missed her window of time to test out the Firebolt. Knowing how Hermione felt about flying, she didn't think that she'd be able to convince her to blow off their afternoon plans for shopping and the bookstore in order to spend the day flying. Locking her door as she left, Ginny sighed one more time with regret, but told herself that the opportunity would come Monday morning, as she'd no longer have to walk to Hogwarts as she'd been doing since her former broom’s demise at the hands of Draco Malfoy and his Bludger.

The thought of him made her pause in her tracks, as the swell of anxiety that had caused her restless night reasserted it's presence in her stomach. She closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths while smoothing her hands over her skirt, trying to dry her clammy palms. She had been unable to shake the anxious feeling that had been plaguing since the afternoon Cho had left, and her nerves were incredibly jittery. Ginny kept telling herself that she had nothing but a lovely afternoon with her best friend ahead of her, and that was certainly nothing to be anxious about, but it did little to alleviate her anxious nerves. Gritting her teeth, Ginny strode down the hall, heading for the stairs that would lead her down the street, determined that she would have a glorious, relaxing day and nothing was going to prevent that from happening.

She sighed as she stepped outside, inhaling the crisp air rich with the scent of snow. The bite in the air and clouds overhead indicated the possibility of snow and Ginny's heart leapt at the thought. Her mother had often told her how lovely Hogsmeade had been when Molly had been a student at Hogwarts and Ginny always found this hard to believe - the city had grown so rapidly after Voldemort had risen to power that most of the newer buildings were all built in a hurry and with little thought to aesthetics, and Ginny always felt that beyond the downtown core, it was just a tired, sad old city. Except when the first few snow falls of the season came, blanketing the dinginess with pure white. It was the only time that Ginny could see what it might have looked like when her parents were her age, and it always made her feel closer to them.

Ginny glanced up the street, and could see Hermione walking towards her, a scolding look on her face. She trotted towards her, smiling apologetically.

"Sorry, I overslept," Ginny called out.

"Ginny, you look really nice today! We're just going to the bookstore!" Hermione exclaimed, her sharp eye giving Ginny a once over. Ginny laughed in surprise, as she'd thrown together whatever she could find as she was running late, practically tearing her room apart searching for a pair of jeans. She'd settled on an old denim skirt and a bright purple sweater, figuring that no one would take much notice of her outfit once she threw her black Hogwarts robe on over top of it.

"Well, my mum's old scarf really completes the look," she said, mockingly striking a pose, holding up a tattered end of the second-hand scarf knitted in Gryffindor colours. Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"You're wearing your hair down, that's what I meant. You hardly ever do, it looks nice," she explained. Ginny paused, that inexplicable anxious feeling overwhelming her again before she tried to shrug it off. Hermione was an observant girl, and if she noticed Ginny acting as if something was wrong, she'd ask about it, and that would inevitably lead the girls to a long and involved discussion about Draco Malfoy and Ginny desperately wanted to avoid having to talk or think about him. Especially today.

"That's because I'm off today! No work, no school, no need or desire to reasonable, practical or efficient with either my time or my appearance," Ginny said joyously. "Plus, Pansy's not around to irritate with my poor style choices, which takes away most of the appeal of wearing a braid, anyway."

"You really shouldn't antagonize her..." Hermione said, with a shake of her head.

"She started it!" Ginny protested.

"Shall we go, or should I wait until your maturity level drops a little bit lower?" Hermione shot back, with a smile on her face.

"Certainly. We can't let all those books go unread any longer than necessary!" Ginny cried, pulling her friend's arm along with her as she started to run down the street, suddenly feeling light-hearted and free as she tried to dash away from her worries.

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Ginny and Hermione were strolling down the street, later on that afternoon, each carrying a rather hefty sack of books, laughing breezily as they went. Ginny's spirits were high; she'd seen Snape in the bookstore, and the shocked expression on his face had been absolutely priceless. He seemed to work so hard towards convincing himself that she was a poor student that rarely ever cracked open a book, that seeing her in the bookstore carrying heavy tomes of potion books (Hermione's current magical obsession) had been rather shocking to him. So shocking, in fact, that he'd hardly even attempted any type of cutting remark - he'd simply just sneered and stormed away, causing the two girls to erupt into giggles.

Even now, a full hour later, Hermione or Ginny would look at the other with an exaggerated impression of his look of sheer surprise, causing the other to start giggling all over again.

"'Mione, stop! Oh, it hurts," Ginny protested breathlessly, nearly dropping the bag she was struggling to hold on to, her stomach aching with the prolonged bouts of laughter. She slipped, her shoes losing some of their traction on the fresh layer of snow that had fallen during the hours they'd been browsing in the bookstore, causing the two of them to shriek with laughter, their moods having completely run away with them.

“Ooh, look, it’s snowing again!” Hermione declared breathlessly, as she struggled to catch her breath as the giggles finally started to fade away. Ginny looked up – in the late afternoon, the street lamps had come on, casting a warm glow as the sun had started to set, a reminder that winter was certainly on its way. Large fluffy flakes were falling and Ginny breathed in greedily, afraid the peace and beauty of that moment would disappear all too quickly.

“I’m so glad I came with you today,” she said quietly, casting a smile at Hermione. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Well, of course you are, when considering your alternative choices,” she scoffed. Ginny, who had managed to push all thoughts of Draco Malfoy out of her head up until that point, felt her stomach twist, and couldn’t help but check her watch – one o’clock had come and gone hours ago. He was probably plotting what form his revenge for her would take. Ginny stopped in her tracks, wondering what he would do to someone who had already received a Howler, and shivered slightly. He would, undoubtedly, be furious. She wondered how long it would have taken him to give up and realize that she wasn’t going to show – she’d bet that it was less than five minutes.

“Ginny?” Hermione asked tentatively, noticing that the other girl’s attention had drifted off. Ginny started, before turning to her friend, trying to drum up some excuse for why she’d drifted off without having to confess that she’d been thinking of him, not when the entire object of the day’s activities had been designed to keep her from thinking of him and feeling that strange sensation of guilt in the pit of her stomach when she thought of how he might have reacted, waiting for her in the town square. Luckily, she was saved from having to lie to her best friend’s face when a voice from down the street called out to them.

“Oy, Ginny! Over here!” Tonks called, waving frantically as she trotted towards the two girls. Ginny felt her shoulders stiffen as Malfoy’s cousin ran up to her, desperately trying to decide how she should act around her, panicking as her mind drew a blank.

“Hello, Tonks,” she said awkwardly.

“I guess running into you here means that my idiotic cousin finally admitted defeat and went home sick? I kept telling him he should just take a potion and be done with it, but he’s so bloody stubborn. I guess it serves him right to have this day ruined, maybe it’ll teach him the lesson that his “superior” Malfoy genes aren’t as immune to the common cold as he likes to believe,” Tonks said, barely pausing for breath before continuing. “Although, it really does all make sense now, you know. After he came home that one afternoon and started asking all those questions about sacrificing your pride for love, and then using my advice to send Blaise off after Cho Chang, I thought he’d lost his mind – or maybe even gained some sense, but it turns out he was just feverish and acting out of his right mind!”

Ginny blinked in shock and was having a great deal of difficulty processing what Tonks had just rattled off to her. She lunged forward, grabbing the older woman’s arm, to pull her attention before she launched into another long dialogue.

“What do you mean, he sent Blaise off after Cho?” she demanded, feeling her hands start to tremble.

“Just that. Blaise was set to sulk and watch the girl he loves walk out of his life without any kind of fight, until that block-headed cousin of mine marched over there and lectured him – using the very lecture I gave him the night before. Took credit for it, too, I suppose,” Tonks muttered, her eyes narrowed, but Ginny hardly noticed. She was too busy filling in the pieces, answering the one thing she’d never understood about Blaise’s departure.

The day before, the day he’d yelled at her, he seemed bound and determine to play the martyr, to just let Cho walk away. And the next day, he’d suddenly changed his mind, and it had never made any sense to her. But now, with this new piece of information from Tonks, a possibility she’d never have believed if it had come from any other source entered her mind. It had been Malfoy, the selfish, conceited bastard who had advised Blaise to go after what he wanted, to fight for it. Ginny was feeling dizzy at the thought, and looked down at her wrist, the one that she’d broken, realizing for the first time that she’d been clenching and unclenching her fist as her mind tried to work through this new piece of information. On top of the fact that he had some twisted kind of nice side to his personality (he had healed her, after all), it now seemed that there was a bit of a romantic streak in him, as well.

“Maybe we’re not all that different after all,” she said, barely aware that she’d spoken aloud, as engrossed as she was in trying to make sure she didn’t fall over, what with the way her world had just flipped upside down. A flutter of anxiousness had just swept over her body and it was all she could do to remain standing still.

“Ginny, are you alright?” Hermione asked, obviously perplexed. Ginny turned to her suddenly, thrusting her hefty sack of books into her friend’s hands, looking dazed and shocked.

“Sorry, Hermione, there’s something I have to do,” she said distractedly, as Hermione struggled to grab hold of the bag before Ginny took off at a dead run down the street, slipping slightly in the slippery snow. Hermione watched her friend run off in surprise, before casting a withering glance at the other woman standing with her.

“You know she didn’t show up this afternoon,” Hermione said neutrally. Tonks laughed.

“Of course she didn’t! No girl in her right mind would, after everything that moron has done. But she didn’t have all the facts before,” Tonks said, with a satisfied smile. “Now they have a level playing field, a chance at a fresh start.”

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A thousand thoughts were running through her head as she ran, the cold air stinging her cheeks. A dozen times, she almost stopped, telling herself how ridiculous and pointless it was for her to be rushing there, as there was absolutely no chance that he was going to still be there, waiting for her. And even if he was, what then? He was her mortal enemy, her nemesis, the person whose arrogance and conceit had turned her boring, peaceful world completely upside down. There was no reason she’d ever want to spend any more time with him than absolutely necessary.

By the time she reached the town square, she was breathless from running, and her heart was pounding in her chest as she nervously scanned the area. It was fairly deserted, now that it was growing dark and it had started snowing again, and only a few stragglers remained sitting on the benches. She twirled around, looking all about her, not sure if she even wanted to find him while a small part of her kept her holding her breath, desperate to find out if he had actually waited.

Suddenly, she felt someone take her arm and she was forcefully turned around, their grip tight on her arm. Flustered and caught off guard, she struggled to pull away, preparing to scream for help as her assailant stubbornly held on.

“You’re late,” a cold voice snapped, causing Ginny to stop her struggle as she looked up in shock to realize who it was. Seconds that felt like hours passed, as she stared up at him, unable to speak and hardly able to believe that Draco Malfoy had waited all that time for her. He was glaring down at her with a murderous expression on his face, his usually pale face tinged red from the cold. She wrenched her arm away, and stumbled a bit from the force, feeling her temper flare for no other reason than the accusatory way he was looking at her with that look, the one which had such an immobilizing effect on her powers of speech.

“Who agreed to come? It’s your own fault for being arrogant enough to think that anyone would after that horrible display!” Ginny retorted, trying to recompose herself, despite all the flutters of emotion she was experiencing. Malfoy, dressed all in black, glared at her while crossing his arms petulantly across his chest and smiling arrogantly at her as he ran his eyes over her, making her want to squirm.

“You’re here now, aren’t you?” he asked, with a knowing look that almost had her reaching for her wand as her mind conjured up the perfect curse to put an end to that infernal smirk. Before she could react, though, he was grabbing her hand again and marching off, pulling her along with him. “Let’s go, we’re very late.”

“Wait! Wait just a minute!” she cried, struggling to free herself from his grasp. “I never said that I would go anywhere with you!”

“Then why did you come?” he asked over his shoulder. She cursed, digging her heels into the ground, trying to prevent herself from being dragged along with him. He stopped, and spun around, releasing her arm as he leaned over her, his tall form and stony facial expression very imposing as he stared down her defiance. “I realize that because you come from such a poor family, you might not have been taught some of the finer points of social etiquette and I’m willing to overlook that – to a certain extent. In general, when one is late for an engagement, they do not act like a saucy brat and create even further difficulties.”

“I am not acting like a saucy brat! You are assuming far too much, I didn’t come here to go anywhere with you, I…” she trailed off, unable to remember exactly why she had come running to this spot. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively, waiting for her explanation. “… I just wanted to see if you were still sitting around here, waiting, like an idiot!”

“I was planning on waiting another ten minutes, and then I was going to kill you,” he said, nonchalantly, reaching for her hand again, trying to lead her forward. She snatched it back as if she’d been burned, disappointed that all her bluster had been so effortlessly swatted away with his one comment. She searched his face, searching for some hint of humor, some sign to indicate that that last comment had been mere hyperbole, but he was as stony-faced as ever, and she could detect nothing. “I have been waiting for you, in this infernal snow, all bloody afternoon. The least you could do is come along without putting on such a fuss. You are coming, whether you want to or not, but it’ll be a long walk if you continue to act like such a shrew, and it’s cold. I want to get there as quickly as possible.”

“I guess I do owe you that much,” she muttered with annoyance, her curiosity about their destination getting the better of her.

“Then hurry up!” he snapped, marching off in front of her. She stared at his back, wanting nothing more than to scoop a handful of soggy snow from the ground and toss it at his back, the arrogant conceited git. “Come along, little weasel!”

“I’m going to kill him, I’m going to pull out my wand and Avada Kedavra him and it’s going to be the single most satisfying moment of my life,” she muttered grumpily under her breath, as her feet moved her unwilling body forward, struggling to catch up with his long strides.

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“Why have you brought me here?” Ginny demanded, casting a withering look in Malfoy’s direction before turning back to face the Quidditch pitch.

“Dragged you. I didn’t bring you here, I had to drag you,” he corrected grumpily, assessing the damage she’d done to his sleeve, with all her twisting and clawing attempts to liberate her arm from the iron-tight grip he had on it.

“They why did you drag me here, of all places? I’ve seen the bloody pitch before, thank you,” she said, her face starting to burn as she remembered the various times she’d fled to the pitch in order to vent her outrage over something the boy looming beside her – with his had still burning-hot on her wrists – had done. That thought led her to the time she’d encountered his best friend there, which only made her blush even more. She stared at the pitch, feeling reluctant to be there with Malfoy. It was her refuge – the one place she went to get away from all he did and represented about their world, and to be there with him just seemed so wrong. Of course, she thought to herself wildly, it had nothing to do with the fact that it was also the first place Blaise Zabini had ever spoken to her.

“Just be patient,” he answered. She inhaled deeply, trying to quell her rising temper, and when that had absolutely no effect, she opened her mouth to really let him have it, when she saw a short, swarthy-looking man approaching them as he exited the changing rooms.

“Mr. Malfoy!” he exclaimed, with a look on his face that reminded Ginny of the paralyzing horror that came over some people when they realized there was a Bludger careening straight for their face. “I wasn’t expecting you this afternoon.”

“When we spoke earlier, I informed you that I would be attending the practice,” Malfoy said, sounding annoyed.

“Well…err, yes, you did mention that… but I expected you much earlier in the afternoon. When you never appeared, I just assumed we wouldn’t be honoured with your presence,” the clearly agitated man stuttered.

“Well, we’re here now. If you’d please remove the wards I know the coach insists upon to guard the secrecy of the team’s strategy, we’d like to sit in the stands,” he said. While he’d phrased his words as a request, it was very clearly a demand he did not expect to be refused. Ginny, who’d been watching the exchange curiously then realized that she recognized the nervous man - despite how different he appeared now, she should have been able to recognize him anywhere, given the number of times she’d seen his photo in the Prophet. It was Rufus Bringham, the manager of the professional team, the Chudleigh Cannons, the team that her entire family supported zealously. It was one of the few things that all of her brothers could agree upon. She felt her mouth drop open, and was reeling slightly from the shock of it all.

“Yes, about that… David decided that none of our practices are to be open to the public any longer – seems its been a source of distraction, and that’s what he’s blaming our latest loss on. He’s decided that no one outside the team will be allowed in our practices. I’m terribly sorry, he only informed me of this decision a few hours ago,” Rufus explained, looking as if that was the very last thing he wanted to be doing right at that moment, saying ‘no’ to Draco Malfoy. Ginny, however, was oblivious to the quiet rage burning within her companion as she tried to wrap her mind around the fact that she was standing across from a Quidditch legend who’d retired early in order to manage the team he’d never had a chance to play for.

“You mean to say that the Cannons – THE Cannons – practice on our pitch?” she asked, unable to contain her excitement. The knowledge that her Quidditch idols flew the same pitch as she did was almost too much for her to handle. They ignored her excited question, and she realized that Malfoy was glaring at the man in the most intimidating fashion possible.

“I respect that decision, however I do not constitute the ‘public’,” Malfoy spat, sounding disgusted, as if the word had left a bad taste in his mouth. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten that my family owns this team?”

“Of course not!” Rufus chirped defensively, looking terrified. Ginny felt her awe of her newly acquired knowledge start to drain away as she watched the scene unfold.

The first Quidditch game she’d ever seen had been a championship game that her father that brought them all to – he’d managed to win a full set of tickets through a contest at the Ministry – and she remembered how awestruck she’d been with the way Rufus Bringham had fearlessly protected his Seeker from any Bludger that approached him. Already a fairly respected Beater, this game had solidified his status as one of the greatest to ever play professionally. By the end of the game, he’d broken his nose, had lost three teeth and appeared to have dislocated his shoulder, although that had never been confirmed by his doctors. He refused to be pulled from the game. Ginny remembered that she, for weeks afterwards, had gazed dreamily at his picture – one that she’d ripped from the newspaper, and which featured his pudgy face and bushy eyebrows in all their glory, complete with a hideously broken nose and two black eyes. She told herself that that was what courage must look like. But now, here she was, watching that very legend being intimidated by an arrogant prat like Malfoy, and only because he worked for his father.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do about it – only David can lower the wards, and he’s refused,” Rufus said.

“That is unacceptable!” Malfoy barked, lunging forward, grabbing the man by his shirt threateningly. Having seen enough and wondering for the hundredth time why she’d ever come to meet him in the first place, Ginny decided it was time to say something.

“What are we doing here anyway? And leave the poor man alone, you pompous brat, he’s only doing his job and that does not give you the right to harass him because you pitch a fit whenever someone tells you ‘no’ to something,” she said, finally wrenching her hand free of his tight grip. Malfoy whipped around, his eyes furious.

“I thought you liked Quidditch! And aren’t the Cannons your favorite team?” he demanded, his tone resonating with his annoyance.

“How on earth would you know that?” Ginny demanded, hardly able to conceive of a moment when she and Draco Malfoy would have stood around all chummy, casually chatting about which professional team she favored the most. At her question, he suddenly froze and looked away huffily, seeming reluctant to answer her question.

“I saw their logo on something you were wearing once,” he mumbled awkwardly, refusing to look at her. Ginny frowned.

“That’s weird, because the only thing I have with their logo on it is that one pair of – oh bloody hell!” she gasped, a cold jolt of horror running down her spine, her eyes wide with surprise. Because the only thing she had with the Cannons logo was the pair of knickers Hermione had given her as a joke for Christmas the year past. “How did you see that??”

“If you weren’t so oblivious to the world, you wouldn’t have been caught by that skirt-shrinking charm so much. The whole school knows what kind of knickers you wear and you have no one to blame but yourself,” he shot back, still not looking at her.

“And whose fault is it that they were even trying to cast that damn charm?? I can’t believe this!” Ginny cried, vowing to herself that if the twins hadn’t yet invented a charm that would allow the earth to open up and swallow her whole, she’d do it herself.

“If there’s anything else I can help you with, be sure to let me know,” Rufus Bringham called out, using their distraction to make his escape, retreating back into the stadium before either of them could say anything else to him. Ginny and Malfoy stared at the close door before turning to each other in awkward silence.

“You realize this is all your fault for being late,” he said gruffly.

“If you were able to maintain some semblance of courtesy and politeness, I wouldn’t have been late!” Ginny retorted defensively, surprised to see her breath frosty in the air. The temperature had dropped significantly since that morning, and Ginny was suddenly grateful that she’d worn her mum’s old ratty scarf. “And what were you trying to do, anyway?”

“You’re poor, aren’t you? But you like Quidditch,” he said casually. Ginny bristled at the matter-of-fact insult, and was about to snap something in response to his insensitive comment, when he continued. “You probably don’t get a chance to see professional Quidditch very often and anyone who claims to love the game just cannot have never seen a real professional team play.”

Ginny stared at him, trying to figure out exactly who was standing in front of her. Draco Malfoy seemed to have innumerable personalities – the cocky jackass who ruled the student body and who threw temper tantrums whenever things didn’t go as he wanted, the all-observant figure that always seemed to be quietly watching her when she least expected it, the gentle and teasing boy that had healed her wrist while joking about her being plain, the vicious and dangerous person who’d led her on a race around the Whomping Willow… and the boy who’d followed her out of Cho’s party after the incident with the spelled mistletoe. And now, here was another one in front of her, someone who was actually quite considerate and had thought about bringing her here because he thought she’d never seen the Cannons play before. He was staring back at her warily, as if trying to gauge her reaction to his explanation. The thing she hated most about Draco Malfoy was his annoying habit of constantly catching her off guard and knocking her off balance. Making a decision she was positive that she would live to regret, she felt it was time for her to return the favor, and knock him off balance for once.

“Well, come along then,” she said, grabbing his hand, and rushing off, leading him towards the school’s main building.

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“Care to explain why we’re breaking into the school, Weasley?” Malfoy asked, sounding mildly amused as she shushed him, glancing around her furtively as she darted out from one of the alcoves that lined the hallway. The hall was dark, empty and eerily quiet. Ginny found it hard to imagine that her parents had ever found this place welcoming enough to still speak of their time as students here in those reverent, nostalgic tones of voice. The place seemed positively cold and gloomy, Ginny couldn’t imagine never leaving or having to call it home.

“If you get me caught, I swear, I will kill you,” Ginny muttered threateningly as she led him forward, lighting their way with her wand. “I’ve been doing with for years and I’ve never been discovered, so please keep your mouth shut.”

“You act as if being at Hogwarts is the worst thing that could ever happen to you, and yet, here you are, a seasoned veteran of infiltrating school grounds,” he commented. Ginny glared at him for speaking, but also because she was disconcerted that he’d picked up on the fact that she hated school more than anything else about her life.

“The Astronomy Tower provides an excellent view of the school grounds,” she whispered. “Including the Quidditch pitch.”

Malfoy stopped in his tracks, and in the dim light, Ginny could see that he looked rather flummoxed by this information, but slowly, he seemed to grow mildly impressed. Ginny regarded him cautiously, unsure what was wrong with him now.

“I didn’t think you were the type,” he said simply, with a knowing grin.

“What do you mean, type?” she demanded as she flounced off, turning left to the staircase that would lead them to the Astronomy Tower.

“The type to break rules in order to gain an advantage on her opponents. You must have gained a lot of insight into the other teams’ strategy and weaknesses while you were up here, where you can see the Quidditch pitch. No wonder Gryffindor has been doing so well lately,” he commented. She laughed, bitterly.

“That’s not at all why I’ve been up here so often. Sorry to disappoint, but the truth is that as much as I love Quidditch, there are many other things I’d rather spend the three Galleons the school started charging as admission to all inter-house games,” she said, as she climbed, her voice infused with a bitter sarcasm. “You can see much better from up here anyway. And, if I happen to accidentally catch a few practices here and there… well, it only added to the appeal.”

“I guess that’s the difference between our two houses, Weasley. While we’re notorious for being deceitful, we are rather open about our penchant for dishonesty, whereas you and your passel of self-righteous Gryffindor act morally superior while hiding the not-so-shiny moral facets of your actions, using the excuse that at least you’re not horrible Slytherins as a way to salvage your rather nagging conscious,” he said with a smirk. Ginny stared at him, unsure what to say, feeling very angry about the way he’d just called her a liar. A self-righteous liar, at that!

“You shouldn’t open your mouth about things you don’t understand,” she mumbled. She swung open the heavy door and led him into the vast emptiness of the Tower. She loved going up there, especially when it was so quietly dark and peaceful on the grounds. It gave whoever went up there a feeling of being suspended in a huge, wide open space – the same freedom that flying gave you.

“I understand more than you think” he said softly, his warm breath tickling her ear as he leaned over behind her as he spoke. “And that’s why I bother you so much.”

“No, you bother me because you know so much and yet you live the life that you do, you do the things that you do to people for no reason other than boredom with your fabulous existence!” Ginny snapped. “Not only do you see and understand what our world is like, but you actively make other people’s lives miserable – that is why I can’t believe I even came with you today.”

“It’s not my responsibility to change the system,” he said, coolly. The gray light from the overcast sky shadowed his face in such a way that he looked ethereally pale, his eyes shining brightly at her.

“You much prefer the status quo, of course, it’s benefited your family remarkably well,” she shouted. His offhand comment – that she chose to ignore the parts of herself that were flawed had opened up a rather large wound, reminding her of all things she found so reprehensible about him and his lifestyle. “I never should have come. I’m going home.”

She stormed towards the door, lost in her anger. She nearly screamed as she felt his arm wind around her waist, yanking her back towards him. Before she could, however, he clamped his other hand over her mouth, causing her to panic. She fought against him, kicking her legs as hard as she could, using her body to struggle against the vise-like grip his strong arms hand her locked in. He was too strong, and easily lifted her off the ground, pulling her away from the door.

“Shut up, Weasley, there’s someone coming,” he muttered hoarsely. She stopped kicking, and squirmed so that he would let her go. She, now that she’d been alerted, could hear the approaching steps and voices.

“You had better hope there was someone up here, Baron, or you’ll find yourself looking for another castle to haunt,” a shrill feminine voice was saying. Ginny looked up at Malfoy – who was still holding her tightly – and tried to convey the seriousness of the situation. For it was none other than the Headmistress who was climbing those steps up to the Tower; Ginny could recognize that voice anywhere. “And you of all people know how haunted this castle is. Getting jumpy over any sighting of strange lights…”

Malfoy’s eyes were darting around the room, as if searching for a miracle solution to their current crisis. It wouldn’t be too terrible for him if he were to be caught, but she couldn’t bear the thought of the troll-sized Howler her mum would send if she were expelled for breaking into the school.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said quietly, locking his eyes on hers. His arm tightly around her, Ginny felt some of her panic dissipate. Despite the argument they’d just had, with that one look, he’d managed to convey that he wasn’t going to let her get caught, that they were in this current crisis together and that she wasn’t alone. Scarcely able to breathe from the impact of that realization, Ginny followed his eyes as he looked away, and felt him move forward, and then she understood where he wanted them to hide.

But she was too late, and before she could say or do anything to protest, he’d pulled her into the small storage closet and had shut the heavy door behind them.

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Draco released the violently squirming girl with a curse, flinching as she landed another well-placed blow to his chest. She fell to the floor and scurried over to a corner, folding herself up into a tight ball without another word. Draco stared at her, incensed. If that’s how she’s going to react every time a bloke tries to save her skin, next time I’ll just let her get caught, he thought angrily.

Of course, she probably didn’t realize just how desperate the situation truly was. He turned away from the bizarre girl he was trapped with, and tried to listen at the door. The heavy oak door wasn’t allowing much sound to penetrate, so he cast a simple charm that his cousin had taught him, from when his parents still lived in Hogsmeade and they’d have “discussions” about “how to handle that unruly girl” while locked away in the library, that augmented his hearing. He leaned against the door and heard the distinctive voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, his aunt and the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“There is no one up here!” she snapped angrily. “You’ve become rather paranoid ever since I told you about the escaped convict from Azkaban. Even if he did know a way into the castle, why would he come here? He has no quarrel with me – it’s my sister he has the issue with.”

Draco frowned as he listened to his aunt rail against the ghost, chastising the Bloody Baron for rousing her from her afternoon nap. While it would obviously be unfortunate for Weasley to be caught on school grounds off hours, it would be even worse if they were caught together. He looked back over his shoulder, and in the dim light of her wand – which she was holding up in front of her, clutching it desperately with both hands – he could see that something was definitely off with that girl. Her eyes were wildly darting around her and he could tell, even in the dim light, that her breathing had become fairly laboured. He turned his attention back to what was happening beyond the door, listening to his eccentric aunt argue with the ghost who had become her trusted advisor, especially after the Headmaster’s office had ejected her and barred her from returning after she’d tried to remove and destroy the portraits of past Headmasters whose politics she did not agree with.

“You said you saw lights and heard a door opening?” she was demanding. “You know how the wind howls through this part of the castle, that’s probably what you heard. I really wish you’d stop being so paranoid.”

Draco smiled to himself, having heard countless whispered rumours about his aunt’s sanity. According to the tales, there was some task she’d committed upon the Dark Lord’s orders, and it had weighed so greatly on her conscious that she hadn’t been the same ever since. Even her husband had become so skeptical of her sanity that he’d left her to live in London, leaving her alone in the castle to wander about, trusting only ghosts whom she blamed for all of her own paranoid fears. Draco, however, simply used her eccentricity and their family connection to have his way at Hogwarts. Hearing her now, he was relieved to note she was as badly off as everyone assumed and if he and Weasley were caught, he’d have a good chance of creating some story so that others – his parents, in particular – did not hear of their association.

“Do you have any other suspicions about trespassers to look into, or can I return to my room?” she snapped coldly, sounding so much like his mother that he almost shivered. But then he heard the comforting sound of her footsteps walking away, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He turned back to Weasley, triumphant that his idea had worked out so well, and immediately noted that she looked as mad as his aunt was rumored to be.

She’d backed herself right into the corner, having dropped her wand on the floor. Her arms were pushing against the walls, as if trying to keep them from caving in around her and she was gasping for breath wildly. He was taken aback by this display, having been completely oblivious to the fact that she had been quietly having a complete nervous breakdown while he’d been focusing on his aunt beyond the door. He walked over to her cautiously, his legs feeling heavy, and crouched down in front of her, deciding it was best not to touch her.

“Weasley?” he asked gently, his experience with the frantic women in his life having taught him to proceed carefully. “Are you alright?”

“The door… the door, the door… we need to open the door,” she said breathlessly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s too small, too small in here. Not enough air, not enough space, it’s too small.”

Her eyes were staring straight ahead of her, blank and glassy, obviously not seeing him at all. Draco stood up, looking down on the girl in the midst of a serious fit of panic, and darted towards the door, hardly caring if either of them were caught now. She looked positively terrified, and he was helpless to stop it in any way, save getting her out of there. He turned and ran the few steps to the door and slammed his shoulder against it, forgetting to turn the knob in his haste.

He reached down and tried to turn the door knob, and felt his heart drop. It wouldn’t budge. Glancing over his shoulder to ensure she was still occupied because he didn’t want to alarm her any further, he pulled out his wand and tried using Alohamora to unlock the door. He hissed as the spell rebounded, singeing his fingers. Of course, his paranoid aunt would ensure that all locks, even ones to insignificant broom closets, couldn’t be spelled open.

Draco turned back to Weasley, watching hopelessly as she struggled against whatever demons were putting her in such a state, and tried to figure out how he was either going to get her out of there or deliver the bad news without sacrificing a limb – because she looked ready to tear something apart in a fit of hysteria and he was currently the most readily available object in the room.

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The walls were caving in on her, and with every breath she took, there was less air and the walls moved in even further, so she needed to stop breathing, to stop the flood of fear that was taking over her body. She needed to move, to stand up and walk to the door, because Malfoy was there, opening it for her so she could escape this little room, with its collapsing walls and limited amounts of air.

It had all happened so fast – the small dark space, hearing that voice beyond the door, all while she had already been in a panicked state. The dark room was starting to spin and she felt like she was either going to start screaming or suffocating, she wasn’t sure which yet. She heard banging, looking up to see Malfoy kicking at the door, her vision starting to swim when he turned around with a resigned expression on his face.

“The door is locked. We can’t get out that way,” he said. Ginny closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down, to breath slowly, to forget where she was.

“I knew this was a huge mistake,” she gasped, opening her eyes as Malfoy grabbed her hand.

“Well, come on then. We’ll just Apparate out of here,” he said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.

“Don’t you know anything? You can’t Apparate anywhere on the school grounds,” she said, her voice shrill from her emotions. Her eyes were beginning to well up with tears that she couldn’t control and she edged further back into the corner, feeling the cold stone wall press against her skin.

“How do you know that?” he asked skeptically.

“Hogwarts: A History. There’s an entire chapter devoted to it,” she replied, feeling the tight bands of fear that had wrapped around her chest loosen slightly as she remembered Hermione’s insistence that she read the book.

“Wasn’t that banned years ago?”

“I break rules and act morally superior while doing so, remember? It was only banned because it portrayed Salazar Slytherin in a negative light,” she said, casting a wry glance at Malfoy, who’d settled down beside her. She pulled the hand he’d been holding away from his grip, and settled it in her lap, where her fingers immediately began fidgeting testily as she tried to focus on something – anything – other than the fact that the walls were still caving in on them.

“Did it provide any brilliant insight about how to escape locked closets?” he asked lightly, arching one eyebrow as he smirked at her.

“Unfortunately, no,” Ginny replied weakly.

“Then we’re going to be here for awhile,” he said softly, his eyes carefully gauging her reaction to this piece of news. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing herself to take a deep breath. “Alright, weasel, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Her natural instinct, which was to remain stubbornly silent so as not to reveal her weakness and the fact that she was slowly falling apart, warred with her commons sense, which told her that she needed to tell him. They were, after all, in this mess together. She forced her eyes open, and met his steady gaze, lamenting that trust, once lost, wasn’t easy to relearn. But he had tried to save her from getting caught, so he deserved to know why she wasn’t currently acting the picture of gratitude.

“I’m a little claustrophobic,” she whispered lamely, and she found herself fighting the hysterical urge to laugh at that complete understatement.

“I’d hate to see the reaction of someone who was extremely claustrophobic,” he said off-handedly, and she was once again struck by how much he noticed, how much he saw. She tried to glare at him, but once she met his eyes, it was hard to remember what she had had in mind. They were shining in the dark, their grayish colour taking on an almost silver quality, and they were just looking at her, quietly taking her in. No judgment, no curious looks trying to discern the reasons for her fear beyond what she had been willing to tell him. She shuddered and tore her eyes away.

“This is all your fault,” she snapped bristly, needing to revert to their usual state of enmity, where she was most comfortable, because it offered them both the most protection from each other.

“My fault? You were the one that was late, which ruined all of my plans and you were the one who insisted on coming up here in the first place,” he said grumpily.

“Don’t act like you’d never have broken into the school otherwise, Malfoy,” she retorted quickly, becoming consumed with their bickering, needing the relief from her fear that it was providing.

“You have a lot of preconceived notions about me, Weasley,” he said, leaning towards her conspiratorily. “I think I’m going to enjoy dismantling a lot of them.”

His sudden nearness and the suggestive tone in his voice was too much for her in her fragile state, when she was unable to bear any kind of infringement on her personal space – not when she was locked in such a small space already. She reacted instinctively, swinging her arm out and pushing him aside with a blunt strike as she scampered away, crawling as quickly as she could to the spot the furthest away from him. She heard him groan in pain, but her heart was pounding so painfully in her chest and her lungs were burning with the need to take gasping breaths, and it was only after minutes had passed, when she regained an ounce of her composure that she squinted in the dim light, to see if he was alright.

He was pushing himself up into a sitting positing very slowly, as if every movement was causing him pain. Ginny was startled; she hadn’t realized that she’d struck him so hard. He looked at her, a heavy stare that communicated that he’d learned his lesson and wouldn’t approach her again. It was then that she noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the slight shiver trembling throughout his body. At that observation, she recalled something Tonks had mentioned to her earlier that day – something about Malfoy going home sick and being too stubborn to take a potion. She cringed, remembering also that he’d spent hours out in the snow waiting for her.

“I’m the one having the mental break down here, Malfoy. Why are you the one who is shaking?” she asked, unconsciously adopting that tone of voice her mum used when she knew Ginny was ill but lying about it so she could still go out and play with her brothers.

“I am not shaking,” he snapped grouchily, looking away from her, folding his arms across his chest. She debated allowing him to suffer in his stubborn denial, but she was her mother’s daughter and nothing triggered her bossiness more than stubborn denials of obvious truths. Concentrating all she could on that aspect of who she is – making herself remember that there was more to her than just a severe terror of small, dark spaces – she managed to move away from the wall, leaning closer to Malfoy. He scowled at her, which only fueled her motivation. She returned the scowl, before firmly planting her hand on his forehead to feel his temperature.

“You’re burning up!” she exclaimed accusatorily.

“And yet, strangely, I feel as if I’m about to die of hypothermia,” he remarked, looking up at her with glassy eyes.

“Tonks said you’d been ill for a few days and had been refusing to take a potion. You realize how ridiculous that is, yes? And spending all that time outside in the cold…” Ginny snapped angrily as she unwound her scarf from her neck.

“What are you planning to do with that?” he asked suspiciously, eyeing her red and gold scarf as if it were a poisonous snake.

“I was thinking of stringing you up with it as punishment for being such an idiot. It would, after all, be fairly easy with you in this weakened state and would certainly put an end to all my problems,” she said sarcastically, stretching out her arms to wrap the scarf around him; his teeth were practically chattering as he shivered. He ducked away, as if afraid of becoming contaminated by it.

“I’m not putting that on!” he snapped. Ginny, ignoring his protestations, reached for him again, and he tried to twist away, but he ended up slumping sideways to the floor with a groan.

“Told you that you’d be fairly easy to handle,” she snarked, forcing him to lie back. She tucked her scarf around his neck and before he could protest, she was shrugging off her robe and draping it over him.

“Won’t you be cold?” he mumbled, and Ginny laughed.

“I’m a weasel, remember? We’re quite resourceful when the time calls for it and have rather thick coats of shiny fur to keep us warm. Besides, I’m not the one with the fever,” she said. Malfoy smiled faintly, almost to himself, then looked up at her, a strange expression on his face. She looked away, but couldn’t help but notice he was still shivering. Reminding herself begrudgingly that she was her mother’s daughter, she scooted closer to him and pulled his head onto her lap, adjusting the scarf where it slipped down in the process. Malfoy stiffened awkwardly, before she felt him relax against her, shooting her a surprised look.

“If you keep this up, I really am going to have to take back your Howler,” he said, with a faint smile that could only be characterized as boyish.

“I told you I wasn’t going to let you off that easily,” she responded.

“Good,” was all he said, before settling down and closing his eyes.

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She had lost track of time – it was impossible to tell in the dark broom closet, but she was fairly certain that it was either very late at night or very early in the morning. She’d dozed off, mercifully, but had woken up when her leg cramped, having been in the same position for hours. And now, she was staring at the wall in front of her, which had an almost nightmarish quality to it in the dim green glow of her wand, pondering the endlessness of this night. Malfoy had barely moved since he drifted to sleep, and without him to serve as a distraction in the silence of the night, she was having a hard time retaining the control she’d won over her fear. She’d tried the spell Hermione had taught her to quell panic, but it had very little effect.

She shifted uncomfortably and released the deep breath she’d been holding. Her heart was pounding again, her stomach was clenched in knots and she had the anxious urge to get up and run as fast as she could, and the knowledge that she couldn’t was slowly becoming too much to bear. Ginny tried to focus on something else, but other than her, Malfoy and a few brooms, the small closet was empty of anything to pull her attention away from the feeling that she was being suffocated.

She felt Malfoy stir, and to her great surprise, he reached up and took her hand, the one that had been resting against his forehead, squeezing it reassuringly. You are not alone, we are in this together. She blinked furiously, afraid she’d burst into tears. Instead, she looked down at him.

“You’re awake,” she said softly. He turned slightly to look at her, his eyes heavy with sleep.

“Yeah,” he said simply, before turning back and resettling his head into a comfortable position on her lap. In the comfortable silence, Ginny felt some of her fear drain away, and sitting in that small dark closet became slightly more bearable.

“You never asked,” she said suddenly.

“About what?”

“About why I’m so claustrophobic.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Most people do. They need to have some kind of reason, a story about a traumatic event or a nightmare, just something to give a reason for it, to make it a legitimate fear.”

“I’m not most people.”

Silence fell over them, but with the reassuring warmth of his hand on hers, Ginny found it easier to bear. She considered, for a moment, the fact that she was locked in a closet with one of her greatest enemies, and that he was lying with his head in her lap while holding her hand because she was afraid of small spaces. It should have been ludicrous, an impossible situation, but somehow, at that moment, it just felt natural. She had a flash of the last time she’d spend such a fearful night, trapped in a small space, but completely alone that time, and she shuddered involuntarily.

“I was four years old. I had been playing at a friend’s house, down in the village close to our house. Mum sent Charlie, my oldest brother, to pick me up and walk me home,” she said, her voice distant. She didn’t know why she was telling him this, but the words just kept coming. “We were supposed to go straight home, but one of his friends – also a wizard – had been bragging that he’d found a dragon’s egg. Since we were already there, he took me to see it. Even then, he was fascinated with dragons. It was really late – dark – when we finally set off for home, worried about how Mum was going to react when we finally showed up.

“Our house is pretty far away from the village, and since we were so late, Charlie offered me a piggy-back ride if we could cut through the forest. I was always scared of it – it was dark and Fred and George always told me horrible stories about things they claimed to find there. But I agreed, because I was tired, but I made him promise to take me out on his broom the next day.

“We came to the edge of the forest, where the trees clear enough so that you can actually see the sky. We’d been laughing because Charlie had done this hilarious impression of the lecture Mum would be waiting to give us, and he suddenly stopped, swinging around so he could block my view of the house. Even at four years old, I knew what the Dark Mark looked like and what it meant to see it over your house. Everyone knew, back then. He tried to block it, but I could still see it.

“It was just there – glittering in the sky, hovering over our house. I don’t think you’ll ever know what that feels like, until you see it over the house of someone you love and know that they’ve probably been killed while you were away. Charlie was a mess – he wanted to run down to the house to find out what was happening, delusions of being a grand hero and saving the family undoubtedly dancing in his head; he would have been quite the Gryffindor had he come to school here. But he couldn’t take me, and he just couldn’t leave me all alone – not in the woods that I was so afraid of.

“We found this spot that was almost like a cave, but much much smaller. I had to squeeze into it, and it was such a tight fit that I could barely breath. It was cold and dark, but Charlie said I had to stay hidden. He made me promise not to move, not matter what happened. And then he left, running to the house.

“I think the worst part was that I could see the Dark Mark from where I was hidden. The whole night, right until the sun came up the next morning, it was the only light in that dark dark night. And I just stared at it, sitting in that small space, terrified that I may never see my family again. The whole night. Charlie never came back for me.” At this, Malfoy squeezed her hand and shifted so that he was looking up at her.

“What happened?” he asked softly, an intense expression on his face that indicated that he might be dreading the answer.

“Someone at the Ministry suspected my father of hoarding Muggle artifacts. He’s an expert in Muggle technology, you see, and can be a little… eccentric. So they raided our house, searching for inappropriate Muggle artifacts. At least that’s what they claimed, but it doesn’t seem to be quite the type of offense that would call for a night raid by Death Eaters,” she lied. As open as she was being, she had her limits. This was still the son of Lucius Malfoy, and she wasn’t going to tell him that the raid had really been ordered because they suspected her father of being a member of the Order of the Phoenix, an ally to Albus Dumbledore and an active participant in various plots to overthrow Voldemort’s regime.

“What happened to your family?” he asked hoarsely, looking almost chagrined as he spoke. Ginny paused, trying to think of why that might be, but then remembered he was ill, after all. Fevers can have strange effects on people’s personalities, she decided, and the effect on his was to make him seem almost human.

“They were taken into custody – all of them. It took almost three months for them to be released,” she said, a hard edge of bitterness in her voice. Those three months had been terrible for her, the first time she’d ever been separated from her family. “After hearing about the raid, and that only 6 children had been taken with my parents, some of their friends came by, hoping to find the 7th. I stayed with them until they were all released. From Azkaban.”

“How did they find you?”

“They almost didn’t. I promised Charlie I wouldn’t move, not until he came for me. At one point, I heard footsteps – you can hear every movement in the wood because the brush is so thick. He was practically on top of my little cave, and I was trapped. I couldn’t move, because there wasn’t enough space and there was nowhere to go. They were going to find me. The footsteps kept circling around that area, until there was someone right in front of where I was hiding,” she said, shutting her eyes as she recalled the suffocating horror of that moment. “I could see Death Eater robes, and knew I was going to be caught. He crouched down, and before I knew it, I was staring at another face. I had been found by a Death Eater.

“But, even though he clearly saw me, he got up and walked away. I guess his loyalty didn’t stretch as far as to surrender little children to the authorities. But the rest of the night, I kept thinking he’d change his mind and come back for me. For the rest of that long, long night. I knew that no one was going to come for me, that Charlie had been taken along with my parents and that I was never going to see them again.

“But then my parent’s friends showed up, and knew exactly where to look for me.” Ginny remembered the sobbing relief she felt as she heard familiar voices calling her name, telling her it was going to be alright and that it was safe to come out. ‘Safe’ had, ever since, taken on an entirely new meaning and would never be the same to her again. Safe meant her mum fussing about, her brother teasing each other, the occasional sound of explosions from the twins’ bedroom and her father’s eyes lighting up over a newly found battery.

“Do you remember who the Death Eater was?”

“No,” she lied. There was no mistaking who those beady black eyes, pasty pale face and greasy hair belonged to, even in the dark of the forest. She supposed, as much as she hated Professor Snape, that she could understand why he was so horrible to her. She knew that he was a spy, that he had worked for both sides during (and after) the war. She’d made the mistake of referencing that event, in her first year, to let him know that she knew and that because he’d left her alone and sent Sirius and Remus to find her, his secret was completely safe with her. He’d instantly become furious and thrown her out of his office. He’d been horrible to her ever since, acting as if the very sight of her was an offense to his very being. But, as much as she abhorred his treatment of her, part of her understood it now, because the knowledge that someone else knew your biggest weakness, your biggest vulnerability, was not an easy thing to deal with. “I never saw him again.

“Look, Malfoy. I have no idea why I’ve told you all of this. It’s not exactly common practice for me to expose the root of my deepest fears to the son of someone I consider to be an enemy,” she said. Flinching as she realized what she’d said, she continued. “…Neither is telling the son that I think of his father as an enemy, because I generally try to at least pretend that I’m alright with Voldemort and the way he runs the wizarding world. But the truth is, I’m really not. And during our argument earlier, you made it pretty clear that we’re on opposite sides of that fence.”

“Hold on, weasel,” he protested, sitting up quickly.

“Now, Malfoy, I don’t know exactly what you had in mind when you asked me to meet you – whether you were really… you know, asking me on a date, or if you really were planning something more sinister. But it doesn’t matter, because what I just told you – that moment in my life – is a huge part of who I am and what I believe,” she explained earnestly. “Which is why, no matter your motivation, I really can’t have anything more to do with you.”

“That’s complete rubbish, Weasley!” he snapped angrily.

“It’s not too hard to understand if you’ve ever seen the Dark Mark over the house of someone you love and not known whether or not they were still alive. Which I pretty sure you haven’t!” she retorted. Malfoy was glaring at her indignantly, appearing ready to launch another protest, but whatever he had been planning to say was interrupted when the door to the closet opened, flooding it with sunlight, which stung their eyes and caused them both to gasp.

“No one is supposed to be up here!” the house elf cried anxiously. “It’s Sunday, I clean on Sundays, nobody is supposed to be here!”

Ginny didn’t care what else the house elf had to say, because all that mattered was that the door was open and she was free. She jumped up and dashed forward, staggering under cramped and stiff legs, and didn’t stop until she was at the giant window, fumbling with the latch. She threw it open, and stuck her head out, breath deep the fresh air, opening her eyes to the wide landscape, the hills that seemed to go on indefinitely and the bright morning sky. She could see it all from so high up, and nothing ever felt so good as the sweet relief of being released from her suffocating fear.


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They had walked slowly down from the Tower, after Malfoy had gruffly threatened the elf with horrible consequences if he ever revealed he’d seen them there, both stiff and sore from their night together. A heavy silence was hanging between them, loaded with the unfinished business of their interrupted argument.

They reached the road that lead back to Hogsmeade, and paused. Ginny swung her robe on, wanting nothing more than to flee from the intense stare Malfoy was giving her.

“Are you alright to get home?” she asked, concerned that he still appeared rather ill. He nodded without saying anything. “Well, then… goodbye.”

She turned away, but Malfoy put a hand on her shoulder. She looked at him, unsure what else the two could possibly say to each other. His eyes met hers, burning with intensity – that same look that almost hypnotized her whenever she was on the receiving end of it. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers. It was quick, over in barely an instant, and yet it still managed to steal her breath and send a thrill down her spine.

He stepped back quickly, looking away as if embarrassed.

“Thank you,” he said awkwardly, shrugging a bit as his fingers played with the ends of her scarf, which was still wrapped around his neck.

“You’re welcome,” she said, unsurely. Malfoy looked back at her, apparently over his split-second bout with humility, as he was suddenly the arrogant and conceited jerk he always was, smiling cockily at her.

“Of course, if you had let me die or suffer unduly while we were trapped there, I would’ve had to kill you,” he said with a characteristically arrogant bluster. Ginny stared at him in disbelief, before rolling her eyes and turning back to the road and walking away. It wasn’t until she was sure he couldn’t se her that she began to run as fast as she could.

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Credit these ideas to HYD:

1) Ginny refusing to go on the date, but changing her mind half way through the day and running off to find him, and Malfoy having waited for her the whole day;
2) Them getting stuck some place and having to be there the whole night;
3) Malfoy getting sick and Ginny deciding to care for him.

The rest is mainly mine, or has been warped so badly beyond recognition from the HYD plot that I couldn't remember that I'd taken it. In particular, Ginny's claustrophobia and the event in her life that caused it was definitely mine and comes from my weird need to have dark, twisted pasts for my main characters.

I have no idea the lay-out of the Burrow in relation to everything else around it - for all I know, there IS no forest or village nearby, but I needed and it's AU, remember? Same goes with the layout of Hogwarts - I have no idea if the Quidditch pitch can be seen from the Astronomy Tower or even what the Astronomy Tower really is. These are two instances where I haven't purposely altered canon in order to fit the AU, I just didn't know.

Thanks a bunch to all those who take a few moments to leave comments, I really appreciate hearing your thoughts.

More soon!

Notes: Thanks to the lovely ladies, Nimue, persephone33 and pandapremium for the beta job on this chapter. You have them to thank for it being posted tonight! Also, a quick and humble thank you to those of you who nominated this fic for various categories in the D&G awards, it was quite a pleasant surprise, especially considering I never thought anyone would even read this fic, considering it's high level of PURE CRACK. Thanks for the support, I really appreciate it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 11 - The Importance of Being in Control


Ginny dragged her broom behind her as she forced her exhausted body to keep walking towards the school.  Losing an entire night of sleep, dealing with the emotional turmoil of being locked in the Tower with her mortal enemy who was begining to seem much less like an enemy each time they ran across each other, and having to work the next day had left her weary.  Not even her inaugrual ride on her new Firebolt had been enough to put some energy into her steps.  All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and hide from the world - and the mounting pile of homework she'd neglected all weekend.
 
"Hi Ginny!" someone called.  Ginny stopped dead in her tracks, looking around her in amazement.  No one ever called her by her first name, especially since "Weasel" had become the Slytherin's preferred label of choice for her, and certainly no one ever said 'hello' to her.
 
"Hey Ginny, how's it going?" another voice called.  She eyed the hall suspiciously, as two fifth-year Ravenclaw girls were smilng at her.  She twisted, trying to see behind her, remembering the last time she'd had a similar experience, there'd been a Howler following along behind her.
 
"Hi," she answered slowly.  That was when she realized that her uniform's sweater had changed colours.  Instead of the bright blue that was an effect of the Slytherin's Howler spell, her sweater had reverted back to its original black.
 
She continued down the hall, feeling increasingly concerned as more of her fellow students, many whom would have never known her name if it hadn't been for Malfoy, kept greeting her happily.  She noted how messed up her world was that she'd be concerned when people were being nice to her.
 
"Hi Ginny," another voice called out, and at this, she forgot about everything else in her happiness.
 
"Claire!" she exclaimed, rushing over to the other girl, who'd been out of school since the incident at the Quidditch pitch.  Ginny was thrilled to see that her sweater had also turned back to black and that she was smiling happily at her.  "You're back?"
 
"My parents weren't going to let me stay home much longer - I couldn't tell them why I didn't want to go and they'd reached the limits of their patience.  I was really worried about it, but then I saw this and thought it would be safe to come back," she explained, gesturing to her sweater.  "And then I saw the picture in the paper, and I just had to come, if only to find out what has happened!"
 
"I'm so glad to see you," Ginny said.  She'd been worried when Claire hadn't returned to school, but had been far too consumed with all the other happenings in her life to seek her out and make sure she was alright.
 
"No one barely even noticed me, it's like nothing ever happened.  Although, I have to admit I was quite shocked when I saw that picture in The Daily Prophet.  I never thought that would be soemthing I'd see," Claire said, shaking her head incredulously.  Ginny paused, frowning.
 
"What do you mean, photo?" she asked.  While The Daily Prophet was supposed to report on the pertinent news in the wizarding world, it more often preferred to focus on the social lives of the richer residents of Hogsmeade, repoting the various sordid details of their social activities.  Claire smiled mischeviously at Ginny before grabbing her hand and pulling her along with her.
 
"Come on, I'll show you.  And you know, you really don't have to pretend with me.  I mean, this is probably the reason why they took the Howler back, so I have no reason to judge or see this as any kind of betrayal of our friendship.  It's the other girls you have to watch out for, Ginny," she said, reminding Ginny of just how 'bubbly' the pretty blonde's personality was.  "They're so jealous, they'd have very few qualms over feeding you to a mountain troll!"
 
"Jealous of what?" Ginny asked with trepidation as Claire pulled her into the Great Hall.  There was an unusually large crowd gathered there for this time of morning, and they were all gathered in one area.  And stopped what they were doing as soon as she walked in, turning to look at her with curious expressions.  There was a noticeable absence of hostility that immediately raised her suspicions, causing her to throw her guard up.
 
The crowd parted obligingly as Ginny marched towards the wall - sending up another red flag.  She froze in horror at she saw what had been posted there.  It was a thousand times worse than those misconstrued photos Parkinson had posted everywhere, so much worse.
 
"Oh, my mum is going to kill me for this," she muttered.  Although, in her defense, why was there some sleasy photographer trolling around the school grounds that early on a Sunday morning?  Of course, any such protestation would go unheeded before her mum as soon as she saw a copy of the Prophet and read the headline that proclaimed the "mysterious red-head" as the Malfoy heir's newest "conquest" and the handful of snapshots which had captured their Sunday morning parting.  Her face began to burn as she saw the icing on the cake - the photographer had managed to catch the split second he'd kissed her, and with the headline, it all looked more... involved than it truly had been.
 
"Where is she??" the hysterical voice of Pansy Parkinson shrieked.  Ginny grimaced, hardly feeling prepared to deal with her.  But she was pushing her way forward, until she spotted Ginny.  "You! What is the meaning of this??"
 
"You're supposedly an intelligent girl - why don't you tell me?" Ginny asked slyly, crossing her arms in front of her.  She looked at the newspaper tacked to the wall, barely aware that antagonizing Parkinson had become almost second nature to her now.  "Fairly obvious, isn't it?"
 
"This is unacceptable," Pansy barked, before storming off, amid murmurs and giggling from the crowd.

"So, Ginny, what actually happened?" Claire asked, whispering conspiratorily as the gathered crowd was still watching her.  Claire seemed to be enjoying all the attention and her role as Ginny's friend, which put her in a place of privilege to get the scoop on the situation.  Ginny turned to her friend, appalled.
 
"What do you mean, what happened?" she demanded indignantly.
 
"Well, the article says you were both in the school over night, supposedly in the Astronomy Tower.  You know what they say it was popular for, back when students boarded at the school... Come on, you can tell me!" Claire pressed on, raising her eyebrows suggestively.
 
"There's an article??" Ginny shrieked, panicking.  She lunged forward to grab it, holding up the paper as her eyes scanned over it.  "I am dead.  DEAD."
 
"So... you and Malfoy?  I thought there was a spark buried underneath all that hostile arguing."
 
"Of course there's no spark!  He's just lost his mind, that's all.  I told him it was impossible.  Which reminds me..." she said.  "You should probably avoid being seen with me.  I told him I'd have nothing more to do with him and I've no idea how he'll take that blow to his ego."
 
"You said what?  Haven't you noticed he's the most attractive guy in the whole school?" Claire asked incredulously.
 
"And I want nothing more than the spend the rest of my time here, going unnoticed and unbothered until I finish and can get as far away from this place as possible. Some things are just more important.  Plus, we are mortal enemies with completely different values and it would be a complete nightmare," she said uncomfortably, remembering that moment, after Tonks had spoken to her Saturday, that she thought it was actually possible that they were more alike that it seemed, but their night trapped together had reminded her of what was important. "Besides, why are you suddenly defending him? Don't you remember what he did to you?"
 
Claire's answer was interrupted as they both noticed the crowd of students had started whispering again.  She heaved a long-suffering sigh and was about to renounce those photos and the ridiculous allegations of the article when she felt a presence looming behind her and realized why they were probably whispering again.
 
"Hey Malfoy, did you see today's paper?" Roger Smith called out, and Ginny felt her face start to burn.  It figured that he would be behind her; she should have been anticipating it.
 
"Not your best photograph," Goyle chuckled while Ginny was busy scanning the room for a proper place to hide - or better yet, the quickest exit route, even though she knew there was no way she'd be able to get away, not now.  "So, any truth to this article?  You and Weasley?"
 
Ginny's heart lept, waiting for him to vehemently deny any involvement with her, knowing that it would plummet her back into a blissful state of unimportance once again.  Well, except when it came to Pansy Parkinson, who Ginny figured would never forgive her for everything that had happened.  An excited hush fell over the crowd, waiting for his answer.  Ginny found herself breathless with excitement, waiting for a few words from him that would liberate her from this madness, practically able to taste the sweetness of her impending freedom.
 
"Yes, of course," he said, to the astonishment of everyone in the room.
 
"What?" she cried in outrage.  What she'd said Sunday morning had apparently not penetrated that thick skull of his.  She'd, as politely as she could, told him to bugger off, and here he was, proclaiming to the whole school that they were together.
 
She turned to face him, and found him staring at her, eyebrow arched infuriatingly as he smirked at her arrogantly, as if daring to deny him in public.  She started at him, unable to figure out what to do next.  Instead of screaming at him, which was what she most wanted to do, she fell back to the course of action she seemed to take most often when it came to him - she fled.  Although this time, she made sure she stormed out of the Great Hall a pace that was appropriate enough to communicate her outrage over the situation.
 
"Lover's quarrel, Malfoy?" an obnoxious voice called out.
 
"Malfoy's don't quarrel," was his cold response, which she heard before heading towards her first calss in a huff.
 
* * * *
 
"You are complaining because now, instead of being horrible to you, everyone has been incredibly nice?" Hermoine asked, sounding highly amused.
 
"Yes!" Ginny exclaimed, sounding exasperated as she collapsed in Hermione's squashy arm chair.  "Because they're only acting this way because they think I'm dating Malfoy.  Why do you think those girls asked me to go out with them one night this week?  Only because they think I'll be able to get them into All Hallows!"
 
Earlier that day, as Ginny had stormed her way through her day, growing more furious the nicer everyone was being to her, a group of three sixth year Ravenclaws had accosted her, blocking her path and forcing her to stop and be civil.
 
"Ginny!  We've been hoping we'd run into you!  It's such a pity that we've never had a chance to chat," the girl, who seemed to be the leader, had said.  Ginny vaguely recalled that her name was Cynthia, and that they'd had Potions together in their first year.  "Especially after the way you stood up to Draco Malfoy, it was so impressive!"
 
"And now to think you're dating him!" one of her sidekicks squealed abrasively, causing Ginny to take a step back, unsure how to handle being outnumbered by a group of girls determined to be nice to her.  Cynthia shot her friend a scathing look and elbowed her back into silence.  Ginny checked her watch, afraid she was going to be late for Snape's class, which, if he'd seen the papers, would be an unmitigated disaster.
 
"Anyway, I think that has been a grevious wrong, and we would love for you to come out with us this week!  We were thinking of going to All Hallows Thursday night - would you like to come?" Cynthia asked hopefully.
 
"Uh, sure, that sounds great.  I have to run, I have class," Ginny said distractedly, as she had seen Malfoy approaching from the opposite end of the hallway.  She didn't even notice the strange looks the three girls who hoped to become friends with Ginny gave each other as she turned around and bolted down the hallway, the opposite way she'd originally been headed.
 
"Well, aren't you dating Malfoy?" Hermione asked with a wicked grin, knowing it would set Ginny off on a tangent.
 
"Of course not!" she sputtered furiously.  "I told him that was impossible!"
 
"And he agreed with you?" Hermione prodded.
 
"I didn't give him a chance.  You don't give Draco Malfoy a chance to protest your decisions, you don't give him options!" Ginny exclaimed dramatically.  "Besides, no matter what he thinks about the issue, it hardly matter because I'm not willing to engage in this nonsense."
 
"And you like his best friend, too, of course," Hermione said.  Ginny stopped her tirade - it had been awhile since she'd thought about Blaise Zabini, but now that Hermione reminded her, she seized that thought.
 
"Exactly," she cried triumphantly, shooting out of her chair.  "I like his best friend!  I should tell him, it'll get him to leave me alone.  Because, surely, his ego couldn't handle hearing that!"
 
"I guess that's the best way to go about it," Hermione commented.  "But I thought you were planning to get an inside track to the most powerful wizards in our world.  Wouldn't dating Malfoy help you with that?"
 
"I couldn't do that.  I'd be using him.  Taking advantage of an invitation to a party to meet people is one thing, but using a person?  I can't stoop that low," Ginny said gravely.  There were certain lines that she just wasn't willing to cross.  Of course, it had nothing to do with the fact that she'd gotten to know him better and wouldn't be able to do that to someone she didn't hate.  Then there was his infuriating statement about Gryffindor and their tendency to act morally superiror even when doing things that could be morally suspect.
 
"Anyway... how long are you planning to hide at my place?  You know the Howler from your mum will find you as soon as you get to work - Errol knows to wait there when he can't find you," Hermione said with the smile she always got when discussing Ginny's family.  After spending a few weeks' vacation at the Burrow last summer, she said she understood why Ginny had turned out the way she had and had asked if she could return the next holiday she had.  Ginny's dad, in particular, was keen to have her back, given that she was an invaluable source of information on Muggles.
 
"You're right.  I should just face the inevitable, because there's no way she won't blow up when she sees that article.  I can just hear it now - 'out all night, with a boy like that!'  It's going to be terrible," Ginny said grimly.
 
"Well, you have another hour before work, you can seek refuge with me for a little bit longer," Hermione offered warmly.  "Although... it in no way condones your behaviour.  I can't believe you broke into school - do you know how many rules you must have broken??"

* * * *

Ginny stepped quickly through the slushy sidewalks, cursing the fact that she hadn’t worn her boots in this weather. Her toes were rather cold and she was going to have to spend the evening waiting tables in wet socks, as the cold slush oozed into her shoes with a shocking jolt that made her cringe. She was about to cross the street and turn left towards the town square when the sight of a large black dog standing on the far corner caught her attention. She paused, squinting in the dim light, trying to make out any distinguishing features that would indicate if it was really who she thought it was.

The dog turned and stared at her for a moment, its ears perking up as if scrutinizing her, before it turned and walked away. Ginny stared after it, pondering how late this was going to make her before she followed along after it, knowing he probably couldn’t wait forever.

By the time she’d rounded the corner, he’d already transformed and was looking mighty unimpressed. She didn’t care, however, as this visit could mean one of two things – that something had happened to her parents or that he had some ominous piece of information he wanted to pass on to her, despite her mother’s protestations about wanting to shield Ginny from that sort of thing.

“Is everything alright?” she demanded.

“Pleasant greeting. You’re becoming more and more like your mother than you realize,” he said. Ginny was instantly relieved – he wouldn’t joke around with her if something was terribly wrong.

“Well, why are you here? And in that form, too?” she asked, having only him transform a small handful of times. It wasn’t a skill he liked to advertise, and she was fairly certain that few people outside her family and his small circle of friends knew about his abilities as an Animagus.

“I’m looking for someone – they’ll be looking for me to be looking for him, so they won’t find either of us this way,” he said, looking around suspiciously. “Anyway, your mum asked me to stop by if I was in the area, and once I saw this, I decided I needed to be in the area.”

“Oh bloody hell, you’ve all seen the paper,” Ginny groaned, her face flaming with embarrassment as he held up the front page of that morning’s paper. Sirius Black, who was very much like an uncle to her, was staring at her searchingly, without the usual sly grin he normally wore when he tried to tease her about his godson. Now, he seemed deadly serious. “It’s not at all how it seems.”

“Then how is it, Gin? Your parents are pretty worried – that’s a dangerous family for anyone to get involved with, let alone someone like you, and I can’t say that they’ll be pleased with your involvement with their only son, either. Your mum asked me to check on you, to see if you are alright and to find out if there’s anything they need to be worried about,” he said. Ginny stared at him, feeling helpless and overwhelmed. She was tired, feeling a little stressed out and entirely alone – and that was what she was the most tired of.

“Of course I’m not alright!” she finally snapped. “And you can tell her that if she’s so concerned about my welfare she can either come here on her own instead of sending a proxy, or she should admit they never should have sent me to this bloody school and forced me to live on my own in the first place!”

She was going to cry – she could feel the tears burning behind her eyes. And it wasn’t going to be pretty, gentle crying, but childish wailing sobs that would embarrass her for the rest of her life. She turned away from him quickly, covering her face with her hands, pressing her forehead into the cold brick of the building behind them, wanting nothing more than to hide. She hated crying – especially in front of someone who could report back to her overly anxious mother.

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Not easy being on your own, is it? Especially after growing up with that hoard of siblings you have, or when you belong to a happy family. But they’re doing their best, and they’re relying on you to do the same. The only reason they even let you live here on your own is because they think it’s for the best and because they trust that you’ll be alright. Remember, you’re the girl who survived staying with me and Remus for three months when you were only a little girl,” he said, trying to garner a laugh. She obliged weakly, knowing that he was trying. And there were some rather pleasant memories of the time she’d spent with them, as the two young men cluelessly tried to care for a young girl, but they were bittersweet as it was also associated with the time she’d been separated from her family as they’d all been incarcerated.

“I thought Mum was going to murder you when she found out you’d let me fly a broomstick and that I’d nearly broken my neck,” she said through her tears.

“She’ll thank me the day you’ve signed an impressive professional Quidditch contract… They all hate it as much as you do, you living out here,” he said gently after a pause, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Not possible,” Ginny sobbed with a laugh, turning back towards Sirius, who was looking at her kindly. “Oh, please don’t tell Mum about this. It’s just been such a long week and I’m tired and emotional from being tired and that stupid article has me all wound up. I swear, it’s nothing to be worried about.”

He pulled her to him, engulfing her in a big hug as she buried her face against his black woolen coat and tried not to start sobbing again with the sheer gratitude of having someone older and familiar to share her burdens with. Hermione listened to her, often with that worried furrowed brow and her analytical way of looking at the world, but there was something so comforting about the presence of an adult – someone who was practically family – that her best friend just couldn’t match.

“It’s only Monday,” he said quietly. Ginny started laughing, and before she knew it, she couldn’t stop.

* * * *

“Congratulations, you’ve officially replaced me as the most disgraceful member of the family,” Tonks chirped happily as her cousin entered the room. “And now I’m off to London to keep them distracted while you clean up this mess before something happens to Ginny.”

“What are you talking about?” Draco asked grumpily. He collapsed into the sofa, feeling put out by Weasley’s reaction to the public knowledge of their relationship. That stroppy girl should have been weeping with gratitude to be labeled as Draco Malfoy’s girlfriend, and she acted as if it were the worst thing that could have ever happened to her.

“The pictures, you bloody idiot! Luckily, they don’t name her, and her face is mostly obscured by all the snogging, but it won’t take them long to figure out who she is. And it’ll be all your fault when they do,” she explained seriously. “How could you be so careless? Don’t you care what happens to her?”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to her,” he mumbled, distracted by the book he’d pulled off the table, flipping through it casually. Tonks glared at him.

“You may not have a choice! Don’t forget the series of events that led up to my wedding, Draco, unless you want the very same thing to happen to you. Luckily for you, you have something that I didn’t have – and that is me. I’m heading home, and when I meet up with your parents, I’ll just satisfy them with an excuse about youth and meaningless flings, and your father will be pleased his son is finally showing an interest in girls after that unfortunate incident with the French heiress and your mother will haughtily disapprove but won’t interfere,” Tonks rattled off, as she paced around the room. “Provided, of course, that I’m able to convince them that Weasley is just a fling.”

“Weasley’s not a fling,” Draco said instantly, his eyes fixed on the page he was reading. Tonks groaned, and sank into a chair across from him, leaning forward to snatch the book out of his hands.

“How can someone who barely understood the simple principles of love less than a bloody week ago be such a pathetic romantic as you are, Draco Malfoy? It’s infuriating and I demand that you snap out of the spell she’s got you under and come back to your senses. This could all end very badly, and I don’t think you have the right to make the decision to take that risk for Ginny,” Tonk said seriously. Draco sighed, exasperated, and rolled his eyes at his melodramatic cousin.

“I don’t have a choice in all of this, why should she?” he snarked moodily, then sighed heavily as he knew that what he was trying to say just wasn’t sinking in. “Look, Nymphadora. It’s not like I wanted this to happen. She was just supposed to be another person to torture and laugh at, a way to kill some of the boredom while I waste away in that horrid school. But then the stroppy cow decided to strike back and flirt with my best friend and argue with me about absolutely everything there is to disagree on. And now, I look for the silly girl every time I enter a room and try to find ways to piss her off, because I like the way she looks when she’s furious, and this is something I don’t have any control over. Bloody hell, I’ve done everything I can to try to break the damn girl’s spirit, to drive her away, to make her less interesting to me, but it hasn’t worked. If I have no choice, then neither should she.”

“Oh bloody hell,” Tonks groaned, dropping her head into her hands. She looked up at her stony-faced cousin and sighed heavily. “Well, then you’d better be willing to accept responsibility for whatever happens to her as a result.”

* * * *

“Where is everyone?” Ginny asked, looking around her perplexed. The restaurant was completely empty and fairly dark. She wandered through the kitchen, relieved to find Rosmerta’s light on in her office. “It is Monday, right? We are open and I am supposed to be working, yes?”

Rosmerta set aside the ledger she was poring over and looked up at her young employee with a wide smile.

“Private party tonight. Booked the whole place and insisted that they only needed one server – and that it had to be you. You seem to be in demand a lot lately,” Rosmerta commented with a sly smile. Ginny had a sudden flash of déjà vu and a sinking feeling that she knew exactly who had booked the private party.

“I can’t believe this! Why would you agree to this?” Ginny demanded with a groan. Obviously, the boy couldn’t take a hint – or a blunt statement of “we can’t have anything to do with each other anymore.”

“You know how poorly business has been lately. I’m not quite popular among the upper class at the moment because of my ‘questionable hiring practices.’ Once word is out that the Malfoy heir regularly books the whole restaurant – with its guarantee of privacy from aspiring photographers – I think we’ll be back on track. Sorry kid, but business is business,” she said with a shrug at Ginny’s strangled protests. “He’s waiting for you out front – don’t keep him waiting too long.”

She stormed through the kitchen, making her way to the main dining room, trying to decide who she was more furious with – Malfoy, for his unparalleled arrogance and the way he throws around his power without considering the feelings of others, or Rosmerta, who was obviously willing to sell her out for the sake of her business. She was so consumed with her inner monologue that she hardly realized that she’d reached the dining room. She went about her usual routine, checking to see if tables needed to be cleared and was about to check on the bar’s stock when she remembered that it was all pointless, as they were closed to the public and would have only one client – someone she was planning to toss out on his arrogance behind as soon as she laid eyes on him. She slammed the bottle she was holding down on the counter with a huff, crossing her arms over her chest, staring moodily out at the dim and empty restaurant.

“Well, they’ve really let the service in this restaurant slide. I’ve been sitting here for almost ten minutes,” his voice said, breaking her concentration. She yelped and jumped, smashing her elbow on the counter and knocking over the glasses. “Graceful as always, weasel.”

She looked up from where she was busily trying to gather the shards of glass and found him on the other side of the counter, looking at her with that infuriating mildly amused smile of his. She narrowed her eyes and before she could stop herself, her hand were on her hips as she adopted the stance so often seen on her mother when she was lecturing the twins, and launched into a full-blown Weasley tirade.

“I know you think you’re fantastically important and that you’re accustomed to getting your way, but you do not now nor will you ever again pull this kind of stunt! You have no right to commandeer my time like this for whatever reason. This is my job – I have to work in order to enjoy the ‘privilege’ of attending that horrible school, and just because you have money – no, just because your family has money – it does not mean you can just bribe my boss so you can torture me some more. I’ve told you before that I can’t be bought, not for any price, and I want to make it perfectly clear that this does not constitute being bought just because you were able to manipulate certain aspects and realities of my life to your advantage,” she ranted.

“Are you finished?” he asked with a half-smile.

“Furthermore, I don’t want you to think even for an instant that I’ve forgotten about that display this afternoon, where you did not vehemently deny that we’re involved, which is completely unacceptable! I told you nicely that I couldn’t have anything more to do with you, and now, I can’t even tell you to bugger off properly because I’m at work and you’re a customer,” she finished. Malfoy was looking at her with that bemused expression she hated so much, appearing completely unphased by the fact that Mount Ginny had just erupted in front of him. Her face was burning with the heat of her temper and her knees felt a little weak – because, of course, of her temper and it had nothing at all to do with that grin on his face and the way he was looking at her, the way he had that always made it difficult to catch her breath.

“We needed to talk,” he said with a shrug, “and you had to work. This way, we can talk without everyone watching our every move.”

He walked away from the counter, leaving her gaping after him. Once again, he’d caught her off guard and completely surprised her. He walked casually to a booth on the far right of the restaurant and sat down. She debated her options for a moment, before realizing that she really had none. She grudgingly followed him, sitting uncomfortably across from him. He surveyed her for a moment before sliding out of the booth, moving to slide in next to her, effectively trapping her and cutting off any hope she had for making a quick exit, damn the incorrigable bastard.

“Now you can tell me to bugger off all you want,” he said with a churlish grin. Ginny was far too aware of how close he was, his physical presence so disconcerting that she forgot to be annoyed with him.

“Nothing has changed since Saturday night,” she said distractedly, trying to hold on to her thoughts and the mental list of outrages she wanted to vent, but it was so hard to concentrate with the way he was leaning towards her. “You’re still you and I’m still me and we should just stay as far away from each other as possible.”

“Why? What are you so afraid would happen…” he drawled quietly, leaning towards her, “… if we don’t stay far away from each other?”

He had reached out and was now brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes. Ginny had tried to back away, needing distance between them, but there was a wall behind her and she had nowhere to go. He was looking at her with that intense look that made her heart start to pound – in fear, of course, and nothing else – and his finger were brushing slowly against her jaw, sending an electric thrill throughout her body.

“Because! Your parents…” she said, flustered, finding it hard to think clearly, especially as he leaned closer, his fingers resting at the base of her neck, brushing her hair so very lightly, she thought she was going to lose her mind. She swatted his hand away. “Would you stop that!”

“You have no valid reason to give me,” he said with a cocky grin. She opened her mouth, but closed it after a moment, every valid reason she’d listed to Hermione flying out of her head. Malfoy, ever the clever strategist, used her flustered moment of distraction and went in for the kill. He drew her towards him, guiding her face with a hand firmly clasped at the back of her neck, and leaning in to meet her half way, he kissed her.

It was fierce and fast, sending a flash of heat coursing through her veins, so unlike the gentle way he’d kissed her before. It was possessive and demanding, and over far too quickly, leaving Ginny gasping for breath, completely shaken and swearing the blood in her veins had caught fire.

He leaned against the table, propping his head with his arm, looking at her with a lazy grin. Heart still pounding painfully in her chest, he did the only thing her body would allow her to do – she lunged forward, grabbing her worst enemy and seizing his lips in a fit of passion she would later deny she ever felt.

It took only an instant before Malfoy regained control, readjusting their position as he fluidly moved his arms to lock around her body, pulling her greedily against him as his lips grazed against her, the friction causing a sensation that nearly drove Ginny mad. She gasped, and his hand reached up to cup her face as he nipped at her bottom lip before recapturing her mouth. It took all of her self-control not to groan, knowing just how grievously that would embarrass her.

He pulled away, just a tiny bit, breaking the contact between their mouths and she nearly protested until he rested his forehead against hers, arms still locked around her. She opened her eyes and saw that he was staring at her with a lazy smile, and she became infuriated. How could he be so calm and collected when she felt as she was about to be consumed by the electricity that was now flowing through her, thanks to his touch?

Finally coming to her senses, she pulled away and in a reaction to the strange swirl of emotions, she reached forward and pushed him off the seat. He tumbled sideways, a mess of flailing limbs, and landed on the ground with a curse. He untangled his long legs and jumped up, his eyes furious.

“You have to sit on the other side of the table from now on,” Ginny declared decisively, feeling it was time to take control of the situation. “And you’re going to stay there or I’m going to throw you out.”

He sat down huffily, in a sulk. Now that he wasn’t physically intimidating her, she was able to think clearly, her reason and logic abilities magically returning.

“And the valid reason why this… this won’t work is because I fancy someone else anyway,” she said awkwardly. “You don’t seem the type to play second fiddle to anyone.”

“I guess you haven’t been informed of a fact that veryone else has already acknowledged. Considering that it pertains to us, I’ll have to educate you. It doesn’t matter who else you might like or whatever other trivial excuses you might dream up to put me off, and the reason it doesn’t matter,” he said, leaning across the table, lowering his voice, yet losing none of the authoritative tone, “is because you are mine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ginny asked darkly. Maybe he hit his head when she pushed him over?, she thought as she scrutinized him, trying to see if there were any obvious signs of concussion.

“You belong to me, Weasley, and whatever you say or do, nothing can change that fact,” he said simply, leaning back casually, his eyes reflecting his absolute arrogance. Ginny gaped at him incredulously.

“You’re absolutely mad, you know that, right?” Ginny snapped. “I do not belong to anyone, I cannot belong to anyone, and certainly not to you! How many times must I tell you that I can’t be bought? The same principle applies here!”

“Fight it all you want, but you know it’s true. Stubborn as you are, that’s why you’re fighting it so much. The fact that you think you’re in love with my best friend isn’t much of a roadblock.”

Ginny froze, feeling exposed and completely knocked off balance. Of all things for him to notice, this was not something she’d expected. She thought Hermione was the only one who knew. She tried to protest, to summon some scathing remark to retort to his comment, but she was unable to produce anything.

“You will eventually realize that this is nothing more than a silly crush, so I’m willing to allow it. When he’s finished getting his heart stomped by Cho’s designer Quidditch boots and returns to Hogsmeade, it’ll no doubt cause a problem for me, what with you thinking you’re in love with him and all, but I’ll be willing to let it happen – only because it’s doomed to failure.”

“And why is that?” Ginny asked defensively, even though she’d already heard the answer from Blaise himself – he considered the very possibility of dating her a giant joke, completely out of the realm of possibility.

“Because he’s an idiot and you’re too far out of his league,” Malfoy said, without any hesitation. Taken aback, Ginny stared at him, searching for a trace of sarcasm or any indication that he was being purposely ironic or insincere, but she couldn’t find any. He was looking straight at her, unwavering as always. She turned her eyes away, unsure what to think of that statement. Malfoy, ever observant, seemed to realize that she’d understood the compliment he’d blurted out without any thought. “He wouldn’t know how to handle a clumsy, impetuous and argumentative girl like you. And he would bore you to death.”

“You are completely ridiculous, predicting something that would never happen is doomed to failure,” Ginny scoffed angrily. “And I am not impetuous.”

“Don’t work yourself into such a lather, weasel. When Blaise comes back, if you’re still convinced you’re in love with him and that he’s what you want, I won’t stand your way,” Malfoy said easily. Ginny, for a reason she couldn’t understand, felt a sinking weight in her stomach, almost as if she were disappointed. “But until then – and after, because as I said, doomed to failure – you are mine.”

“And if I refuse?” Ginny demanded angrily.

“Why would you refuse? Not that it would make any difference, but one must still question why you would. Haven’t you already felt the benefits of being associated with me?” he asked with a sly grin, and Ginny cursed his arrogance.

“Actually, it has caused me nothing but grief and aggravation. And I doubt your prestigious parents will appreciate our association as much as you claim I should,” Ginny scoffed.

“I’m sure nothing would upset them more. But it would distract them from their other attempts to control my life and my future from afar. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement, as it would allow me to set certain plans in place while they’re distracted,” he explained casually, as if it were perfectly normal to plot against one’s parents.

“So, you’d like to use me, this is what you’re telling me?” she demanded, outraged. “And how could you even think of manipulating your parents like that? They’re still your parents, no matter how you feel about them.”

Her words seemed to strike a chord with him, because he fell silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought. His fingers began fidgeting with a packet of sugar from the bowl on the table, and Ginny was pleased to note that he fidgeted when nervous or upset – or whatever it was he was feeling at that moment. He was such a guarded mystery that any insight gave Ginny a small sense of power when dealing with him.

“You said, the other night, that the ‘status quo’ had benefited my family,” he said, looking down at the table. Ginny recalled their argument, about how he did nothing to change their world with all the power he had and had scoffed that he had no reason to even want change, considering how well-off his family was as a result of the status quo. “It’s done nothing of the sort. It’s certainly benefited my parents individually, but it’s been anything but to my family. Let’s just say that we’re more like a group of individuals that share a surname and occasionally try to mess about in each other’s lives…Perhaps we were happy once, but it was all so long ago, who can remember trivial things like that?”

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked, rather brusquely. His quiet tone and the far-off look in his eyes were making her uncomfortable.

“I have no idea. Except maybe so you’ll understand that the views of my parents matter very little to me. Someone like you, with your kind of family, could never understand that.” And that he had just as much reason to hate Voldemort as I do, Ginny thought to herself, feeling extremely unsettled as she understood what he'd just implicitly tried to tell her, except he’s just not in a position to express it as freely as I do. Life was much easier when Ginny could just hate Malfoy from a distance.

He stood up.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow, weasel,” he said, without waiting for any other response. Ginny sat there, digesting everything that had been said, feeling incredibly confused and unsure of just where they stood after that particular conversation. She did know, however, that if she had any chance of every being free from Malfoy’s power, she could never snog him again. It was far too potent and addled her brain far too much.

* * * *

Control, Ginny had decided after she returned to her flat after work, was the most important thing, that which she had been missing for so long now. Looking about her messy, cramped room with the giant pile of neglected textbooks on her desk, she had decided that she needed to regain control over her life, and the first step would have to be her schoolwork. It had been piling up for a few weeks – the trivial assignments that were more time consuming than challenging. Hermione’s prodding had kept her up to date on her major essays or tests, but Ginny still felt a suffocating panic whenever she thought about her uncompleted assignments, as if they were piling up on her shoulders and pushing her head under water. Then there was the state of her flat… Taking off her robe and rolling up her sleeves, she’d set about obsessively cleaning and organizing her room. After a few hours and the successful massacre of all dust-bunnies visible to the naked eye, she’d settle down and began powering through her outstanding homework.

By 3 a.m., she’d finally succumbed to the horrible cramp in her hand from all the writing and her burning eyes and had collapsed into bed, satisfied that she had gained some grip of control on her life.

Even now, after sitting bleary-eyed through Snape’s class as he drilled questions about that week’s chapter at her, she felt elated despite her exhaustion, as she’d been able to proudly fire the correct answers right back at him. The glorious feeling of power and control – it was delicious and Ginny felt a renewed sense of purpose and accomplishment.

Shaking off the overwhelming desire to skive off her afternoon classes to run home to her immaculate room and crawl into bed and fall into a blissful afternoon nap, Ginny gathered her books and exited the classroom, in a hurry to avoid all the attempts of eager classmates trying to befriend her to take advantage of her new prestige as the supposed girlfriend of Draco Malfoy. She’d already been cornered, again, by the girls inviting her to visit All Hallow's and had, in her exhausted state, unwittingly agreed to go out with them Thursday night. Which meant she’d have to ask Hermione to switch shifts with her, which she wasn’t entirely happy about as any favour owed to Hermione usually turned into a long day spent in the bookstore.

But, as she walked towards the Great Hall for lunch, she felt a surge of confidence. Control, she reminded herself, today was the day that she was going to regain control of her life, and to do that, she was going to studiously ignore Draco Malfoy. She’d decided that the best way to regain control over that particular aspect of her life was to stubbornly ignore it until it disappeared.

Or at least, that had been her plan, until she’d been commandeered by two of his thugs who had been waiting for her in the hallway. They had been standing with rather blank expressions on their faces, until they saw her, and perked up. Sensing that this could only mean trouble, Ginny attempted to back-track and avoid them, but they zeroed in on her and sandwiched her between them.

“Malfoy demands that you come with us,” Crabbe said, rather genially, despite his words. Ginny frowned and glared at him.

“You can tell Malfoy that I am under absolutely no obligation to give in to his demands,” Ginny answered haughtily. She was about to storm off, until Goyle stopped her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Malfoy figured you’d say that, and his response is that he condescends to acknowledge your protest and that it’s fine by him if you’re too much of a coward to face him, and that he just didn’t expect that behaviour from a such a self-righteous Gryffindor as yourself,” Goyle prattled off, imitating his friend with rather startling accuracy. Ginny scoffed in outrage.

“He called me a coward?” she demanded, her eyes blazing with the challenge to prove him wrong. “That ridiculous bastard, I’ll show him! By all means, minions, show me the way!”

They led her down a hallway, away from the Great Hall and up a few flights of stairs. As they walked down an endless series of corridors, Ginny remarked to herself how large the school truly was, and drank in the sight of these different parts of the castle that she rarely ever saw. After leading her through some strange ritual of pacing back and forth down this one specific hallway, they led her through a door she could swear hadn’t been there earlier, which opened to the very last place she ever expected to find in the school.

It looked like some sort of lounge or den. There were desks and chairs, but also a handful of sofas and armchairs, gathered into groups. It was more like a café or the old dormitory common rooms than anything else – or at least, what she could glean the common rooms had looked like from the old photos her parents had shown her. There was even a fireplace in the far corner. Ginny stared about her, unsure of what to say. The choice of colours in the décor – all black, green and silver – indicated that it was definitely an exclusively Slytherin area of the castle.

A small group of senior Slytherins were gathered together around a coffee table, playing Exploding Snap and lounging as they ate. They all stopped talking as she entered, staring at her expectantly. She spotted Malfoy, sitting off the side at a table, books spread out around him, and looking up, he casually waved them over to where he was sitting.

She heard a few whispered mutterings as she was lead towards Malfoy by his thugs, herding her forward and she had decided to ignore it and just march forward with her head held high, until one of Pansy Parkinson’s followers, Danielle Keyes, shot Ginny a disgusted look, before leaning over and loudly whispering to the boy sitting next to her.

“What are they doing, letting such trash in here? She’s no better than a filthy Mudblood.” Everyone in the room heard it and paused. Ginny felt her face grow hot and there was a strange buzzing noise in her ears as her temper ignited. A quick glance at her surroundings, and even before she was aware of what was happening, she had dumped a cup of tea that had been sitting so innocuously on the table into the girl’s lap. Danielle jumped up, shrieking in surprise and outrage.

“Which one of us is filthy now?” Ginny asked coolly, glaring at the girl. Before their confrontation could progress any further, Goyle was nudging Ginny along, even as Danielle shrieked to have her thrown out of the room.

Malfoy was standing as she approached him, and there was a rather focused look on his face – except that he wasn’t looking at Ginny, he was nodding in Crabbe’s direction and glaring at Danielle. Crabbed turned and walked away, as if he’d been given a command. Ginny watched, open-mouthed as he then gathered Danielle’s belongings and headed towards the door. She stopped her outraged ranting and frantic attempts to wipe the tea stain from her blouse.

“You can’t be serious!” she cried, looking around her, as if trying to gather support. The room became deathly silent. “A Gryffindor with her background, over a fellow Slytherin?”

She was greeted with blank stares and an awkward silence. Goyle stood over her intimidatingly, until she threw down her napkin with a huff.

“Fine. Choose the blood-traitor, by all means,” she scoffed shrilly, stomping her way out the door, grabbing her things from Crabbe as she passed. Ginny watched in shock, unable to believe the extent of the Slytherin’s herd mentality or the fact that Malfoy hadn’t even said a word and his authority had been absolute. She’d always wondered how it happened, that he and his friends wielded so much power in the school, thinking it had something to do with Malfoy’s aunt being Headmistress, but this instance had exposed the extent to which he was obeyed by all of those around him.

Of course, she was also dealing with the unsettling fact that he’d just had one of his inner circle tossed from the room because of what she’d said about Ginny – the student that everyone enjoyed harassing the most, who was particularly loathed by the Slytherins. She turned to glance at Malfoy, but he was too busy glaring intimidatingly at the others in the room, as if to challenge them to protest.

He didn’t even like her – he’d told her that she was just a convenient way to distract his parents while he plotted something else. At least, that’s what she thought he’d meant, but then he’d launched into all that Blaise Zabini nonsense and that stuff about her “belonging” to him. When he finally stopped glaring at the people who were supposedly his friends, and looked at her, it was with a rather neutral expression.

“Sit down, weasel,” he ordered gruffly. Ginny glared as he himself sat down, then, in the spirit of defiance, she took her time before complying with his order, all the while wondering how he could react so strongly when someone else insulted her, but seemed to have no reservations about calling her 'weasel.'

By the time she was seated, Crabbe and Goyle had returned and sat themselves down on the couch opposite of Ginny and were looking at her as if she were mental for making such a production of something as insignificant as sitting down. She smiled sheepishly at them, deciding that a gruff “what are you looking at?” wouldn’t be the most proper thing to say, given that they’d just removed the girl who’d used such a horrible insult.

“Well,” she chirped brightly, surprising those sitting with her, “what’s the occasion, boys? Well, more importantly, where am I and why am I wherever it is that I am?”

“You prefer eating lunch in the Great Hall, with all those annoying gawkers?” Malfoy asked blithely. At that moment, a set of trembling house elves appeared, carrying trays which they set on the table in front of them, pushing aside some of Malfoy’s books. “You should eat, who knows the type of food someone like you must have to endure.”

“Someone like me?” she demanded through gritted teeth. An uncomfortable silence followed until Ginny decided she’d tortured him long enough. “OH, you mean someone who isn’t spectacularly wealthy?”

She snatched a glass of water, her throat going dry at the amused smile Malfoy shot her after her blustery comment.

“Hey, Weasley, who was that man you were with the other night?” Crabbe asked suddenly, causing Ginny’s throat to catch.

“What man?” she sputtered nervously. She was the worst liar in the world when it came to direct questions. She was much better with hyperbole, bluster, evasion and skirting the truth. But, she certainly did not want anyone to know she’d been meeting with Sirius, not if he’d went through all the trouble of using his Animagus form while he was in Hogsmeade. He said they would be looking for him and she would never willingly betray him. “I wasn’t with any man last night.”

“We saw you, though, on the corner of Salazar Boulevard, hidden behind the building in the alley. It’s rather shady place to hang out, you know. You should be more careful,” Goyle commented, and Ginny blessed the fact that Crabbe and Goyle weren’t exceedingly bright, and that Malfoy seemed otherwise distracted, studying his textbook rather intensively.

“Oh! Were you meeting another boy behind Draco’s back?” Crabbe suddenly asked, his eyes wide, his voice teasing. Before she could declare how ridiculous that suggestion was, Malfoy spoke up.

“Don’t be such an absolute idiot. Weasley’s not that kind of girl,” Malfoy shot out angrily, and Ginny felt something deep within her flutter in reaction, as he spoke out in her defense. He seemed furious at the suggestion, for a least a brief moment until he spoke again, that infuriatingly mocking tone of voice he used whenever he teased her. “Don’t you remember that prim little speech she gave us about the state of her virtue?”

“It was just a friend of my family’s. He was dropping off a message from my mum, and I just expected it would be a Howler, and you really don’t want any of her Howlers going off in a public space,” Ginny explained, with a weak laugh, feeling unsettled.

“It’s a good thing you weren’t sneaking around behind his back,” Crabbe said conspiratorially to Ginny, leaning closer to her, dropping his voice. “He’s very possessive and incredibly jealous. And when he gets jealous, he acts very rash and stupid.”

“His last girlfriend, the only girl he’s ever been serious about, cheated on him. You do not want to know what he did to the other guy,” Goyle added.

Maloy’s head snapped up, and his dark look had both of them sitting back and looking apologetic. He turned his attention back to his book, and as soon as they felt he wasn’t paying attention any more, they leaned forward again, both smiling secretively at Ginny as they continued to gossip about their friend.

“It’s because he’s a dragon,” Crabbe said knowingly.

“I’m sorry, a what?” Ginny asked, amused.

“He’s just like a dragon – possessive of the things he considers ‘his’ and quite dangerous if you try to steal anything from his hoard,” Crabbe explained.

“When he found out about her cheating, he went on a bit of a rampage. Surely you’ve heard the stories? It’s quite famous. And he didn’t even really love her all that much, he was just furious because she was ‘his’,” Goyle added. Malfoy, looking quite annoyed, glanced up from his textbook. As his eyes locked on hers, his words echoed through her mind: You belong to me. She suddenly felt a warm thrill creeping up her spine. And all the confusion that she’d felt after their conversation, for that one moment, vanished and it was crystal clear where he stood. But only for a moment.

“Stop muttering all that nonsense. Unless you mean to imply that I’m green, covered in scales and reek of sulfur, I am hardly dragon-like and it’s decidely unwise for you to suggest otherwise,” he said angrily, looking extremely annoyed.

“He’s a little sensitive about it. We used to give him a hard time because of his name when we were younger,” Goyle said with a smile. Ginny was a little surprised; she never thought there was more to their relationship with Malfoy than just the fact that they were his followers who did whatever he asked, but they seemed to genuinely be friends – friends who were comfortable enough around him to be able to tease him.

Malfoy jumped up, slamming his textbook down on the table.

“Enough!” he growled. He then trained his eyes, still dark with his anger, on Ginny. “Weasley, I’ll see you at the Quidditch game Friday. Please ensure that you don’t embarrass me with any shoddy flying and you’d better not lose to Hufflepuff or I won’t be able to be seen in public with you for at least a month.”

“I’m no longer ON my house Quidditch team, thanks to you, remember?” she said sharply. He just smiled knowingly as he gathered his books.

“Just make sure you win. Malfoys certainly don’t date losers,” he said with a sly grin, before making his way towards the door. Ginny jumped up, feeling frustrated with the fact that her “gain control by ignoring him” plan had gone so completely awry.

“We are not dating!” she shouted after him.

* * * *

"Tell me again why you agreed to go out with these girls tonight?" Hermione said, glancing warily at Ginny's outfit, as the redhead fussed through her closet.

"Because they ambushed me, the crafty minxes, while I was distracted with other pressing concerns. Such as why..." she answered, trailing off as she reached further into the tiny closet, "they were talking to me, and whether or not I was going to turn around and find a mountain troll or something equally terrible waiting behind me and that it was all a clever ruse to distract me from their devious end-game."

"I don't even know what to say to that," Hermione answered with a frown, sounding a little exasperated. "You are honestly that paranoid?"

"I begged Claire to come along, thinking it would be best to have an ally, just in case this was a ruse and they have some kind of plot I haven't even thought of yet in the works, but she couldn't make it. Okay, what do you think? Tarty enough?" Ginny asked, turning around to revela the outfit she'd chosen. It was nothing more than a short denim skirt she'd borrowed from Hermione and a filmy top with a tank top underneath, but it wasn't a combination she normally wore. She'd evene smeared some of the Muggle cosmetics Hermione's mum was always sending her in an effort to convince the girl to appear more fashionable, and it had given her eyes a dark, smudgy look Ginny had decided fit the image of what club attire should look like. Hermione appraised the outfit seriously for a moment.

"Tarty enough to fit in, but not so bad that you wouldn't want your mum to see you," she concluded.

"Excellent! Thanks again for covering my shift tonight, I promise I'll repay you with magical theory textbooks," Ginny said, gathering her bag and cloak together as she prepared to leave Hermione's flat, as it was almost time for Hermione's shift to start. She'd come running to her friend's after tearing apart her own closet and finding nothing she deemed suitable, begging for help.

"Have you managed to be successful in any of your attempts to tell Malfoy to bugger off yet?" Hermione asked, with an amused grin. Ginny sighed with exasperation.

"And I thought I was stubborn, but he brings a whole new definition to the word. Then again, he also waited outside in the snow for hours on Saturday, so I really shouldn't be all that surprised," Ginny remakred. That day still had an unrealistic quality to it for her - so many events that seemed too impossible that if she hadn't experienced them, she wouldn't have believed they had actually happened.

"Uh, Ginny? He didn't wait out in the snow," Hermione said. "At least, not more than about ten minutes. After that, he came into the restaurant and sat at the table near the window. When you ran to meet him, he just apparated behind you when he saw you."

"What??" Ginny demanded tersely.

"Maggie, the hostess that was on that day, told me all about it when I went there later that night to pick up the book I'd left behind. He caused a bit of a spectacle, demanding the table and disappearing so suddenly. Everyone was talking about it," Hermione said disapprovingly.

"That manipulative bastard!" Ginny cried, her eyes blazing with fury. "To think I felt guilty when he got sick, for making him wait out in the cold!"

"Have a good time tonight, if possible," Hermione said, as they'd reached the street. Ginny grinned viciously.

"Oh, I'm going to have a good time, alright. It's the last time those girls, or anyone else at that school, will ever talk to me, because after they see what I do to Malfoy, they won't want to come near me. I'll teach him to manipulate me and make me feel guilty, when really, he's practically admitted to the fact that he's just using me to make his parents angry. And that he'd let me go if Blaise Zabini ever came back, but then he has the nerve to tell me that I 'belong to him'! Even if I did - and I most certainly do not - you don't 'let someone go', you fight for it, no matter what!"

"Ginny, you're rambling," Hermione said calmly, but Ginny was too lost in her runaway thoughts to hear her.

"People have this ridiculous romantic notion that if you love someone, you should let them go. If that isn't the most ridiculous piece of rubbish I've ever heard! If you truly care about someone, if you truly want them, then you fight to keep them with everything you have. I think that's by far the more romantic option, to fight, don't you think?" Ginny ranted angrily.

"What are you even angry about right now?" Hermione demanded. "Because you're auto-twittering a lot of nonsense that has nothing to do with Malfoy leading you to believe he'd waited for you all afternoon in the snow."

"I'm angry because he said I was his, but that he'd also 'let me' see another person - his best friend! And he doesn't even like me, and is just using me to upset his parents. He's just... all these damn mixed messages. He's horrible and awful one minute, then he's human and teasing me and saying nice things about me and smiling at me, like I'm the most amusing thing he's ever seen. Can't he just be an incorrigible jerk and make it easier for me? The jerk!" Ginny gushed out, all in one breath. Hermione just shook her head, appearing a little dizzy.

"Apparently not. In any case, have a good time tonight, and don't forget to bring your Standard Book of Spells to work on Sunday. I've already finished the last one you gave me."

"But you just started it!"

* * * *

Cynthia, Sheryl and Rose had just returned from the dance floor, out-of-breath and with eyes shining from their excitement. They were obviously having the time of their lives.

"Why don't you come dance?" Cynthia shouted over the pulsing music. Ginny just shooke her head and shrugged, choosing not to explain over the loud music that she was incredibly bored with the whole night and would have rather spent the night hanging out with Hermione in her own flat in her pajamas. She took another sip from her iced tea and watched the group of girls she'd come with scout the crowd, searching for any cute boys to dance with. Three of the girls had stayed behind with Ginny, attempting to pump her for gossip about what it was like to be Draco Malfoy's girlfriend, and after sputtering incoherently about how horrible it is and that she was not Malfoy's girlfriend, Ginny had been practically immolated by the firebolts shooting from their eyes. She was relieved that they appeared eager to join Cynthia, Sheryl and Rose as they headed back towards the dance floor. Ginny bit back a yawn and the urge to check a clock to see what time it was and how much longer she had to be there before she could go home.

"OOh, look over there!" Sheryl cried, pointing to someone standing by the bar, conversing with the bartender. "Doesn't he look like Blaise Zabini?"

Ginny's ears perked up at that commnet, and she struggled to see who they were pointing to through all the bodies. After catching a glimpse of a tall dark figure, she felt her heart skip a beat in excitement.

"Oh, he really does! Let's go ask him to dance!" Cynthia cried, before turning to Ginny. "Would you mind watching our stuff, since you're not dancing?"

Before Ginny could answer, six purses were thrust into her arms, nearly spilling her drink and they were well on their way, pushing through the crowd, their arms linked together so as not to lose anyone in the crush of bodies. Ginny sighed exasperatedly while attempting to juggle six handbags and her own drink.

"Three Broomsticks not paying well enough, so you had to get a job here? I didn't realize they offered purse-minding services here," a snide voice commented, her tone just shrill enough to be heard over the bass of the music. Ginny grimaced to herself before turning around, completely unsurprised to see her favorite person in the world, Pansy Parkinson, standing before her, looking completely ridiculous in a short leather contraption that made Ginny force herself to choke back her laughter.

"Pansy, I know you're fond of me, but this stalking just has to end. I just don't feel the same way about you, and no matter how many hours you wait outside my window or how many places you follow me to, that just isn't going to change. I'm sorry," Ginny said, mockingly apologetically, taking a small amount of pleasure as Pansy's face, even in the dim light of the club, turned a deep shade of furious red. She lunged forward, invading Ginny's space, leaning over her to glare down at her, using her height to her tower over Ginny.

"Listen, you status-grabbing pauper, don't you dare think that just because you've managed to trick Draco Malfoy into taking pity on your pathetic existence, you can speak to me that way. Because, once he's through with you - which will be fairly soon, I guarantee it, his meaningless flings never last very long - I am going to personally make you regret every ill-advisded and uppity comment you've ever made," she spat. Ginny stared at her, trying to figure out why she was so determined to keep Ginny in her "place" and why she was so desperate to keep Draco all to herself. All she could see was Pansy's anger.

"Is this girl bothering you? I could have security remove her for you," a deep and authoritative voice asked. Their confrontation had drawn the attention of at least one spectator. Ginny glanced at the person speaking, ready to protest that she hadn't been doing anything to warrant being removed, but two things surprised her so much that she couldn't speak. Firstly, the person speaking was addressing Ginny and not Pansy Parkinson as Ginny had naturally assumed, and secondly, she was looking at the boy who had held such a striking resemblance to Blaise Zabini that the girls had pointed out earlier, and he was glaring at Pansy rather sternly.

Pansy, meanwhile, looked completely aghast as she stared in shock at the person who'd confronted her .

"Do you have any idea who I am?" she sputtered furiously.

"No, and it wouldn't matter even if I did. I suggest you just walk away instead of making a scene," he said. Pansy looked at him with disgust, before turning to flounce away. Ginny watched in shock, and, still clutching all of her 'friend's' purses, turned to examine her defender.

"Thank you. That was entirely unnecessary, and you probably should have just stayed out of the situation because she's an incredible harpy that will try to find some occassion to extract revenge, but I still appreciate the effort," Ginny said. She thought for a moment, before continuing. "I really could have handled her all on my own. The angrier she gets, it means I'm wining."

"I hate that bloody girl. My uncle is the club's owner, and she's always demanding special treatment because she thinks her parents are important. I did it more for myslef than anything else," he responded, and Ginny had to laugh. It seems she'd found a kindred spirit in the last place she'd expected. "You're the first person I've ever see stand up to her."

"Pansy and I have a long, sordid history together. It really stems from her disgust in my choice of footwear," Ginny laughed, glancing down. She'd worn her pair of ugly yet practical black school shoes, the ones with the ugly square toe. "It offends her fashionable sensibilities."

He looked at her, as if surprised, before laughing with her as she giggled.

"So, what are you doing, just standing around here? You should be off dancing with the rest of your friends," he said, leaning casually against a high ledge that acted as a separator between the dance floor and the rest of the bar area.

"Oh, why would I waste my time dancing when I could be standing here, holding onto their things? Consider this 'taking one for the team'," Ginny said with a laugh. His dark eyes flashed in lights from the dance floor, and she could tell he was smiling at her - that same amused smile that she was so used to seeing on Malfoy when she'd said something ridiculous because her temper had gotten the better of her common sense.

"Ah, I see. You don't know how to dance, that's why," he said knowingly. Ginny scoffed in mock outrage.

"Of COURSE I know how to dance, I mean, who doesn't? It's not like it's that hard anyway," she shot back, full of bluster, trying to mask how very close he'd gotten to the truth. Which was, of course, that she'd never had the chance to even try to dance, and because of that, she had no idea whether or not she could.

"Well, then come show me," he said, with a wink. Staring at him, feeling slightly put off by the utter cheesiness of that wink yet also charmed by it, Ginny searched for some way to get out of this situation and get away from this chivalrous person who had come to rescue her, for he looked too much like Blaise Zabini for comfort.

"I can't, I promised my friends that I'd look after their things."

"Come with me, I can help you with that," he said, grabbing her arm before she could protest. He wove effortlessly through the crowd, leading her over to the bar. He flagged down the server, and leaning across the counter, he spoke a few words to him, before signalling to Ginny to hand her array of hand bags over to the bartender.

"Matt is going to look after them for you. Remember, I told you my uncle owns the place, so you can trust me on this one," he said. Ginny opened her mouth to protest, but he was already taking a few of the bags out of her hands and passing them back behind the counter. Ginny glanced around her nervously, wondering how the other girls would feel about this new arrangement. Knowing her luck, they'd be more upset that she was talking to the one guy at the club that they'd all gone crazy over.

"Here, take this," he said, handing her a drink. She frowned, about to refuse, until he added, "trust me on this. You'll feel more comfortable if you have something to do with your hands. It's a trick of the trade for all new beginners.

She took it with a cautious smile, and waited until his back was turned before she sniffed it gingerly, and taking the tiniest sips she could manage. After that one experience she'd had with the punch the time Cho had invited her here, resulting in her scramble through the back alleyways of Hogsmeade and Draco Malfoy unintentionally coming to her rescue, she had no desire to try her luck with alcohol again. Relieved to find that it was just iced tea, Ginny then tried to keep her focus off of the fact that she'd just thought of Malfoy twice in the past ten minutes.

"Are you ready?" he asked with an eager grin. Sighing heavily in mock reluctance, Ginny nodded. He unabashedly grabbed her wrist, and led her swifty to the dancefloor, her stomache filling with butterflies as she took a second to observe the groups of dancing friends all around her on the dancefloor. While mostly comprising of girls laughing and having a good time, the few couples out there seemed to decided that personal space had gone way out of style, and looked more like a splinching incident gone horribly horribly wrong. She bit her lip nervously as he found a hole in the crowd, and stopped, turning to look at her, his dark eyes, so familiar even though he was a complete stranger, smiling at her as if he understood her the nervousness she would never admit to. "Just relax, and close your eyes, and you might find you'll actually have a good time. Trust me on this one."

Ginny scrutinized his face, and comforted by how familiar it was, decided that he was someone she could trust, despite having just met him.

* * * *

Her head was throbbing. Absolutely throbbing. There was a pounding in her eardrums that was vibrating through her skull, and some kind of horrid bright light had filled the room, threatening to sorch her eyeballs with its incredible brightness. Not to mention the fact that her left arm was asleep, and she couldn't move it, and her tongue felt as if it had been replaced by gummy sandpaper.

She rolled over, groaning as the world began to spin, squeezing her eyes shut against the horrible sensation of vertigo. She took a moment to wonder why her alarm hadn't gone off, and wonder what time it was and whether or not she'd missed McGonagall's morning Transfiguration class and how much trouble she'd be in if she actually had. McGonagall allowed only one absence per term, and it had to be completely documented and verified by three references in order to be classified as an 'excuseable absence'. Anything less than this would mean detention and potential grade reduction, and Ginny was just not in the mood to deal with that. Although, she mused to herself as she felt the stabbing pain of blood returning to her arm as she repositioned it from the awkward angle she must have fallen asleep with it at, she certainly felt horrible enough to pass for "adequately ill."

It was then that she almost was physically ill, because in a rush, as memories of the previous night came flooding back to her, she realized that she wasn't waking up in her bedroom. She was somewhere else. Feeling a jolt of terror mixed with nausea, she sat up, her heart pounding painfully, as she looked around the room, clutching the bedsheet to her body tightly, terrified of what she was going to find.

Her trepidation eased slightly as she saw that she was alone. But her heart stopped again, when she saw some of her clothing strewn about the floor of the room, and glancing down, she realized that she was only wearing her tank top and knickers. Hot tears began to prick at the back of her eyes as she struggled to keep calm.

"I am such an idiot," she breathed, her voice shaky and weak, feeling as if she were about to start hyperventilating. Moving slowly, her head still pounding, she freed herself from the bedclothes and went about gathering her own clothing, dressing quickly. As she moved, she glanced out the window, trying to figure out where she was. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the familiar sight of the town square, directly across from her. Another cursory glance at her surroundings and the decor of the room, and she assumed that she was in one of the rooms at the Avalon Inn, the nicer of the two inns in town.

As soon as she was dressed, she made for the door, wrenching it open, needing to get as far away from this spot as possible, not even willing to consider what may have happened the night before because she was too afraid of what the answer might be.

* * * *

Goyle sighed heavily, feeling the cold begin to creep into his dragon-hyde boots, and he shuffled his feet impatiently. Crabbe shot him a look that indicated that he felt exactly the same way, but as they were both accustomed to indulging their friend, neither spoke a word of complaint. Not that it would do any good, anyway, because when Malfoy got an idea in his head, he was rarely persuaded to let it drop. It was one of the things that kept the complicated friendship the three had interesting, and that was the reason they deferred to his authority so often - it usually brought about a good time.

Malfoy was leaning pensively against the gate of the school, staring down the path from the city when he wasn't moodily shifting his feet through the drifts of snow. All three heard footsteps coming towards the school, shoes crunching noisily in the fresh layer of snow, and looked up to see the short redhead trudging along, looking as if the very devil were on her heels. Her head down as she marched along, she didn't even look up as she passed. Goyle shot Crabbe a secret smile as they both noticed the way Malfoy perked up, his eyes zeroing in on her.

"Skipping class? Doesn't seem like the type of activity that a typical Gryffindor would undergo," Draco called out as she walked through the gates of the school. Weasley jumped at his words, letting out a strangled yelp of surprise before twirling around to face them. She attempted one of her patented fierce looks, but the overall effect was rather weak, as her face was pale and drawn and her eyes seemed glassy and red.

"Why are you standing out here?" she demanded, her voice hoarse and hardly threatening at all. She seemd twitchy, as if she were walking on eggshells and someone had threatened to kill her puppy if she broke any of them.

"Just enjoying the lovely weather, Weasley. Why are you late for school?" Draco said, moving towards her, his voice full of reprimand. Crabbe had to bite back a laugh, as he was obviously no one to question her punctuality for it was very rare that he even attended classes these days. He said he found them dull and that they were a waste of his time.

"That is none of your business!" Weasley snapped. "Why are you waiting out here?"

"I'm not waiting. As I said, I'm just enjoying the lovely weather," he answered gruffly. Goyle shot Crabbe a look, and wondered why Draco wouldn't just tell her the reason he was out there, that her pretty blonde friend, Claire or something, had run up to them, her blue eyes all wide with worry, saying that Ginny had missed McGonagall's class that day and she'd been out with the Ravenclaw girls who were notorious for their wild partying so she was really worried, and had they seen Ginny at all? Because it wasn't like Ginny to miss such an important class, not when she was a scholarship student. Goyle almost giggled as he remembered the brusque way Draco had brushed the girl off, before turning around and marching out to the gate, muttering angrily to himself about stroppy girls who can't look after themselves.

"I'm going to class," she said warily, before turning slowly and walking down the path towards the school's main building. Malfoy dashed forward, coming in step with her. Goyle watching as she shot him a nasty look, then ignored him the rest of the way the school, as if she thought that if she tried hard enough to ignore the fact that he was walking her to class, it wouldn't actually be happening.

"I'll see you at the Quidditch game after school, weasel," Draco called out, and Goyle made a note to have a talk with that girl. It wasn't very often that Draco was nice, and he certainly didn't extend common courtesies to most people, so she should really start reacting a little more congenially whenever he did for her. Usually, the only person he was remotely polite to was his cousin, and that was because he was a little bit afraid of her, no matter how much he tried to deny that he wasn't. The look of disgust on her face was definitely not the type of reaction she should be displaying. Taking a closer look as he approached the two of them, Goyle realized that it wasn't so much disgust as it was panic. He frowned, wondering if Draco was aware that there was something horribly wrong with the girl. Other than the fact that she was one of the only in the school who wasn't throwing herself at him or afraid to confront him.

"I'm no longer a member of my team, remember?" she said gloomily, before walking off to class, without the usual degree of bounce in her step.

* * * *

She had finally managed to stop breaking into hysterical crying fits by the time she reached the school. She walked the entire way there, needing the time and the physical exertion to keep herself calm. She was just so angry with herself. For letting her guard down, for trying to fit in and act as if she were a part of the world those around her lived in, but waking up in a hotel room without her clothes and having no idea how she got there was a definite example of the consequences of forgetting who she was and why she was attending Hogwarts in the first place.

She had been so overwrought when she arrived at the safety of her flat that she allowed herself no time to think, no time to agonize over the past night's events. She jumped into the shower, scouring her skin desperately as quickly as she could, and changed into her uniform before grabbing her books and dashing off to school. She needed to keep busy, to keep her mind occupied, or she would lose her mind with not knowing. The moment she allowed herself to think about it, while she was still in the safety of her flat, had caused her to start crying, curled up into a ball as she pondered the irony of her pact earlier that week - that she was going to take firm control of her life. How cruelly that effort had turned out, resulting in a complete loss of control. After managing to calm herself down, she'd forced herself to leave her flat, and vowed that she would act as if nothing had happened.

Ginny had cursed her luck when she'd run into Malfoy before she got to the school door. She tried to get away as quickly as possible, feeling far too fragile to even face him, but the blasted idiot had followed her, no matter how she tried to ignore him. She couldn't deal with the confusing mess that he was in her life, and she certainly didn't want to admit that deep down, she felt guilty, as if she'd done something to betray him in some way. She kept telling herself that she didn't owe him anything, but it was proving to be a rather useless effort.

She had no idea how she made it through the rest of the day. As she dragged herself from her last class - Snape's, of course, although he'd been uncharacteristically civilized and chose to simply ignore her instead of antagonizing her the entire time, she found herself cornered by the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, who was awkwardly apologizing for the injustice of having kicked her off team, and who was begging her to come and play that afternoon.

"It was a big mistake, and the other Chasers just can't keep the same place as you. We're going to get killed out there unless you come out and help us," he was saying, looking anywhere but at her. She felt a very small thrill at the thought of being able to play Quidditch again - especially now, with her new broomstick, but she shook her head sadly.

"I'm afraid that I can't tonight. I'd love to rejoin the team, but I don't have any of my equipment here, my Quidditch robes or my broom, and there's not enough time between now and when the game starts for me to run and get them," she explained with a heavy sigh. A good deal of physical exertion and the rush of freedom that came with flying through the air would have been exactly what she needed.

"Oh, don't worry about that. We've already got it all here. It's waiting for you in the change room," he said with a dismissive wave. Ginny stared at him incredulously.

"HOw did you get it? It was all locked in my flat!" she cried. The very last thing she needed was the knowledge that her apartment was easily accessible.

"Oh, it was all Malfoy's doing. Even managed to convince your landlady to let us in so that we could get what we needed," he answered eagerly. "So, will you play?"

"Malfoy did what?" she demanded angrily.

"Well, you are his girlfriend, and he told us how much you wanted to play, so we were happy to accept his suggestion that we'd be a much stronger team with you on board," he explained.

"I am NOT his girlfriend!" Ginny protested, and her frustration with the situation only increased as he nodded mockingly.

"Right, sure you aren't. Anyway, Weasley, hurry up and get to the pitch, we'll be waiting for you," he said, before he dashed off, flagging down another team member who had just passed them in the hall.

"He's manipulating me again," Ginny cried out to no one in particular. Control. She needed some control, any kind of feeling of control. Thinking about the team's offer to take her back, and knowing that she could find no better sense of power and control than being up in the air, flying freely through the sky with the wind whipping her hair into a frightful maelstrom that would give Pany Parkinson heart palpitations, Ginny found herself walking down to the pitch.

* * * *

The exhilaration of the game was so powerful that it didn't fade as soon as her feet touched the ground again. Instead, it lasted straight through the congratulations that her team shared with each other, and the playful banter between them and the losing team. It was only after the excitement of the crowd and the single focus of getting the Quaffle and putting it through the hoop to score points was completely gone did the overwhelming sick feeling of fear and vulnerability creep back.

The pitch had emptied out rather quickly after the Snitch had been caught, for no one liked to see Gryffindor triumph, and Ginny hovered away from her team as they made for the change rooms. Stealing a moment alone in the expansive space that she often used as a refuge, she clutched her hand to her stomach and wished the nausea would dissipate, and that the nightmarish quality of the entire day would just fade away so that she could stop agonizing over the events of the night before.

She didn't remember anything after she started to dance with the owner's nephew. Everything else was a blur of colour and sound, and none of it had any meaning for her at all.

"I am such an idiot," she muttered, wanting to collapse to the ground, but it was wet and soggy from all the snow. She should never have agreed to go out with those girls.

"Yes, but an idiot with some rather adept flying skills," Malfoy said, his voice both quiet and amused, almost gentle. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to quell that nagging feeling of guilt that had been following her around all day. She turned, and looking up, realized that he had been standing right behind her. "I see you received your broom without any trouble."

"I suppose you expect a thank you for this," she said with a slight grimace as she heard how weak and soft her voice sounded. It's like she wanted him to know how vulnerable she was at that moment, so that she would no longer be isolated and alone in her knowledge of the horrible secret.

"Absolutely not. In fact, I'm expecting you to try to knock my head off again, for daring to interfere and charm your rather simple landlord into letting your teammates into your flat. I imagine you're quite furious about that," he said, with that annoyingly charming smirk and arrogant swagger that indicated that even if she tried to deny it, he knew that he was right.

"I was furious," she said pointedly. Looking away, she bit her lip, trying to figure out how to say what she wanted to say. She remembered the heartening flood of excitement that her first lap of the pitch had brought and how, without even knowing it, he'd given her an hour respite from the crushing weight of horror that had been bearing down on her shoulders since she had woken up that morning. "But... as it turns out, this was exactly what I needed today... so, I am going to say thank you."

"Impressive, weasel," he said slyly, although the surprised light in his eyes indicated that he was completely taken off guard by her words, which only caused that nagging guilt to flare up again.

"But, if you ever do something like that again, I am going to try to knock your head off for it," she warned.

"Duly noted, but most likely willfully disregarded. I look after my own, weasel, even if they don't like the fact that I do," he said, his eyes locking on hers for a moment, a breathless moment that made her want to do nothing more than bury her face against his chest and weep while she unloaded her newest burden onto him. She almost ached the desire to do so. But she couldn't - wouldn't - let her guard down again, not after this morning. And so, she merely tore her eyes away. "Speaking of which, I didn't realize that weasels enjoyed rolling around in the mud so much. You are positively covered in it. Go change; I'll wait for you."

"Why would you wait for me?" she asked with trepidation.

"After a Quidditch game, we always go to The Three Broomsticks. You're coming," he said, as if it were common knowledge. She shook her head, wondering by what twist of fate had she collided with this particularly stubborn person, before trudging off to the change room, wanting nothing more than to return to her flat so she could lock the door behind her and hide from the world. Second to that, she supposed that spending a few hours arguing with Malfoy and watching incredulously at the ridiculousness of all his friends wouldn't be the worst thing. At the very least, it would be the more distracting of the two options. And the thought of trading barbs and insult with Malfoy actually made her smile a bit, so she figured that was a sign that she should go. She needed any and every excuse to smile right now.

* * * *

Frehsly showered and dressed once again in her uniform, Ginny carried her broomstick and her bag of Quidditch gear out with her, wondering where Malfoy would turn up, having never said where he would wait for her. She rounded the corner, expecting to see him and his crowd milling by the Slytherin stands and ran straight into Pansy Parkinson, who wearing a rather cruel smile on her face. Ginny instantly knew that something was horribly wrong just by the way Parkinson was looking at her.

"Look who has decided to join us, girls! Isn't this Draco Malfoy's girlfriend? The one who's been flouncing around the town like she owns it, using his name for her own benefit while she's been secretly slandering it behind his back with her dispicable actions?" Pansy called out, her voice soudning dangerously calm. She was smirking as if she knew something that Ginny didn't, and that this was something that was an incredibly dangerous fact for Ginny.

"What are you on about this time, Parkinson?" she demanded flatly, not willing to put up with the hysterical girl's nonsense this afternoon.

"You can try to act as casual as you like, but it's not going to change the fact that I was right about you all along. You may have fooled everyone else in this school, but I've always seen you for exactly what you are. Girls like you give all of us a bad name," she said self-righteously.

"Look, Parkinson, I have no bloody idea what you're talking about, so can you just tell me what horrible sin I've committed so that I can get on with my day?" Ginny asked wearily. Pansy smiled as if that was exactly what she wanted to do, and Ginny felt a flare of panic, sensing that for once, the girl might actually have a reason to be attacking Ginny.

"Very well, then, but only because you asked," Pansy said sweetly, as she shoved an enveloppe into Ginny's hands. "These photos have somehow found their way into the lockers of every student here at Hogwarts, and what a startling picture they do create! By this time tomorrow, every single person will know exactly what you are."

Ginny opened the envelopped and felt her knees turn to water as she pulled out several large, glossy photographs that evidently were the missing pieces of her memory that answered the question of how she'd spent the previous night, or why she'd woken up in that hotel. Hands shaking as she felt the rise of bile in her throat, she struggled to swallow it down as she sorted through all ten 8'X 12' pictures, which told a rather disturbing tale, all frozen in time as they were Muggle pictures, not moving wizards' photographs.

There was one of her being escorted into the lobby of the hotel, practically being carried by a mysterious stranger as it appeared she could barely walk. She squinted, even as tears blurred her vision, trying to make out the identity of the person she was with. Flipping to the next photograph made her gasp and she almost doubled over and vomitted, only her sheer willpower and instinctual denial that what she was seeing was real keeping her from disgracing herself in front of such an audience. For it was a photograph of her, lying in bed with someone whose face had been cut from the photo. Without any clothes on.

She dropped the rest of the pictures, unable to continue. She looked up at Pansy, who was smiling coldly at her, and struggled to find her voice, to remain steady even as her legs threaten to give out on her.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, blinking furiously, her voice wavering as she demanded an answer. Pansy took one step closer to Ginny, sneering at her demands.

"I should be asking you that! Don't try to act all innocent when it's obvious to everyone what you've done!" Pansy yelled, pushing Ginny back as she yelled. Her legs gave out from under her, and Ginny landed in a heap in the wet, soggy snow that was covered with the scattered photographs of an event in her life that she wished was just a really bad nightmare. "What do you have to say for yourself??"

She struggled for words and against the desire to burst into pitiful tears, and looked up to see that a rather large crowd had gathered around them. She started to protest, to claim her innocence, but they had already passed judgement, something that became particularly evident as a snowball was whipped at her face. It struck her just below her left eye, and she shrieked in pain as it exploded. Gasping as she wiped the ice from her face, blinking gingerly, trying to regain her vision, she heard a commotion that caused her to look up.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?" Malfoy was shouting furiously. He had grabbed Pansy by the arm and was staring at her with a very dangerous look in his eye.

"Defending your honour because of this deceitful little tramp! Look at what she's been doing behind your back, trying to make a fool of you!" Pansy cried, gesturing desperately to the scattered photos on the ground.

"No!" Ginny cried weakly. She needed to tell him, he needed to understand her side of the story befor he saw them, before he misunderstood. She remembered what Crabbe and Goyle had told her, about the first girl he'd been serious about and how she'd cheated on him and how angry he'd been. As much as she denied that they were even involved, she didn't want him to see those photos, to think that she was the same kind of girl. Not without knowing her side of the story. Malfoy suddenly released his hold on Parkinson, who stumbled backwards from the force of the sudden release, and he took a few steps forwards, his boots crunching in the snow. Ginny looked up at him pleadingly, hoping he would just walk away and forget whatever he was about to see. His eyes locked on hers for a moment, his expression completely unreadable, before he bent down slowly and picked up one of the photos.

He glanced at it for barely a moment, before his eyes shot up and met hers again. She could barely breath as she took in his expression at that moment. The accusation, the look of betrayal; seeing that look in his eyes made her tremble.

"No, it's not like that," she said desperately, trying to stand even as she still cupped her hand over the eye that had been struck by the snowball, that was still sensitive to the bright sunlight. He cocked his head slightly, as if waiting for an explanation. The picture was now crumpled in his hand. She tried again. "I don't know where those came from. I don't know how this happened!"

"Don't you see, Draco? Everything I've been telling you about her has turned out to be true. Are you going to believe her pathetic excuses, or what you see?" Pansy cried out. He stood up slowly, and Ginny's lungs were burning with the need to breath, but she couldn't, not when he was looking at her like that, like he had never done before.

"Don't listen to her. Just listen to me. I don't care what anyone else thinks about me, but you have to hear the truth," she said softly, her eyes silently pleading with him. But his face had turned to stone, she was too late. He dropped the crumpled photo on the ground, and as he turned and walked away from her, the crowd that had gathered closed in on her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

From the HYD (dorama, mostly) plotline:

- The pictures from their "date" being in the newspaper and posted at the school, and Malfoy saying that it was true.
- Their meeting, and a lot of what was discussed - mainly that he'd let her go if Blaise came back, although a great deal of it is extremely different.
- Her night out with the girls, and what happens there.
- The pictures and the confrontation.

Bascially, almost all the EVENTS of this chapter.

As a side note, for those of you who DON'T know and watched and loved the Japanese version of Hana Yori Dango, there is a second season that is currently airing! It's fantastic! Feel free to email me or drop me a comment on my LiveJournal if you'd like to know where you can download it.

Chapter 12: The Unexpected Knight

“You have to go back there,” Crabbe called, as he rushed to follow his friend, who was storming away. Draco halted abruptly in his tracks, stopping and turning around to face the two that had followed him so quickly that they nearly ran into him. His face was impassive as stone. “You know you have to go back there, right?”

“I don’t think I do,” Draco answered coolly.

“You’ve just fed the girl to the wolves – your wolves, I might add. The least you could do is listen to her explanation,” Goyle said exasperatedly, blocking off Draco’s path as he tried to walk away from his two friends.

“I don’t see any reason why I should. Besides, why do you care about it?” Draco demanded angrily. The fuse of his temper had already been lit; they could tell that it was just waiting to blow, and neither wanted to be the catalyst that set it off. But they were friends, and because of that friendship, they had certain rights. They were among the very few who were allowed to challenge him when his stubborn mind wouldn’t listen to reason.

“Because you yelled at us,” Crabbe answered immediately. “You yelled at us because of her, for teasing her about being seen with another guy. You jumped up and defended her honour and you yelled at us. And now you won’t give her a chance?”

“Doesn’t seem right, that’s all. You owe it to us to go and talk to her. Besides, are you mental? This is Pansy Parkinson we’re talking about here. She created that first round of photos, the one from that party, and they were complete bollocks – why should this time be any different? I thought you’d be smarter than to fall into one of her pathetic schemes,” Goyle added slyly, shooting Crabbe a knowing look. When in doubt, challenge his pride.

“Enough!” Draco shouted furiously, before storming off. Crabbe and Goyle watched in dismayed silence as he marched away. They looked at each other and shrugged, more used to their friend’s self-destructive behaviour than they cared to admit.

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Ginny stood up shakily, trying to brush off the snow that had caked into the folds of her skirt, and looked around her warily. It was times like this that when she was truly grateful she grew up in a chaotic household, where she was far more than out-numbered by all her brothers who enjoyed teasing their only sister every opportunity they had. Reacting more instinctively than anything, Ginny had cast a few well-aimed Bat Bogey Hexes, and the rest of the crowd had backed off almost immediately as her victims shrieked from the curses’ effects. After that, they’d satisfied their need for bullying with a few rounds of snowball attacks before her frantic hexing sucked all the fun out of it.

And now, she was all alone in the middle of that icy field, her left eye throbbing from where that first snowball had struck, along with a few other welts from being pelted. She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly while combating the urge to just sink back down in the snow. She didn’t know what to do next; she didn’t know where to go or who she should talk to. She didn’t even know if it was safe to go anywhere – every student at the school was her enemy. Once again.

“Why wouldn’t he just listen to me?” she muttered pitifully to herself, as she bent down to gather her bag, which had been dropped and disregarded as the newest crisis in her life had begun.

“Ginny! Are you alright?” she heard an anxious voice call out. Claire was running towards her, prancing gingerly through the snowy patches on the grass as she made her way towards her friend. “I heard about what happened from some of the other Ravenclaws!”

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” Ginny laughed bitterly. Claire knelt down in front of her, examining her face, grimacing as she spotted the swelling around her left eye. “Can’t you tell just by looking at me?”

“You’re bleeding!” Claire cried, reaching out tentatively to Ginny’s face. Ginny flinched, ducking away, her face stinging already from the snow ball. “Oh, what are you going to do about this? What actually happened? Are those photos for real?”

“I don’t know,” Ginny said softly, a far-off look in her eye. She shuddered as the memory of that morning crossed her mind, and then forced herself to stand up, brushing away the snow clinging to her clothing. “But you can be sure that I’m going to find out.”

“What did Malfoy say about it?” Claire asked seriously. Ginny let out a sound of frustration.

“Nothing. The arrogant git just walked away, he wouldn’t even listen to my explanation. Besides, it has nothing to do with him anyway,” Ginny stated angrily. Then she sighed, her emotions bouncing back and forth between anger and despair. “Why wouldn’t he just listen to me?”

“You mean, there is an explanation for how you ended up in bed with someone else?” his voice called out. Freezing on the spot, her heart leaping into her throat, Ginny turned around slowly and felt as if a million butterflies were released into her stomach as she saw Draco Malfoy, glaring at her stone-facedly, standing a few feet away from her, his arms crossed in front of him confrontationally. “An explanation that would make all of this a giant misunderstanding?”

“Of course there’s an explanation, but you walked away so you don’t get to hear it anymore. I don’t give second chances,” Ginny cried defensively.

“What a coincidence, neither do I. You betray me once, and I never let you do it again,” he said accusatorily.

“Betray you? I betrayed you? You’re the one who just finished spouting all that bollocks this afternoon about how you ‘look after you own’ and yet, the very first change you have to prove if you’re actually sincere about it, you turn and run away!” Ginny shouted, her eyes burning with unshed tears as she struggled to maintain a grip on her emotions. Malfoy flinched slightly as she shouted, and looked away from her. “You’re nothing but a coward, Draco Malfoy!”

“Ginny! Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair to Draco here?” Claire asked, her voice sounding shocked. Ginny looked at her friend in confusion. Unfair? He was the one who had turned around and walked away, after making such a big fuss about her being “his” and taking care of his own, even if “they” didn’t like it. “You’re his girlfriend, what is he supposed to think when he sees this kind of picture? It’s only natural to need time before wanting to listen to your explanation.”

“I’m not his girlfriend!” Ginny snapped, while staring at Claire as if she’d never met the girl before. After everything that Malfoy had put Claire through, just for the indiscretion of speaking to Ginny while she’d been given a Howler, Claire was taking his side?

“You should tell him your side of the story. I mean, he came here to hear it, didn’t he?” Claire said, her voice quietly authoritative. Ginny watched as the tall, blond girl bent down into the show, and picked up one of the discarded photographs, now streaked from the snow. As Ginny took in the distorted image of her and the unnamed stranger, she felt another wave of nausea threatening. Ginny gaped at her friend, all the while feeling horribly betrayed, as she had walked towards Malfoy, putting her hand on his arm in a show of solidarity. Malfoy just glared at her and nonchalantly shrugged her hand away. "Think about it from his perspective - all he sees are these photos, and they ARE rather incriminating. That IS you in the photo and it does look like you are with someone else. Another boy. How did you happen to be in this picture? What happened that night?”

Ginny was barely paying attention to what she was saying. She was too busy staring at Malfoy, who was looking anywhere but at her. She could see his eyes flick towards her, but he refused to look at her, preferring to watch her out of the corner of his eye as he focused on the area above her shoulder. It made her furious - he was the one who was always watching her, always causing her to jump and get flustered every time she felt those ever-observant eyes on her ALL THE TIME, and now he was refusing to look at her? Suffering under the injustice of it all, situations that she had no control over, Ginny decided that she didn't care if he hated her, she didn't care if he never spoke to her again or if he sent all of his minions after her for her supposed betrayal, but dammit, he was going to look at her.

"I mean, Ginny... how could you do this to him?" Claire asked, her voice chastising. Ginny's head snapped away from Malfoy, and she turned to her friend, an expression of utter disbelief on her face as she felt something deep inside her break. She was tired; tired of being unable to rely on anyone, tired of being constantly disappointed when those she thought she could trust let her down, tired of the world she lived in and how deceptive and twisted it all was.

"By all means, of COURSE he's the victim here," Ginny cried, the echo of despair in her voice drawing Malfoy's eyes to her even as she looked away from him. "I'm the stupid, horrible girl who committed the terrible crime of going to a dance club with a group of friends, who doesn't know what happened that night or where those pictures came from."

"Ginny..." Claire said sadly. Ginny ignored her, taking a step forward. Malfoy was looking at her now, those grey eyes cold and unreadable as always, but they were looking at her now. She was blinking, trying not to cry, determined to say all that she had to say before her voice broke.

"I am sixteen years old and I woke up in a hotel room this morning, with no memory of how I got there, or any idea what happened. I've been hoping, every single second of this day, that I would wake up and that this would all be some kind of terrible nightmare and that the absolutely sick feeling," she said, her voice breaking. She paused, trying to swallow the large lump in her throat, taking a deep breath as she struggled to continue, "that this sick feeling of NOT KNOWING what happened would go away. But, by all means, HE is the victim here."

"That's your explanation?" he said, his voice low, his eyes unflinchingly locked on hers.

"Haven't you been listening? I don't HAVE an explanation. I'm sorry if your precious pride may have been hurt by all this, but it's nothing compared to the horror of not knowing if what you think happened really did happen or not," she cried, her voice adamant. "Let me tell you this. I am going to find out what happened and I don't care what you think about it because it has NOTHING to do with you. I need to know for the sake of my own sanity!"

Ignoring Claire's cries of sympathy, she carefully gathered her things and slowly walked away, feeling the weight of his eyes on her the entire time. Claire ran a few steps behind her, but gave up when she ignored her repeated calls. Turning back to face Malfoy, she just shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. Mafloy stared after her, seemingly lost in thought.

"Well, that settles that then," he said quietly, as if to himself. Then, with a start, as if he just realized that Claire was standing in front of him as if waiting further explanation, he shot her a cold look, before walking the in the opposite direction, followed by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Wait!" she cried, running after him.

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After wasting time in front of the mirror at home, trying to remember whatever charm Malfoy had used the day that he'd healed the laceration on her forehead after the incident with the Whomping Willow, Ginny had dashed off to the Three Broomsticks to meet Hermione. The left side of her face, particularly underneath her eye, was a lovely shade of redish-purple, and she had a giant scrape down her cheekbone and nothing she had tried would make it appear any less apparent. She would just have to make sure Rosmerta didn't see her - she could just hear her mother's reaction to hearing about this, because there was no way Rosmerta wouldn't contact her immediately. It would be bad enough dealing with Hermione.

But she needed her. Hermione, that is. Because, while Hermione could lash out with her temper and act according to her emotions instead of reason, she was still the most rational and cautious person Ginny had ever met. She could think clearly in a crisis, could formulate plans and solutions when everyone else was still caught up in being emotional and most importantly, she was analytical. She could analyze situations and see connections that others would overlook. Clutching one of the crumpled photos she'd taken with her that afternoon in her hand, Ginny planned on using Hermione's intellect to help her figure this whole thing out. That is, so long as she didn't expire from the lengthy, slightly hysterical lecture she was bound to get first. The one problem with seeking Hermione's help was that she'd have to tell her friend what had happened, how stupid she'd been, and that would undoubtedly lead to demands that she inform her parents.

"Well, I guess my first questions would be, who on earth took these photos to begin with?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowed in concentration as she examined the photo Ginny had handed her. Still feeling slightly stunned over the lack of lecturing or rebuking she'd received, Ginny felt a surge of affection for her best friend. When she'd greeted her as she was leaving the restaurant at the end of her shift, Hermione had taken one look at her face, grabbed her hand and led her away from the restaurant. After she'd worriedly demanded to know if Ginny was alright, she sat back and listened quietly as Ginny explained the whole sordid mess. As soon as she'd finished speaking, Hermione had just said, "Well, this is obviously just a bunch of rubbish. Let me see that photo." Remembering how earlier that day, Ginny had felt hopeless over the fact that it seemed like there was no one she could count on, and wondered how she could have possibly overlooked the frightfully dependable Hermione.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked, leaning forward, trying to see what it was in the photo that Hermione was fixated on. Hermione looked up, her eyes shining with discovery.

"Well, there's the two of you in the photo, which means that there was a third person in the room, the person who took it. That means there's someone out there who knew what was going on, someone else that was in the room," Hermione explained.

"But why would anyone want to take those photos to begin with? I mean, unless this is some sort of set-up." Hermione gave her a pointed look. "But why?"

"Is it common for wizards to use Muggle film? Every picture in the paper and everywhere I've seen in Hogsmeade always use moving wizards' pictures - even the paintings," Hermione commented.

"No, it's not..." Ginny said softly. She sighed heavily, dropping her head into her hands. "Because the film replicates not just your image but who you are and how you are reacting in the moment the picture is taken... if it was a wizards' picture, it would show my reaction, movement. Well, knowing me, you probably wouldn't be able to see me at all, because my image would try to get as far out of the frame as possible. There are very few people at my school who are even aware of Muggle pictures, beyond the simple knowledge that they don't move. They wouldn't have any idea how to get the film, how to get it developped, any of this. Certainly not any of the Slytherins – they wouldn’t ever want to touch something from Muggle origins, they think it would contaminate their very being."

"Who do you think is behind all of this? Because it seems to me that someone is definitely trying to set you up," Hermione said, her voice so full of certainty that the tight band of nausea that Ginny had been feeling since she'd woken up finally eased slightly. Hermione was an intelligent girl who was hardly ever wrong and this fact made Ginny all the more receptive to her certainty.

"My first thought would be Parkinson. After all, she is the one who passed them out to everyone, who confronted me and showed them to Malfoy," Ginny said grimly, remembering that incident with a shudder. The look in his eyes... she couldn't get it out of her head. She tried to shrug it off, needing to focus on the moment. "But it's not really her style. She's all bluster and bark, there's rarely any bite to her threats. Plus, the girl would rather die than be associated with anything Muggle-related."

"Who else does that leave, then?" Hermione prodded. Ginny shook her head, unable to think of who would want to do this to her. While she was well-aware that she was rather despised by most of the students at the school, she found it hard to believe that any of them would go this far - especially if it meant upsetting the mighty Draco Malfoy, who they were normally breaking their backs trying to please. Given the way they'd all flocked to her, seeking her approval, as soon as they thought she was going out with him, she found it hard to believe that any of them would be brave enough to try anything like this, and risk his wrath.

Of course, considering his wrath was aimed directly at Ginny, perhaps it was just a rather ingenious plan that had worked perfectly.

"I can't think of anyone. I don't think there's anyone out there who hates me enough to upset Malfoy like this." Hermione's head snapped up at this comment, and she looked at Ginny as if she'd just been struck with an epiphany. She jumped up, grabbing her robe as she moved towards the door.

"Ginny! The boy, the one you danced with - do you think this is him in the picture?" she asked quickly. Ginny looked down, biting her lip nervously before nodding.

"You can't see his face, but that's the only answer I've been able to come up with," she said, her face burning hot with shame. No matter how much of a 'set-up' this incident was appearing to be, confessing that she didn't know who was in the photograph with her was still embarrassing.

"You said his uncle owns All Hallows'. We're going there, to ask him some questions," Hermione stated, gesturing for Ginny to grab her robe. Ginny shot out of her hair.

"I don't want to go anywhere near him!" she cried.

"I understand, but he may be able to give us some answers, so we'll know what actually happened!" Hermione said. Ginny met her friend's eyes with her words still ringing in her ears and nearly burst into tears. Hermione had said "us" and not "you" and with that simple sentence, had told her that they were now in this together, and that it wasn't just Ginny's problem anymore. She had an ally, someone she could depend on. Shaking off the memory that this wasn't the first time that day she'd felt that way only to be proven wrong, Ginny nodded and gathered her things.

"You just have to promise you'll keep me from cursing him. Or, that you'll help me curse him, I haven't decided which yet," she mumbled, as they headed out the door.

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"Why are you following me?" Draco snapped viciously, as he stopped and turned suddenly, causing Claire to almost run into him. Flustered, she began to stutter nervously as she attempted to explain herself, hardly able to meet the furious pair of eyes bearing down on her.

"I just thought that... with what Ginny said... maybe you'd want to find out for yourself?" she stammered. Looking up, she drew a deep breath and tried to speak confidently. "I mean, she doesn't know what happened, but someone out there has to. What about the other person in the photo, what about the staff at the bar or the hotel? Someone must have seen them... I think it's the only way to know one way or the other, and like Ginny said, for the sake of your sanity!"

"You're her friend, aren't you? Why aren't you following her?" he snapped. Staring at the blond girl in front of him who was cringing at his words, he sighed in exasperation. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, not deflecting the attentions of a weak, terrified girl with a flawed sense of loyalty.

"I just want to help somehow. Ginny took off on a rampage, and with the way that she is, it's hard to think of her as actually needing help. She wouldn't accept it anyway. She could take on the whole world single-handedly if she had to," Claire said, looking down at the ground as she fidgeted, before glancing back up at Draco, her eyes hopeful. "That's probably what you like about her, after all, but it can be rather frustrating just standing on the sidelines, unable to do anything... and you just looked like you were going to... do something."

"What exactly do you think I would do in this situation?" he asked coolly. Claire visibly paled and looked about her wildly, as if expecting the answer to appear out of thin air.

"Well... I've heard the stories... about what happened with your last girlfriend and what you did to the boy she was cheating on you with..." Claire trailed off uncertainly, sensing a dangerous feeling in the air.

"You mean the inherently foolish piece of trash who actually tried to take what was mine while laughing at me behind my back? The one who is now a permanent resident in Saint Mungo's, a fitting punishment for daring to take what was mine? Is that what you are referring to?" he asked tersely, his eyes dark and dangerous. Claire almost buckled under the weight of his glare and backed away. "This situation is completely different."

"Really?" she asked, her face brightening, striking an odd note with Draco as he watched her. "How is this different? I mean, I'm glad you see it that way, for Ginny's sake, but... to me, it seems as if it's the same."

"Remind again me why you've followed me," Draco ordered, frowning suspiciously.

"I told you, I'm just trying to help," Claire exclaimed defensively.

"Then do your friend a favour and keep your mouth shut," he said angrily. It was hard enough keeping a grip on his anger - his desire to just destroy something, anything - with the image of her with someone else floating around in his head. Her reminding him of that incident and comparing it to this one certainly wasn't very helpful. The very thought of it made his blood begin to boil. "And stop following me."

"I think I know where that picture was taken!" Claire cried as he started to rush away. "We can go there, and ask a few questions, find out if anyone saw them. At the very least, you might get a name to put with the other person in the picture."

He stopped, a breathless moment of suspense for Claire as she wondered what he would do. When he turned back around, she smiled in relief. It had worked.

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Hogsmeade was a city where the rich and powerful ruled supreme. As they demanded that their every whim and unreasonable demand was met, they unknowingly created a network of those they looked down on. The bartenders, the waitresses, the servants; they all relied on each other, gossiped about the rich behind their backs and traded favours whenever possible. A union of sorts, bound together by their disdain for the ones who thought themselves superior. This was how Ginny and Hermione found themselves talking their way into All Hallows', joking with the servers who were setting up for what was promising to be a very busy Friday night.

“Oh, that Parkinson girl! You don’t need to say anything more about her!” Jeremy Morgan, a friend of her brother Charlie’s, was saying as he lugged a case of Butterbeer behind the bar. “She was a holy terror here the other night. If I remember correctly, I saw you giving her a hard time, young lady.”

“Yeah, Pansy and I don’t really see eye-to-eye on pretty much anything there is to disagree about. Did you see that guy confront her? I never caught his name, but he threatened to have security remove her and everything, it was beautiful!” Ginny exclaimed breezily, forcing herself to sound jovial and carefree.

“That was Justin. I sent him over there when I spotted the trouble. Gotta look out for Charlie’s kid sister, after all,” Jeremy said with a smile, ducking beneath the counter for a moment. Ginny closed her eyes, flinching against this new piece of information. Good intentions, why did they always seem to have such terrible consequences in her life? “He’s the boss’ nephew, so he doesn’t have to watch what he says to that harpy.”

“Well, thanks for the help! I could have taken her all by myself, but it’s nice to know I have someone looking out for me,” Ginny said, casting Hermione a pointed look to indicate that she was going in for the kill. “Hey, do you know where I can find Justin? I never got a chance to thank him for coming to the rescue.”

“Uh, yeah. I think he’s working tonight, he should be somewhere around here. Check out back, he’s probably doing some inventory. If anyone stops you, just tell them I said it was alright,” he said, with a teasing smile. “Never thought that the only Weasley girl, the little terror that ordered around her big brothers, would fall for all that chivalry nonsense.”

“I’m just going to say thank you,” Ginny said coyly, ignoring the stirrings of nausea in her stomach. She gestured to Hermione to follow her, waving goodbye to Jeremy. As they walked down the hallway, Hermione reached out and grabbed her hand, trying to comfort her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she whispered. Ginny sighed heavily, before squeezing her friend’s hand reassuringly.

“At this point, I don’t think I have a choice,” she said softly. “But thank you.”

They stepped out through the back door, and saw a group of guys standing around in a circle, talking loudly and laughing. Ginny felt a jolt run through her body when she saw the one from that night, Justin, standing with his back to them. Instinctually, she reached into her pocket, her fingers squeezing tightly around her wand. She inhaled deeply and prepared herself.

“Hey Justin!” she called out, summoning every ounce of her courage to keep her wand in her pocket. He turned around, still laughing at some comment his friends made, and froze when he saw her. It was only for a moment, but Ginny could see his surprise at seeing her there, before he quickly covered it with a smile she assumed was meant to be charming. It made her feel sick.

“Well, if it isn’t the redhead from last night. Why did you take off so suddenly this morning?” he asked, slinking towards her and Hermione with an infuriatingly arrogant swagger. Before she could think, her wand was out of her pocket, and she was cursing that idiot with his arrogant swagger with a full-body binding spell. He groaned, and fell backwards with a thud. His friends laughed in surprise, figuring it was some kind of joke and having sensed no danger from the petite redhead, they assumed it was just another angry ex-girlfriend.

“Ginny!” Hermione protested. Ginny ignored her, and marched forward with determination, kneeling down over Justin, whose eyes were darting back and forth furiously as he tried to figure out what had happened.

“I have put in a full-body binding curse. That’s why you can’t move,” she said coldly. “But there’s a bit of a fun twist on the curse I used, because I’m pretty much the only person who can end the spell, unless by some miracle the reincarnation of Dumbledore or someone similarly powerful comes along and is able to figure out how I cast it and can reverse it – which, let’s face it, that’s not bloody likely. I have a few questions to ask you, but I guess you already knew that.”

She pointed her wand at his face menacingly, feeling a delicious sense of power. For the first time in weeks, she was in control of a situation and that knowledge brought her nothing more than a blessed sensation of relief. His panicked eyes met hers, obviously thinking she was insane. She murmured a spell, releasing the curse’s hold on his mouth, allowing him to speak.

“Get away from me, you psychotic witch!” he screamed, causing his friends who were still hovering around, watching the scene, to howl with laughter.

“Careful what you say, or you’re going to lose your speaking privileges again,” Ginny said lightly, with a veiled threat in her voice.

Hermione bent down beside her, holding out one of the photos Ginny had brought with her.

“Who is the photographer?” Hermione asked. “That’s all we want to know, and she’ll let you go.”

“If you’re nice,” Ginny muttered darkly.

“Look, I just did what the girl paid me to do,” he exclaimed. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from standing up and placing a few well-aimed kicks to his ribcage.

“Yeah, you’re going to have to elaborate on that,” Ginny demanded viciously.

“Courtney – her name is Courtney. She’s a regular here, and she asked to help her get some photos that would cause a bit of a scandal, that’s all!” he cried. Ginny glanced at Hermione, sharing a similar hopeful thought that she barely dared to think.

“Just photos?” she demanded, her voice desperate. Justin met her eyes and looked away.

“Just photos. She had me slip something into your drink and bring you to the hotel so she could take the pictures. I didn’t ask why, she paid me enough to keep me from asking too many questions. I just thought it was some kind of girl-drama revenge plot or something,” he cried. Ginny stood up, needing to get away.

“Well, you’re a real stand-up guy, I hope you were paid handsomely to become a soulless cretin,” she said, disgusted. She started to walk away, hearing him protest that she hadn’t released him from the curse yet. She turned around, and in the same breath she cancelled the spell, she cast her patented Bat Bogey Hex, feeling a small sense of satisfaction as she heard him shriek in surprise.

She made it all the way around the corner and out of sight of her audience before she started running, running until she couldn’t anymore, collapsing to the ground in relief, half-sobbing and half-laughing. Just photos, he’d said. As horrible as that was, it was so much better than everything that she’d been so afraid of. The giant ball of fear and nausea that had been sitting in her stomach since she’d opened her eyes that morning was finally dissolving. Gasping for breath and feeling the telltale rush of saliva to her mouth, she crouched in the corner, and vomited.

By the time she had finished retching, Hermione had caught up to her, looking relieved to have found her. She knelt down beside her friend, hugging her tightly, sharing in her relief. Ginny smiled, a genuine smile, feeling empty of the demons she’d woken up with. She leaned back against the concrete wall behind her, breathing easily, closing her eyes and wanting nothing more than to sleep for weeks.

“Who is Courtney?” Hermione asked, and Ginny laughed, a bitter and weary laugh.

“I should care, I really should. I don’t know any Courtneys and I should be furiously trying to figure out who she is and why she wanted those damn pictures in the first place… but I’m just so tired,” Ginny said quietly. “I’ve got the answer I wanted for now, the rest can wait until the morning.”

“You are quite the feisty one – Greg, remind me never to cross a redhead, especially one with some scarily adept cursing skills,” Crabbe’s voice called out, sounding highly amused. Looking up in surprise, the two girls were faced with Crabbe and Goyle standing in front of them.

“It’s no wonder why Draco has developed quite a thing for you,” Goyle commented. “You’ve got a temper and a vindictive streak that matches his.”

“What are you two doing here?” Ginny demanded, standing up on shaky limbs, praying that they didn’t just see her throw up, not wanting them to see her in such a moment of weakness.

“Because someone is trying to mess with our friend, using his decidedly obvious weak spot – the weak spot being you, Weasley – against him. And when Draco gets all stroppy, he tends to take it out on us. Plus, there’s the fact that only a idiot, which Draco can be from time to time, would ever believe that you would be the type of girl to do that,” Crabbe said.

“We’re here to help you figure this out, and clear your name so that Draco doesn’t start terrorizing the entire wizarding world because he’s an immature idiot with a bad temper,” Goyle said.

“Unless you know a girl named Courtney, there’s not much you can help me with,” Ginny said, feeling rather shocked by this sudden occurrence, that Draco Malfoy’s best friends would show up and offer to help her. She was even more surprised when they exchanged knowing glances.

“We know quite a few Courtneys,” Crabbe said, arching his eyebrow, reminding Ginny that these two were not only Draco Malfoy’s best friends, but they were also, inexplicably, the most notorious playboys in the school. “What else can you tell us about her?”

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“I didn’t think you would come!” Claire exclaimed happily, trotting forwards as she spotted his tall form striding towards her. He’d ordered her to meet him at noon, and it was now an hour past that, but she hadn’t given up hope that he would eventually show up. Her exuberance wasn’t at all deterred by the cold glare he greeted her with. Draco breezed past her, barely acknowledging her as he strode forward, marching into the lobby of the hotel. Once he was inside, out of the cold, he paused, waiting for her to catch up.

He wasn’t going to show up. He had never intended to, he’d just wanted the annoying blond girl to leave him alone, to get away from her pestering before he lost all control of his temper. He’d spent a rather long, sleepless night dwelling on the events of the day before. Parts of Weasley’s speech kept running through his mind, and that combined with the image of her bruised and tear-streaked face had made it almost impossible to think of anything else. He wanted to dwell on his anger, to allow it to sweep over him so he could forget the other emotion that was plaguing him, the way it just burned all of his senses to see her with someone else that way, but instead, he was left with nothing more than a heavy sense of guilt. She had a point; he had turned his back.

But the stroppy little witch had made a fool of him! And if he was going to feel guilty about it, then he was damn well going to get to the bottom of the entire mess, so that he could just hate her in peace, without feeling that he had done anything wrong. He wanted to be absolved of all guilt in the matter. It had been this desire, the need to free himself from feeling any responsibility for the stupid girl so that he could focus on his anger without the image of her looking so sad and broken constantly replaying itself in his mind, that had lead him to meet her friend outside the hotel that morning.

The whole situation was rather cruel – if he was right, then he’d been wrong about the one girl he thought was different from everyone else in his life, the one he thought was worth caring about. But if he was wrong, then he had turned his back on the one girl he thought was worth caring about. A definite Catch-22. Either way, it wasn’t going to end well, and despite the knowledge that knowing was going to be just as horrible as not knowing, he still needed to know. So that he could go back to being nice and numb with rage. It kept him from feeling, and right now, with her words floating around in his head, he wanted nothing more than blissful numbness.

“I’ve already checked in with the staff, and one of them was on duty Thursday night. We should start by talking to him,” that annoying friend of Weasley’s said earnestly as she caught up with him. Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Do we even know that this happened Thursday night?” he muttered to himself. Something was definitely out of place when it came to her. She claimed that she was Weasley’s friend, but she seemed to be taking this matter a little too lightly, almost as if it were all some kind of game to her. She was definitely hiding something, a little too transparently for Draco’s liking. But it didn’t matter, she was just a means to an end, anyway. She had the connections, she claimed she knew the bastard that was in the photograph, so he needed her around.

“Come on, he’s at the front counter. We can probably even get him to check the records, to see who checked in that night,” she exclaimed, trotting off.

“I thought you said you had a name for me. That’s all I want,” Draco said, reluctantly following after her. She turned and smiled sheepishly at him.

“Well, I said I knew who it was, but the truth is that it’s only an idea. I overheard the girls that went to the club with Ginny talking about something that happened that night and so I have an idea of who it might be, so I want to look into it before I tell you, just in case it’s the wrong one. I mean, given your history in these matters, it’s safer for everyone involved, don’t you think?” she answered. Draco glared at her and fought to control his temper. He needed her, he repeated to himself, and cursing the girl for her repeated demonstrations of stupidity wasn’t the best way to get the information he needed from her.

“Don’t ever bring that up again,” he said threateningly. She looked up at him, her blue eyes wide with concern.

“Oh, you’re right, how terrible of me. I should stop reminding you of that, it must be terrible to hear about it, especially when it seems to be happening all over again. But look, there he is! Marcus!” she called out, waving at a uniformed clerk standing behind the marble front counter, who looked up and then seemed to do a double take as he recognized that Draco Malfoy was now standing with the girl who’d been grilling him an hour earlier about what he might have seen.

“Were you able to check the record from that night I asked about?” the annoying blond girl asked in what looked like a pathetic attempt to work her charm on the witless slug behind the counter, who was all but drooling in response as she batted her eyelashes.

“Oh, of course! As it turns out, it was a really slow night – just the usual types of things; last minute check-ins from some Ministry officials and the like. But there was one name that stands out, that I think is what you’re looking for…” he said excitedly, stumbling over his words as he spoke, his eyes never looking away from hers. As he slid a piece of parchment across the counter to her, his eyes glanced up and he seemed to jump with the recognition that the Draco Malfoy was looming grumpily behind the girl he was trying to impress. Eyes wide with panic, he backed a few steps away, staring down at the counter. Draco, despite himself, felt a faint glimmer of satisfaction that his mere presence was enough to instill fear among the witless.

“I see…” she was saying, valiantly trying to appear crestfallen. “The name, the one that I promised I’d give you if we had any proof of it being him? We have proof now… it was Justin Hallow, he was the one who is in the photograph.”

She was holding out the piece of parchment, which contained a register of names and their check-in times. Row after row of scrawled signatures and times lay in front of him, but near the bottom, beside a hand-written 12:32 am, was the name that she’d mentioned. The nephew of the old man who owned All Hallows’, a man who knew his father very well.

Justin Hallow. Well, now he had a name. Turning away, Draco found that he felt rather numb. Still holding the piece of parchment in his hands and ignoring the clerk’s pleas that he needed to have it returned, Draco was surprised that he didn’t feel the firestorm of anger he’d anticipated. Rather, he was numb – and even more surprisingly, he was calm.

He walked out into the street, ignoring the chirping of that annoying girl as she followed him out, cooing over his now broken heart and shattered illusions about the bloody Weasley idiot. He did have tangible proof now, and that should have made everything all the more real, yet all he could do was stare at that blasted piece of parchment in his hands.

“Draco, I’m really sorry about this. I wanted to prove that Ginny was innocent, that what she was saying this afternoon wasn’t just a bunch of lies. But I guess now… now we know what she really is,” she said, her eyes misty with tears. Draco watched her performance curiously, wondering why she was addressing him by his first name and why she was still talking to him. He was finished with her now; she’d served her purpose.

“And what is that?” he asked tersely.

“You must be so upset, to be taken in by her performance and the way that she tried to use you like that,” she said, her voice soft and breathy as she stared up at him with her big blue eyes.

“Yes, all of her repeated declarations of eternal hatred really did make for quite a convincing attempt to lure me into her clutches,” Draco said. Apparently impervious to sarcasm, she tried to make her move, placing one hand on his shoulder and leaning towards him. He allowed her a second to believe that he’d fallen into her trap before viciously shrugged away from her touch.

“Don’t ever touch me,” he snapped viciously. She looked surprised, but not the least bit chagrined, and she made a move to step closer to him and Draco just turned and walked away. She called after him, but he ignored her, desperate to be alone with his thoughts. Still clutching the incriminating piece of parchment, the annoying girl had certainly given him a lot of things to think over. Even as he walked away, though, the numbness he’d felt earlier began to drain away, leaving his limbs feeling heavy and a spark of fury igniting deep within him. He needed time alone to process everything.

But first, he had plans. There were a whole lot of pictures he never wanted to see again waiting to be burned.

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Through the haze of exhaustion, both physical and emotional, Ginny found herself listening to the conversation taking place in front of her with a strange detachment, wondering what sort of alternate universe she’d found her way into, that Crabbe and Goyle would be sitting at a table with her, trying to help her out. If someone had told her a month ago that she’d be sitting there now, with two of the most popular Slytherins, who were voluntarily sitting with her in a bid to assist her with a rather serious problem, she would have laughed in their face and advised them to give up their drug habits, as it was obviously addling their sense of reality.

“What about Courtney Jones? The brunette we met on the French Riviera last summer break?” Crabbe suggested, a wicked grin on his face.

“She wasn’t a brunette, mate. She was blonde, and she was probably in her thirties. I doubt our Weasley friend here would have attracted the wrath of anyone that much older than her,” Goyle had countered. “What about Courtney Harper? The girl from Durmstrang?”

“I don’t know anyone who would even consider going to Durmstrang, let alone who does,” Ginny said, crisply, shaking herself out of her stupor. “Not exactly my circle in society, if you catch my drift.”

“Right. Goyle, know any girls named Courtney who are self-righteous little Gryffindors who tend to get a little snarky with fellows who are only trying to help? Is that more suited to your social circle, Weasley?” Crabbe said, glowering slightly at her.

“I just don’t know anyone by that name who would want to do this to me,” Ginny cried, finally growing too frustrated at the maze of suggestions that didn’t lead to any answers. They’d been at it for hours, and Ginny didn’t think she could stomach any more of the anecdotal way they were recalling the names of all the Courtneys they’d come in contact with. She’d been observing them closely in between bouts of lucidity, and she still did not understand why they were as popular as they were. They were nice enough, but they didn’t compare to the other Slytherins, such as Blaise Zabini… and Malfoy.

“Ginny, maybe it’s time to stop thinking that they were trying to do this to you. Does Malfoy know any Courtneys who’d want to get back at him for something?” Hermione asked exasperatedly, sending the assembled group into a stunned silence. She’d been swooping by the table intermittently between orders, trying to cover tables at the Three Broomsticks without leaving Ginny alone with the two of them, and it was obvious that her patience had worn thin with the back-slapping and knowing looks the two were occupying themselves with as they scrolled through their list of names.

“Have you ever met Draco? There are many people by many names who want to get back at him for many things,” Goyle answered her, casting Crabbe a knowing look. “Hell, if weren’t friends, I’d probably want to take a crack at him myself.”

“Lovely. So, I’m basically looking for a needle in a haystack,” Ginny sighed, heavily.

“Not, but the Mudblood’s right – it’s entirely possible that this has more to do with Draco than it does with you. That would explain why you don’t know any Courtneys,” Goyle said thoughtfully, as Ginny bristled at the offhand way he threw out the derogatory term.

“Don’t call her that!” Ginny snapped, the control she was keeping on her emotions brittle at best. Goyle looked at her, clearly perplexed, as if he didn’t understand what she was upset about. After a moment, realization seemed to set in, and he shrugged sheepishly.

“Right, forgot you were one of those politically-correct-overly-sensitive types,” he said, sounding completely unremorseful. He turned to Crabbe. “In any case, I think we should go and have a chat with Draco and warn the sulky little princess that he should be on the lookout while he’s embarking on his rampaging tantrums.”

They quickly said goodbye and left the restaurant, and Ginny slumped forward, laying her head down on the table. After her confrontation with Justin and their unexpected intervention, Hermione had insisted they give the “poor girl” a night to herself before meeting again to ponder the identity of this mysterious Courtney. While Ginny appreciated her friend’s concern, she hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and worries that wouldn’t leave her alone, no matter how much she needed the reprieve.

She had claimed that it didn’t matter what he thought, but now that she had the answer, now that the gnawing weight of fear had been eased, she discovered that it was all that she did care about. She’d told him in no uncertain terms to bugger off, and he’d just laughed it off. She’d turned him into a giant canary. When she’d spent a night frozen with terror and barely able to breathe because of her claustrophobia, he’d held her hand the whole time and listened without comment. But now he wouldn’t look at her.

As Hermione sat down next to her and placed a comforting arm on her shoulder, Ginny asked herself why his reaction would bother her so much. Hadn’t she already learned, so long ago, that there were no heroes, no noble characters who came through for the heroine just in the nick of time, no self-sacrificing gestures - at least not in this world. Just because Malfoy had a strange habit of appearing whenever she seemed to be in trouble, and claimed he looked after his own, it was hardly reason enough to think he would be any different. His reaction was exactly what she should have expected, but she couldn’t tell if she was upset by him, or just upset because she’d allowed herself to hope he might act differently.

“Did your friend Claire tell you she was planning on meeting with Malfoy this afternoon?” Hermione asked quietly. Ginny lifted her head, feeling dazed. “I just saw them across the town square. She’d been waiting for quite a while, and I was wondering what she was doing out there, when he just showed up.”

“Hopefully not making things worse,” Ginny said softly, recalling the way Claire had acted the other day during her confrontation with Malfoy. “I told you what she said to him the other day, right?”

“Maybe you should pay her a visit tonight, find out what’s going on there,” Hermione suggested.

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“So now I’m trying to figure out who this Courtney girl is and why she would want to do something like this to me, because I’m fairly certain I’ve never even met a Courtney,” Ginny explained wearily after finishing the dregs of the cup of tea Clair had served her. After an afternoon with Crabbe and Goyle reminiscing about their various female conquests (what was it with those two and women?), Hermione trying to gain some type of useful information from them, and Ginny just trying to keep herself on her feet, she had very little energy left. But she had to know why Claire had been meeting with Malfoy, she had to know if he’d learned anything new…

“Maybe you’ve already met her and don’t even know it. It’s not that difficult to use a fake name, even around here where everyone is so paranoid about being caught by a Death Eater without their papers,” Claire said knowingly.

“Even so, why me?” Ginny asked ruefully. She sighed heavily, and had to bite back a yawn. Her vision began to swim a bit, and she had to blink to clear her sight, her body suddenly feeling very heavy. She stretched her arms out above her head, stretching, trying to rouse her tired body, and then smiled at Claire sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve just been completely wiped out by all of this. I want nothing more than to just go home and sleep for about a week… At least sleeping will help me forget about this whole mess, and make me stop asking so many questions.”

“Oh, I think you’re going to be asking yourself a lot of questions for a long time about this,” Claire said, standing up. The tone of her voice had changed so suddenly, from that of a sympathetic friend to something completely different. She would have sounded amused, if it hadn’t been for the sharp edge to her tone that had Ginny’s head snapping up in confusion. She had to squint to see her, her vision had become rather blurry, but Claire was standing over her, watching her expectantly, with a rather cruel smile on her face.

“Claire?” Ginny asked, extremely confused. The teacup she’d been holding slipped from her fingers, and clattered against the table, and Ginny nearly tumbled after it. She grabbed the edge of the table, finding purchase enough to hold herself up.

“For instance, you’re going to ask yourself why you ever decided to play a bloody hero that day in the Great Hall, and why that need you have to stand up for others ruined all of my plans, and caused this entire mess to happen. You were never supposed to be involved, but you stuck your nose in anyway and almost ruined everything! And you are also going to wonder how, for someone who seems so smart, you fell for the same trick twice. Didn’t you learn the other night not to accept drinks from other people?” she snapped viciously. Ginny gasped, a cold jolt hitting her hard in the stomach as she realized what Claire was saying.

“It was you? You’re the girl who paid for him to… it was you?” she asked, feeling dizzy and weak. “And now, what did you put in my tea? Why did you drug me?”

“If you hadn’t been just too damn stubborn to duck your head out of the way, I never would have had to involve you, but now… now you’ve become too useful to my goal, and I have no choice,” Claire said. Ginny tried to croak out another question, but the world was spinning too much and her head was just so heavy, she couldn’t hold it up any longer. The last thing she remembered was the coolness of the table’s surface as she slumped forward.

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They really had meant to go straight to Draco’s house after they left the Weasley girl and her friend. The serious mousy-haired Mudblood had been pretty convincing in her belief that there really could be someone after Draco, but as they’d left the restaurant, they’d been sidetracked by a couple of the girls they’d encountered the night before. A few minutes’ flirtation had turned into a full afternoon, and it was almost midnight by the time they finally made their way over to the Malfoy estate. As they were shown through the gate, they were nearly bowled over by their best friend as he brushed past them, seemingly unaware of their presence until they called out to them.

“Draco! Where are you headed at this hour?” Goyle asked, catching Draco’s arm as he passed, pulling him to stop. Draco violently shrugged off his friend’s arm, pushing him back. Crabbe and Goyle shot each other a look, immediately able to sense that something was seriously wrong. Draco hadn’t said a word yet, but it was written all over him, from the intensity in his eyes, to the jittery way he began pacing around, as if he were a lion trapped in a cage. “What’s going on?”

“I have to go somewhere,” Draco answered, his tone inviting no objections. Goyle thought back to the mudblood’s words about how Draco might actually be the one in trouble, and he realized she was probably very right about that. And that they were probably a little late in showing up.

“We’ll come with you,” Crabbe spoke up. “You look like you’re heading into a fight, and with that temper of yours, you should have us around to keep you from doing something really stupid.”

“No, I have to go alone,” Draco said distractedly. He was clutching a piece of parchment in his right hand and he was pacing around like a caged animal, circling around, seemingly unable to stop. He was agitated, it was clear, and the air of intensity surrounding him was almost suffocating. His friends could tell that it was completely unwise to let him go anywhere alone. He seemed more upset than when Parkinson had presented him with the photos of Weasley and that wanker from All Hallows’.

Goyle stepped forward, determined to try again, and grabbed him by the arm, halting his agitated pacing.

“You’re not going anywhere without us, and certainly not until you tell us what the hell is going on with you,” he said, in a tone that would have brokered no argument, had he been speaking to anyone other than Draco Malfoy. Draco stared at him, dead in the eye, but after a few minutes, realizing that his usual scare tactics wouldn’t work on those who had never been afraid of him, Draco relented.

“I have to go to the school. I left my broomstick there, and if I don’t go get it right now, there’s no way to tell what will happen to it. And I have to go alone,” he said, his voice quiet despite the intensity.

“If it’s just a broomstick, it’s not worth all this nonsense for it! You can always get another one, it’s not the end of the world,” Crabbe said, dismissing his reason with a scoff. Goyle, who had broken Draco’s eye contact, remained silent, sensing that there was a great deal more than just a broomstick at stake.

“But it’s my broomstick, and I can’t just leave it to fend for itself. They might break it. Even if it is stupid, difficult and slow and jerks to the left when I want it to go right, it’s still mine,” Draco snapped furiously. “Now let go of me, I have to go.”

“What’s really going on?” Goyle asked, eyeing the piece of parchment Draco was clenching in his fist. Draco followed his gaze, and his hand involuntarily tightened around the crumpled wad, turning his knuckles white.

“I have to go now,” he said, pushing Goyle away, much more violently than before. Goyle stumbled away, caught off guard by the sudden movement, and after a few attempts to regain his balance, he tumbled heavily to the ground.

“Malfoy! What the hell, mate?” Crabbe yelled, stalking towards Draco as he moved towards the gate. Crabbe grabbed at him, but Draco swiftly dodged him, ducking out of the way and dashing towards the street. With a look over his shoulder, Draco saw Crabbe and Goyle regrouping and knew they’d follow him. Without any further thought, he pulled out his wand and cast a curse, immobilizing his best friends with a flash of white light that neither of them saw coming. Draco didn’t look back as he took off at a dead run.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” Crabbe muttered, through his magically-gritted teeth, as both lay motionless on the ground, neither able to move much more than their mouths and eyes.

“That Mudblood girl was right – they were using Weasley to get to Draco. It worked, and we were too late.”

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Claire sighed impatiently, tapping her wand against a desk, trying to tune out the sound of her hostage furiously smashing against the walls of the wardrobe they’d locked her in after Ginny had practically twisted off Claire’s arm as she struggled against her captors. Remembering the girl’s odd reaction when Professor Snape had sent her in there to fight a Boggart, Claire had decided that it might subdue the furious witch, who’d been nothing but unexpectedly difficult since she’d been roused from the potion Claire had drugged her with.

“If you keep banging around in there, you’re just going to hurt yourself. Promise to stay quiet like a good little girl and maybe we’ll let you out,” Claire called out, hoping to put an end to the infernal banging. She needed to concentrate, to stay on top of her game. It was all going to come down to this – three years of anger and hatred had lead her to this night, and she needed everything to go right

She walked over to the wardrobe and leaned against it. She frowned, unsure why Ginny was practically sobbing. Claire could hear her hands scratching along the doors, as if trying to find a way out.

“Honestly, Ginny, it’s just a closet. What’s so horrible about being in there for a few hours? You know, this really had nothing to do with you in the first place – you’re just the bait.”

“Bait for what?” her muffled voice asked, granting Claire a relief from the banging. Her relief was tempered by the sharp edge of hysteria in Ginny’s voice, evident even through the thick walls of the wardrobe, which grated her ears.

“Why, your boyfriend, of course! I told you that I had to rethink my entire plan when you came along and ruined everything. But I’m actually glad of it, as this is a much more suitable arrangement. A form of poetic justice, if you will. Right about now, he should be receiving an owl, demanding that he meet us here, alone, should he not want anything to happen to you,” Claire explained coyly. “Oh, and in the note, I put that perfect Muggle Polaroid photograph that we took of you while we were trying to shove you in the wardrobe – a little visual incentive, if you will.”

Claire glanced over at the other boys – all three of them friends of her older brother, and smiled widely. Mark and Sean were still nursing the nasty scratches to their face they’d received as Ginny had tried to claw herself free as they tried to force her into the wardrobe, kicking and screaming like a cat being forced into a lake, and James was hovering by the door, anxiously awaiting their guest of honour’s arrival.

“He’s not my boyfriend. That’s the flaw in your whole plan, Claire. You made him hate me; remember the way he looked at me yesterday?” Ginny asked, her voice was quiet and weak. “There’s no way he’d ever come after that. He’ll probably applaud your threat as the best way to get his revenge without sullying his designer robes. This is just another opportunity for him to walk away.”

Ginny’s voice was barely above a whisper, but even through the thickness of the wood, Claire could hear how despondent she was. For that second, she almost relented, remembering that Ginny was the only person that whole school who had been nice to her, and she was the one who’d defended her – twice – without regard for her own safety. And had forgiven her after she’d turned her back on her. But then, she remembered the reason she was there, why they were all there, and her resolve hardened once again.

“You better hope that he shows, or you are going to be spending a lot of time in there,” Claire snapped cruelly. Ginny took a few sobbing breaths that Claire could hear clearly, and then the hysterical smashing began again with a renewed fervor.

“Claire, I’m getting tired of this,” Sean said. “Why are we even waiting here? Let’s go get him and get this over with! Enough of this nutty plan of yours.”

“It’s not at all a nutty plan, as you will soon see. It’s actually quite brilliant because it mirrors what happened last time, but instead, he’s going to be the one who suffers. It’s my chance to make it right,” Claire said, her voice drifting off as her eyes clouded with memory.

“Just as long as that bastard shows up and we get a chance to make him pay,” Mark said threateningly. Claire smiled knowingly.

“Of course.”

“But he’s not going to come! He’s not, I know he’s not, he has no reason to!” Ginny started calling out, her voice desperate and tight with panic, echoing with an irrational amount of fear that began to grate of Claire’s nerves. Her attempts to smash open the door became furious, as she began to cry out her pleas to be released, punctuated by the sound of her fists banging against the heavy door. “You have to let me out here, please please let me out, please!”

Claire turned back to the wardrobe and kicked at the door, her head ringing with all the noise of Ginny’s shrieking cries.

“Just shut up, already!” Claire yelled. “This is all your own fault anyway, if you hadn’t interfered, if you hadn’t been so bloody stubborn… I mean, in any other circumstances, you would probably appreciate what we’re trying to do here, but because all you did was interfere and get in the way, you’ve brought this on yourself!”

“Now remember, she’s a Gryffindor, don’t begrudge her her one talent. As a whole, they’re not an overly talented group,” Draco Malfoy’s voice said. Though low and rough, it cut through Ginny’s cries and pulled all attention in the room to him, freezing Claire to the spot. Sean and Mark jumped to attention, holding out their wands threateningly as they moved in towards him. Claire turned slowly, determined to stay in control of the situation, as she spotted James moving in behind Malfoy. They had him surrounded. Even so, she flinched involuntarily as she met his eyes. While he was standing docilely as Sean and Mark grabbed his arms and searched his pockets for any hidden wands, Claire could see the well of rage that was boiling just below the surface. It was barely hidden; all you had to do was look him in the eye, and you’d see exactly how dangerously furious he truly was. It was exactly what Claire had been hoping for.

Mark found his wand, and fishing it out of his pocket, he tossed it away. It landed on the floor with a dull clatter that was nearly drowned out by Ginny’s banging and thrashing.

“Let her out. I came, I’m alone. Now let her go,” Malfoy said, his voice full of authority. Claire felt her temper erupt as she took in the arrogance of his tone. He was trapped, out-numbered, defenseless and alone, and he was still barking orders as if he had the right.

“And what if I don’t?” she snapped viciously, vindictively planning to keep Ginny locked in there as long as it took to crush the arrogance from Malfoy, if that was what it was going to take. Malfoy met her eyes and, despite the fact that he was surrounded and had three wands hostilely pointed at him, he moved forward, his eyes dark and intent.

“If you don’t let her out right now, I am going to kill you where you stand,” he said, his voice incredibly calm and infused with so much conviction that it made Claire utterly certain that he was entirely capable of doing what he threatened, despite his current state of captivity. Shaking slightly as a shiver ran down her spine, Claire glanced over at Mark and nodded slightly. Sighing loudly, and moving as slowly as possible, just to demonstrate that although the others in the room may be terrified of him, that didn’t mean that they were completely inclined to do as he said, Mark backed away from Malfoy and walked resignedly towards the wardrobe, where Ginny’s squealing and thrashing against the door had reached a feverish pitch.

With a grunt, Mark removed the locking spell they’d put in place to hold the fiery girl, and the heavy wooden door was violently flung open as a tangle of flailing limbs burst out of the small dark space, tackling Mark, clawing him out of her way. Tumbling forward as Mark dashed out of the way, eager to save his own skin, Claire had to look away as she caught a glimpse at Ginny, sprawled on her knees on the dusty classroom floor, drawing heaving breaths as if she’d just fought a battle to the death.

Her hands and knuckles were raw and bloody from her repeated attempts to smash her way through the wooden panels of her prison, and there were streaks of blood along her face. Coupled with the bruises from the incident at the Quidditch pitch the day before, she looked horrible. Her face had a transparent sheen to it, from the sweat that had plastered her wild hair along her forehead and neck, and she was gasping for air as she leaned forward, putting her weight on her injured hands, almost bowing to the floor as she took in the fact that she had been freed. She looked up, and Claire felt a knot of guilt tighten in her stomach – her eyes were positively wild with fear, and it seemed as if she had no idea where she was. She was lost in the world of her own terror.

A strangled cry of outrage erupted from Malfoy, and he darted forward, but Sean and James grabbed his arms and held him back. Their restraint was short-lived, however, as Malfoy effortlessly shrugged them off, and killed any new attempts to regain their hold of the Malfoy heir with a deadly look which froze them in their tracks. Walking forward slowly, as if approaching a crazed and wild animal, Malfoy knelt down when he was a few feet away from the gasping and trembling girl on the floor.

“Weasley,” he said, his voice gentle. Claire watched the scene with a sick fascination, wondering if the person who had appeared in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was the real Draco Malfoy, for how was it possible that the boy who’d done all that he’d done could have such tenderness in his voice? “Weasley, look at me. Look at me.”

Ginny’s wild eyes looked up at his through the mess of hair that had fallen into her face, and as their eyes met, her panicked breathing seemed to slow to a normal rhythm. He reached out a tentative hand, brushing the stray hair out of the way and pulled it away as she flinched, ducking out of the way as if she’d been struck. He held her gaze, however, and gradually, as she stared back at him with uncomprehending eyes, the haze of terror and confusion around her seemed to dissipate, and she came back to herself.

“No way,” she gasped in disbelief, her voice hoarse from all her screaming. “You… you actually came?”

Feeling that the happy couple had had enough of a reunion, Claire strolled over to Ginny, grabbing her shoulder with a tight grip, pressing her nails into the skin, making the weakened girl hiss in pain. Mark and Sean jumped to action, grabbing for Malfoy, restraining him as they pulled him to his feet. Claire smiled wickedly; it was all coming together, everything that she’d wanted. Soon, he’d be the one lying on the floor, bleeding and begging for mercy, and all of this would have been worth it for that alone. With her other hand, she pulled out a vial of glittering charcoal-coloured liquid and held it up.

“Do you know what this is, Malfoy? I’m sure a wizard from a family such as yours is more than familiar with its properties,” she said acidly as James stepped forward, and cast a magical restraint on Malfoy’s hands, binding them behind his back. Malfoy’s eyes flicked to the vial she was holding up over Ginny’s head, and there was a split-second of recognition that betrayed a flash of fear, before he was staring straight ahead, locking his eyes on Ginny Weasley, who was whispering the words “he actually came” over and over again under her breath, lost in a daze of amazement. “This is a lovely concoction that Death Eaters discovered during the war, which they aptly named Witch’s Spit. Do you know why they named it that?”

“If this is going to be yet another one of those long, prolonged speeches examining history for yet more evidence that Death Eaters tend to have rather misogynistic views, you can save it, because I’ve heard it all before,” Malfoy answered, with a sigh of boredom. Claire smiled; a cold, cruel smile. They had no idea what she had planned for them. Her first step was going to be wiping that smug look off of Malfoy’s face, no matter the cost, even if that cost was the pretty face of Ginny Weasley.

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She was sure she was going to die. The walls had been caving in on her, and no matter how hard she pushed against them, clawed against them, it made no difference. She was stuck in a small, small space and it was going to kill her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything except scream to be let out.

Sweat was burning her eyes, causing tears to run down her face, causing the cut across her cheek to sting. Her hands were screaming in pain every time she smashed her fists against the wall, hoping to find a way out before the walls caved in and she died. It was going to kill her. She couldn’t breathe and she was going to suffocate in that small dark space, a victim of her own fear.

Until the door cracked open, and she was suddenly tumbling out into the open, into the light. Oblivious to everything except the blissful freshness of the air and the comforting feeling of largeness about the room she was in, all she cared about was breathing and that no one came close enough to put her back in that small dark space. Never again.

Through the haze of her terror, she heard a voice calling her name. Her hands were throbbing, but she couldn’t move because then they’d see her, and if they saw her, they might force her to go back. She shook it off, focusing on breathing. But he called again, and she looked up, her frayed nerves making her jump at the noise.

She met a pair of grey eyes staring at her, staring right through her. Familiar eyes, eyes that knew because they saw everything there was to see. They were furious, but not at her. Furious because of what had been done to her, furious that they hadn’t been there to stop it.

“Look at me,” he commanded, unnecessarily, because in that moment, she knew she never wanted to look anywhere else.

A jolt of recognition ran through her. Draco Malfoy. It was Draco Malfoy, kneeling in front of her, staring at her with a mixture of rage and concern, his voice tenderly commanding her to look at him.

“No way,” she breathed, shocked. After everything that had happened, after the way he’d looked at her the other day, and he’d actually come? “You… you actually came?”

Unable to look away from the one sight that was keeping her terror at bay, Ginny was surprised to notice that tears were running down her face. Hours of being shut in the darkness with her own fear, feeling as if she were completely alone and abandoned, never daring to hope that he’d be stupid enough to come, and here he was. Staring at her, saying her name and smiling at her with that hint of a teasing grin that made the butterflies in her stomach dance furiously, Draco Malfoy had actually come to her rescue.

The sharp pain of nails digging into her skin ripped her from the wonderment of her realization, drawing her violently back down to earth. Struggling against the hazy confusion that the remains of her panic attack had left, she tried to focus on what was being said by her captor, but his eyes were still on her, and she knew that no matter what happened, he would make sure she would never have to go back in that wardrobe ever again. The look in his eyes was promise enough.

“They named it Witch’s Spit because it is one of few magical substances that can actually melt skin. They claimed it had the same acidic properties of the words that come out of an angry witch’s mouth. Clever lot, don’t you think? Didn’t stop them from using it a few dozen times during Voldemort’s Revolution – they prefer it because it can disfigure its victim’s face into something horribly unrecognizable as human without killing that person. There’s no way to reverse the process, they are just stuck that way forever. Quite a way to send a message, don’t you think?” Claire’s voice, so unfamiliarly cold now, was saying. Ginny’s foggy brain suddenly cleared, and everything snapped into place.

“What the hell are you doing here? Are you a complete idiot? Don’t you know that this was just a stupid trap?” Ginny shouted at Malfoy, who scowled at her.

“Of course I knew it was a trap, you silly girl. As you’re the one who fell into the trap to begin with, I don’t think you should be asking me if I’m an idiot, because if anyone is an idiot in this situation, that would have to be you,” Malfoy sneered back at her.

“If you make any move, either to free yourself or try to defend yourself, I’m going to open this bottle and spill it all over your girlfriend’s face,” Claire threatened, her voice shrieking with the demand to be heard.

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Ginny snapped at the same time as Malfoy protested, “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“If I’m not your girlfriend, then why did you even come here? I would have been perfectly fine on my own without your help,” Ginny cried indignantly.

“Did you hear me? I’m going to use the entire contents of this vial on her if you even make a move to defend yourself!”

“Oh, I can see that. About ready to unleash some hidden Gryffindor talent none of us have witnessed and free yourself from a locked wardrobe, were you?” Malfoy asked, with his infuriating teasing smile that indicated that he didn’t believe a word she said. “If you were doing so well on your own, perhaps I should just leave then?”

“SHUT UP, both of you!!” Claire shrieked, the fact that her threats were being completely disregarded by her two captives finally shattering her patience. “You don’t seem to understand the situation here! I have an entire vial of Witch’s Spit hovering over your girlfriend’s head, and unless you want to spend the rest of your life staring at a scarred little mountain troll, you will SHUT UP!”

“I still can’t believe you were stupid enough to come here,” Ginny muttered under her breath, smiling slightly at the annoyed look Malfoy shot her. Claire’s grip on her shoulder was becoming rather unbearable, especially with the utter throbbing of her bleeding hands to bear as well. The largest of the three thugs Claire had recruited for whatever plot she’d been planning suddenly stood a few feet in front of Malfoy, blocking Ginny’s view of his face. Despite the death grip Claire had on her arm, Ginny struggled to move to the side, so she could see him. Claire held her back.

“Why are you doing this, Claire? What could Malfoy have possibly done to you to make you completely lose your mind?” Ginny asked. “I thought we were friends. Why are you doing this?”

“Why? WHY am I doing this? Why don’t you ask your boyfriend, Ginny? See if he has an answer for you,” Claire said, her voice so full of pain that it caused Ginny to twist her head up to try to meet her (former) friend’s face. “He won’t. He doesn’t even remember who I am.”

“Should I remember you? What’s your name again?” Malfoy spat his question. Ginny tried to shuffle to the side, desperate to see his face, but Claire’s grip remained tight and painful, not allowing her enough movement.

“Claire. Claire Carmichael. CLAIRE CARMICHAEL!” she shrieked, tears now running openly down her face. “Does that name not mean anything to you at all? CARMICHAEL!”

At her sudden hysteria, James stepped back, his wand still fully trained on Malfoy, but as he turned, he moved out of Ginny’s line of sight, and she could see Malfoy again. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes had grown dark and downcast. Ginny frowned, wondering what history there was between the two, and why Claire’s last name seemed to be having such a profound effect on Malfoy.

“You’re David Carmichael’s sister,” Malfoy said, his voice dull and flat. He was staring at the ground, seemingly unable to look up at Claire. Ginny’s mind reeled with this sudden development. “Aren’t you?”

"Yes, I am. All this time, and you didn't even recognize my name," Claire spat. Ginny, heedless of the painful restraint of Claire's grip, fidgeted, maneuvering herself closer to Malfoy, needing to gain a better view of his face. He'd grown pale, his eyes dark and impassive. "That's just part of your arrogance, the arrogance of the whole lot of you. You forget the names of those whose lives you've ruined as soon as you no longer have to see what you've done."

"You two know each other?" she asked, surprised. Malfoy's reaction to this new relevation was starting to scare her. He seemed... almost chastised, as if he were a repentant boy accepting a scolding because he knew he deserved it - wanted it, because then it would relieve him of the guilt.

"Your boyfriend and I have quite a sordid history, but mostly through association. Do you want to tell her, or should I?" Claire asked, her voice tinged with an edge of hysteria that gave her an almost genial demeanor.

"Leave her out of this. It has nothing to do with her," Malfoy ordered darkly. "You never should have involved her in the first place."

"Name a better way to get you where it hurts the most," Claire shot back defensively.

"Name a better way to ensure you end up exactly like your brother," Malfoy retorted, his eyes suddenly blazing with fury.

"Shut up! Don't you ever mention him!" Claire shrieked, as one of the boys guarding Malfoy turned and jabbed him in the stomach with his fist. Even as he jolted forward, as the air was knocked out of him, he didn't make a sound, and quickly recovered, straightening back up and facing Claire with the same impassive face and authoritative presence that he usually wore.

"What is going on here?" Ginny demanded slowly, trying to keep a tremble out of her voice. Her body was in shock from her ordeal in the wardrobe, and she was finding it difficult to keep from shivering uncontrollably.

"Do you remember the story I told you, about how he is the youngest person ever reported to have actually used the Cruciatus Curse on a human being? When he was only 14 years old? He got so angry with someone that he nearly killed him, but that because of who his father is, no one dared punish him for it?" Claire asked, her voiced hushed as she addressed Ginny. Ginny did recall the story that Claire had wide-eyedly recounted when Ginny had claimed that Malfoy had never done anything to justify the amount of fear people regarded him with.

"Yes, I remember. I didn't think it was actually true," Ginny said, with a quick glance at Malfoy. He was standing frozen as the conversation went on around him, staring at the ground in front of him. His eyes wouldn't meet Ginny's.

"It's almost true. I had to lie a bit because I didn't want you to think I knew more than I did. But I know only too well... The boy he almost killed was my brother. He and a group of his brainless followers grabbed him, and they held him down while Malfoy cursed him. Repeatedly," Claire spat out, her voice thick with emotion. "He was alone, wandless and out-numbered, and they nearly killed him. Do you want to know what it is my brother did to deserve that?"

"He took what was mine," Malfoy said, his voice terrifyingly cold. Ginny felt a jolt of fear seize her body, and as she looked at him, she finally understood why people could possibly be afraid of him. The air of ridiculousness that shrouded his arrogance and authority, that had given Ginny the courage to finally challenge him because she believed that he was ultimately harmless, had completely dissipated. Malfoy was glaring at Claire with an expression that spoke of such cold, furious rage that Ginny was amazed that Claire didn't turn and flee, just to get away from that look.

"He kissed your girlfriend!" Claire snapped furiously. "You were all fourteen years old! It could hardly have meant anything, and it didn't warrant what you did to him! You see, Ginny, even though they didn't kill David, they may as well have. Because he's probably going to spend the rest of his life at St Mungo's, unable to remember his own name."

"Claire, enough of this! Let's get on with it!" Mark grumbled, his eyes fixed on Malfoy.

"Yes, let's do that. Here's what we have planned for you. James, here, has been practising for almost two years, haven't you James? It only took a couple of months for him to learn the Cruciatus Curse, but he wanted to make sure it was quite right - as powerful and painful as possible, as befitting a Malfoy," Claire said, her voice rising with excitement.

"Rightly so," Malfoy commented arrogantly.

"If you make a single move to defend yourself or try to escape, I'm going to use this entire bottle of Witch's Spit to ensure that you never have to worry about someone trying to steal this pretty little girlfriend, because no one would ever want her after that," Claire threatened viciously.

"You can go right ahead and do it, because I have absolutely no intention of being used like this," Ginny exclaimed, struggling to her feet. Claire grabbed her wrist, sending a firestorm of pain from her injured hands running down her arm.

"That's my girl," Malfoy commented, with a proud smirk.

"I'm not 'yours', you ignorant baffoon. That kind of thinking is what got us here in the first place," Ginny snapped angrily, before she cried out in pain as Claire reached her breaking point and grabbed a fistful of Ginny's hair, snapping her head back.

"I've had ENOUGH of you two! James, what are you waiting for?? Get to it, already!" Claire screeched. Using that moment of distraction, Ginny tried to twist herself out of Claire's grip, ignoring the pain of her scalp at Claire's stranglehold on her long hair. Slipping free, Ginny made a triumphant dash of three steps before her hands were simultaneously pulled behind her back, and a strong magical bind wound itself around them. Claire had managed to cast a spell, magically binding her hands, even in the middle of the fray. As her injured hands were jostled together, a firestorm of pain traveled down her arm, and Ginny's knees gave out. She collapsed to the floor, gasping from the exertion and pain.

“Don’t try that again, Ginny! I swear I’ll use this whole bottle on you!” Claire shrieked. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been planning this? I had everything all arranged, and when I bumped into Malfoy that day in the Great Hall, it was all part of my plan! But you nearly ruined everything when you interfered. Who asked you to stand up for me?”

“I have to congratulate you on your acting abilities, at the very least, Claire. I actually believed you were my friend,” Ginny hissed between gasping breaths. The burning pain of her hands made her want to close her eyes and lay down, succumbing to the agony.

“Weasley,” Malfoy said, his voice so demanding that she looked up, slowly, as every movement caused her pain. His face was grey and pallid, and she frowned in confusion as she looked back at him, trying to understand what was going through his mind. He smiled at her, a slight and sad little smile, before he spoke again. “Close your eyes. I don’t want you looking at me with those red and puffy eyes of yours. Ghastly, really.”

Biting her lip and struggling to keep a fresh batch of tears at bay, she released a shaky breath and complied with his order. But not before she gave him one last, lingering look, trying to understand why. Why he had even come, why he hadn’t even tried to free himself yet. And why he was submitting to Claire’s demands.

“Go ahead James,” Claire said, her voice tinged with cruel excitement. Ginny, her eyes shut tightly, held her breath, her stomach clenching into knots, anticipating what she knew was going to come, what she was powerless to stop.

“Crucio,” James’ husky voice growled, and Ginny felt a wave of nausea, and had to squeeze her eyes shut as she heard the heard the rush of power leave his wand, and the strangled groan that escalated into a scream as it struck its victim. After a few seconds, silence fell over the room again, except for the sound of Malfoy gasping in pain.

“Again,” Claire demanded, her grip on Ginny growing stronger as she reveled in witnessing her captor’s pain. The second time, the screaming was more prolonged, and Ginny couldn’t stand not seeing what was happening. As she opened her eyes, she saw Draco Malfoy struggling to his feet. His eyes were bright, there was a thick sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and a tiny trickle of blood coming from his nose, and from the slow and deliberate way he was moving, he was in a great deal of pain. Ginny had never seen him like that – had never thought it was possible to see him like that. He made it to his feet, and stood up straight, shrugging off the hands of the thugs guarding him as he looked at Claire defiantly, daring her to order another round.

Claire looked down at Ginny, took in her expression of horror and the tears that had started to run down her face, and turned back to James.

“Again. And again. And again. Don’t stop, James,” Claire ordered shrilly, releasing her grip on Ginny, and walking over to where James stood. James smiled, nodding maliciously before pointing his wand at his victim again, casting the Unforgivable Curse yet again. As she watched the curse strike him dead in the chest and as he fell to the ground, writhing in pain, emitting strangled screams, Ginny found her voice.

“What aren’t you fighting back?” she cried out. “You’re Draco bloody Malfoy – you don’t let anyone push you around! Why aren’t you doing anything to stop this?”

He was struggling to stand up again, and as he lifted his head, he smiled at her. Before he could stand, James hit him again, causing him to collapse to the floor with another shriek of agony.

“Stop this! Claire, this isn’t going to fix your brother! You have nothing to gain from this,” Ginny yelled desperately, overwhelmed by how helpless she was. She struggled against the magical bonds around her wrists, crying out as they began to burn against her skin. “Revenge won’t get you what you want!”

“I just want him to feel the same way my brother did,” Claire said, her voice detached and distant. She was entranced by the sight before her, as James hit Malfoy with another curse. Mark and Sean had moved away from their perimeter around Malfoy, and Ginny could see them exchange dubious glances, both looking rather green from what they were witnessing. They obviously had underestimated their ability to witness this kind of torture. “Again, James.”

But James was looking rather worse for wear. He was panting, and was doubled over, obviously rather exhausted from the toll the curse was taking on him. He didn’t have the stamina to keep it up.

“I need a minute,” he gasped. Malfoy, meanwhile, had managed to push himself up to his knees. Looking at him, sitting on his knees on the floor of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, blood now gushing from his nose as he gasped in pain, Ginny felt as if she’d been physically struck. “It wasn’t supposed to take this many times to break him.”

“DO IT AGAIN!” Claire shrieked, and James weakly complied, and down Malfoy went again. Claire watched, her eyes lit with wonder, as he writhed on the floor. But the curse was short-lived, and all too soon, he was pushing himself back up. She let out a shriek of outrage, and stomped forward towards him.

“Have you not had enough of this yet, Malfoy? Just beg for mercy, beg me to let you go, to make it stop, just like David did, and it can all stop. You just have to beg,” she spat at him. He rolled his eyes up to look at her with contempt, before fixing his eyes back on Ginny, and making another move to stand up.

“Just do it, Malfoy. Please, I can’t watch this anymore,” Ginny cried, her voice breaking. She was openly sobbing now. Malfoy stared at her with that same probing look that always made her feel so vulnerable and naked, as if he could see every facet of her being, and shocked the hell at her as he scowled at her.

“I thought I told you to close your eyes. Stubborn little weasel, when will you ever do as you’re told?” he asked fondly. Claire screamed in outraged.

“I can’t stand you two anymore!” she cried out, looking around her desperately. Ginny saw her pick up one of the heavy wooden desk chairs, and as she stomped her way back over to Malfoy, raising it over her head, Ginny’s body moved of its own volition. She jumped to her feet, and dove forward, knocking Malfoy over as she landed on top of him just as Claire swung the chair at them.

A mighty crash and the sound of splintering wood filled her ears, and she screamed in pain as it struck her ribcage. The wind knocked out of her, she struggled to suck enough air into her lungs despite the sharp pain washing over her body. Her face was pressed against Malfoy’s chest, and he struggled to lift himself up but her body weight was pinning him down. She cried out again as he moved too swiftly, aggravating her injuries.

Claire was standing over them, a splintered piece of wood still clutched in her hand. She looked half-crazed, her eyes wide and unblinking, even as tears streamed down her face. As Malfoy managed to maneuver himself into a sitting position, with Ginny cradled in his lap as he hunched over her protectively, he glared up at Claire, a furious look in his eyes.

“Why?” Claire whispered in shock, addressing Ginny. “After everything… why would you do that? For him?”

“Claire! There’s a light out there, someone’s coming towards the school!” Mark called out from where he was standing at the window.

Claire stood still, as if she hadn’t heard them. She was staring at the sight of Ginny and Malfoy, both injured and exhausted yet more than willing to stand their ground, and was frozen as if she was in a trance. Ginny finally made a move, wriggling her way out of the shelter that Malfoy had formed with his body, in an apparent attempt to shield her from further attacks. As she sat up, she grew dizzy, and had to lean back against Malfoy’s chest, which was rather awkward, considering her hands were still bound behind her back. She glared up at Claire.

“You’d never understand. I don’t even understand most of the time,” Ginny muttered, and Claire, looking deeply disturbed, just shook her head uncomprehendingly. She dropped the broken chair leg, letting it clatter to the ground, breaking the loaded silence that had fallen over the room as she stared at them, uncomprehendingly. Slowly, looking as batty as Hogwart’s Headmaster, she walked away, muttering to herself. Mark and Sean dashed forward, taking her arms and steering their unseeing ringleader towards the door, discussing ways out of the castle that would ensure they wouldn’t get caught. James followed behind them slowly, still wheezing from the exertion his repeated attempts to curse Malfoy.

As soon as they’d gotten far enough away, Ginny felt the binding spell on her hands dissipate, and she collapsed backwards in relief, covering her face with her hands. She expected to hit the floor, but a pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her up, pulling her close. Shifting his body, and showing remarkable strength for someone who’d just had the snot cursed out of him, he pulled her into his lap so he could see her.

“Are you hurt? Stupid girl, did you break anything?” he asked gruffly, masking his concern for her as his hands ran carefully along her sides, checking to see if anything had been broken. “You’re lucky I don’t break your neck for that stupid stunt.”

“You’re welcome,” she said blithely. Suddenly, the whole situation struck her as incredibly hilarious, and she started to laugh. Throwing her head back and just laughing with all the energy she had left, she let go of the death grip she’d had on Malfoy’s shoulders (that she wasn’t even aware she’d had), and tumbled backwards. As she hit the floor, she just giggled uncontrollably, ignoring the stabbing pain in her side and the throbbing of her hands. Covering her mouth, attempting to stem her laughter, she realized that her hands were badly shaking.

With a prolonged grown, Malfoy slowly lowered himself to the ground, propping himself up on one elbow as he leaned over Ginny, his eyes scanning over her as if trying to determine if she were injured. He reached down with his other hand, and brushed a stray hair out of her face, stroking her cheek gently as he did. He frowned as he trained his eyes on her hands, still covering her mouth as she tried to stifle the laughter that was swiftly becoming hysterical. Carefully, even as she flinched and tried to pull it away from him, he took her right hand, lifting it up to inspect the damage she’d done to herself while locked in the wardrobe.

“If they’ve been courteous enough to leave my wand lying around here somewhere, I can fix that up for you. If not, you’ll just have to hang on a bit longer,” he said, as he gingerly stroked her fingers with his thumb.

“I’ll be fine,” she choked out, between giggles.

He leaned closer, pressing his palm against hers, fanning her fingers out as if he were comparing them. He smiled down at her with half-lidded eyes, the first indication of just how exhausted he truly was and how much of a toll the Cruciatus Curse had taken on him.

“You have such small hands,” he murmured with wonderment.

Suddenly, she was crying uncontrollably, unable to stem the flood of tears or the sobs wracking her body. Malfoy looked down at her as if she was barking mad, and seemed unsure what he’d done to cause such a reaction. She tried, feebly, to push him away as she struggled to sit up.

“Why? Why did you come? You knew it was a trap, you knew that they wanted to hurt you. Why did you come, you incredible idiot?” she cried out, a burst of anger overwhelming her just as suddenly as her tears had. Malfoy sat up so that that were on an even level, and he reached forward, and roughly pulled her against him. Once again, her body reacted unconsciously and she buried her face in the crook between his neck and shoulder, relaxing against his body as his arms wrapped around her, pressing her tightly against his body. As she cried, he stroked her hair soothingly while the other arm remained firmly wrapped around her waist.

“If you have to ask me, then I’m not going to tell you,” he murmured softly into her hair. The warmth of his breath against her neck and the wonderful safety she felt as he held her had lulled her enough to stop her tears, and it took a few moments for his words to register. As soon as they did, however, she pulled away, her eyes blazing furiously.

“What do you mean by that?” she demanded. Malfoy laughed, and before she could open her mouth again, he leaned in and kissed her tentatively. Her eyes instantly slid shut as she remember the wondrous thrill of the second time he’d kissed her, and the flurry of pleasure that stirred in her stomach was a welcome relief from her various aches and pains that that night had brought. Over far too soon, he pulled away slowly and Ginny was about to protest, but figuring that the he had, after all, come to her rescue, decided not to chastise him. Placing a hand against her cheek and brushing his fingers gently over the bruise she’d received from the snowball the day before, he bit his lip as if he was trying to decide what he wanted to say.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. About the pictures,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. Feeling as if she were about to start crying again, she just leaned forward until she was resting her head against his shoulder, reveling in the knowledge that she literally had someone to lean on. “Especially as it turns out that it was my fault, anyway.”

“Thank you for coming, even if you knew it was a trap,” she murmured. Her body felt limp and she realized just how hard it was getting to keep her eyes open.

“Have you figured it out yet, little weasel? Why I came?” he whispered, as he wrapped his arms around her again, sighing contentedly as she fit against his body. He was stroking her hair again, and Ginny could care less what he had to say, she was too comfortable and sleepy.

“Because they tried to take what was yours?” she asked, only half-serious. She could feel Malfoy smiling against her neck.

“Because I’m in love with you, silly girl,” he said off-handedly. Ginny chuckled softly, not quite registering the meaning of what he’d said. Malfoy moved to disentangle their bodies, gingerly pushing himself to his feet. She looked up at him, disappointed to lose his body’s warmth. It was then that the fact that he still had quite a bit of blood on his face registered in her mind, and she remembered everything he had gone through, how he’d been repeatedly tortured with an Unforgivable Curse. She started to shiver.

“What did you just say?” she chattered. Malfoy just rolled his eyes in exasperation and reached down, and with a loud groan, he helped Ginny to her feet.

“I’m an unfortunate fool who has fallen in love with someone who is quite possibly the most stubborn and difficult girl in the wizarding world,” he said, meeting her gaze. Setting an arm around her waist to help her walk as she made a move to do the same for him, he paused. “That stubborn, difficult girl would be you, weasel. Appreciate this moment, for there are thousands of witches who would kill to be in your shoes right now.”

“Wanker,” Ginny muttered. Too much had happened in such a short span – she was just emotionally incapable of processing this newest development. “If you are quite finished with the self-aggrandizing, I would really not like to have to spend any more time in this blasted room than necessary.”

“Wait, just one more thing,” he said. He spotted his wand on the ground near the door, and releasing his hold on Ginny, he walked forward, picking it up. He turned back towards Ginny, a mischievous smile on his face, before he pointed it at the wall on the far end of the classroom. Ginny watched him through her haze of exhaustion, slightly confused, until he muttered a spell, and a blast of energy shot from his wand. A second later, the wardrobe where she’d been trapped erupted into a million wooden shards, effectively destroying the wooden prison that had been her torture for hours that night. “Now we can go home.”


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Author’s Notes:

1) Claire’s backstory, about her brother, comes from both the manga and the live-action drama, which handles that whole situation very differently. In the manga, the character was seeking revenge for a friend who’d been attacked by the “Draco” character. In the live-action, it was a scorned girl who’d been teased by him and his friends, and THAT character fused the original one from the manga with another character. If that’s not confusing, the best way to describe what I’ve done here is to say that I combined both of them into MY character, making Claire the product of about 4 separate characters.

2) The major plot points of this chapter – Claire convincing Draco to help her find out the truth, Crabbe and Goyle helping Ginny out, Claire kidnapping Ginny and holding her hostage until Draco comes alone, are all drawn from the HYD plot. Also, the ultimatum that he not defend himself or else Ginny would suffer, him telling her to close her eyes, and the way she threw himself in front of him when Claire went for the chair are from HYD as well.

3) While it sounds like a great deal of this chapter comes from HYD, I have taken some major liberties with that plot, sketching out my own character tweaks. While Claire’s backstory is from the manga and the dorama, everything to do with her brother and Malfoy’s history with him is a product of my own twisted mind. Everything other than what I’ve mentioned is safe to assume came from me.

4) Thanks for being patient with me. I know I don't update as frequently as other authors, but I try to make up for it by writing longer chapters. The next update may be a while in coming, as I've signed up for the DG Fic-exchange, so that will take up my time devoted to fic-writing for awhile, but I hope it won't be as long for the next update. And thanks to those who review, I read every single one (sometimes more than once) and they mean a great deal to me. See you next chapter!

Chapter 13: The Return of the Status Quo

Ginny shifted in her sleep, rolling to her side and sliding her arm under the pillow to support her head. The ache in her stiff hands caused by that movement woke her suddenly, and she groaned. Her head was pounding and her eyes burned with the need for more sleep. She snuggled down under the blankets, covering her head to block out the few beams of sunlight that had crept in beyond the curtains’ reach. She heard a groan beside her, and felt the bed shift slightly as its other occupant moved. Her eyes snapped open and it was then, upon seeing her hand carefully wrapped in white gauze resting on her pillow, that she remembered what had happened and where she was.

Her eyes met a pair of half-closed eyes, staring at her sleepily, and she let out a yelp of shock. She jumped up in a panic, scrambling away from him, trying to remember exactly how she had ended up in the same bed with Draco Malfoy. Sitting on her knees in the corner furthest away from him, she watched as he scowled and moved very slowly, turning to lay on his side, propping his head on his elbow, and stared at her with one eyebrow raised, perplexed. As she scrambled away, retreating to the furthest corner of the large bed, she ran over their exhausted trip back to his house in her mind, trying to recall how they’d ended up there.

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The previous night…

At the fork in the road, where, under normal circumstances, they would have parted ways - she to her flat around the corner, and he down the street, and over ten blocks, to the poshest neighborhood in the city - he'd simply snorted at her repeated efforts to extricate herself from his protective grip, and gently tugged at her arm, guiding her down the road with him. Tired and emotional, her stubborn streak had her planting her feet in the ground and refused to let her budge.

"I really just want to go home," she protested, unable to keep a tinge of whining out of her voice as she spoke. He stared at her, a hard stare that she knew indicated that his stubborn streak, as well, wouldn't let him accept anything other than what he had single-handedly decided needed to happen. But she was exhausted, her hands, raw and bleeding from her futile attack on the wardrobe's walls, were burning with pain and she needed to be somewhere safe and familiar. The closest thing she had to that in the city was her flat.

"What kind of man would I be if I let you go stay alone tonight? You don't know that it's safe to go home, not when that girl is still out there," he scoffed, seemingly insulted by her wild assumption that she was capable of taking care of herself and didn't need him. She suppressed a shiver as she remembered, with sick twist of dread, the horror of being trapped in the wardrobe, and she felt her stubborness begrudgingly unplanting her feet. But it wasn't quite satisfied, and so she jerked her arm out of his grip.

"No, really, I'll be fine. Besides, where else would I go?" she shot back, knowing full well that it would take very little convincing to head to Hermione's instead. She was always a reassuring presence, and her neat, tidy flat (well, tidy if one didn't mind tripping overthe few dozen piles of books she usually had accumulating in various spots) was always a comforting refuge when she needed to get away from her own place.

"You are coming with me," he said with a carefree shrug, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, which also insinuated that she was a bit dimwitted for not automatically knowing that.

"Of course I'm not, don't be daft!" she cried. Malfoy looked at her for a second, with his head cocked to the side, as if contemplating a great and mysterious puzzle, before he reached out and scooped her up, hooking one arm underneath her knees so that he was carrying her, bride-style. She shrieked, demanding to be put down, wriggling half-heartedly.

"Oh, just be good and quiet down. Even if we argue about it for hours, this is still going to happen my way, you might as well just accept that fact and make our lives much easier," he said, exasperated. His tone was rather light, but in the dim light from the street lamps, she could see remnant streaks of blood on his face and that, more than his infuriating insistence that his will would ultimately win out, was what had halted her protests. She felt him tighten his grip around her, and she had to wonder how he could possibly have enough energy to be carrying her, after everything that he'd been through.

"Fine, I'll go with you, but put me down, I am perfectly capable of walking," she mumbled begrudgingly.

"Don't be silly. I’ve managed to catch myself a little weasel – such a tricky slippery little thing, why would I ever let it go after all that trouble?" he asked lightly, with an arched eyebrow and knowing smile. She sighed, a long-suffering sigh of disgust.

"You haven’t caught me," she mumbled, looking away, but out of the corner of her eye, she seen a smirk on his face that indicated that no matter how much she protested, he just wasn't going to hear it.

When they had arrived at his home, even though her eyes were burning with the desperate need for sleep, they nearly bugged out of her head as she took in the view of her surroundings. She’d passed the house only a few times as it was nestled in the affluent neighborhood, where she rarely had cause to go, and nothing from its impressive exterior indicated just how spectacular it was on the inside. Cho Chang’s house resembled a barn in comparison to the opulent display of wealth surrounding her. Everything was marble and silver and grand as grand could be.

“You know Malfoy, there is a fine line between elegant and tasteless, and your décor is hovering rather dangerously over it,” she said. He remained silent, but did manage to glare at her out of the corner of his eye as he marched up the grand staircase in the center of the hall, brushing past the nervous house elves desperately seeking to help him.

He deposited her in an empty bedroom, ordering her to stay put, as he marched out, a man on a mission. She gazed around her, but there was only one candle burning and she couldn’t make out much of her surroundings. He came back, carrying a small medical kit and sat down beside her, demanding that she hand over her hands to his care.

“I’ll be fine, really,” she protested, not keen on the idea of anyone touching them. They were throbbing and every movement just made it worse. He stared at her levelly, before reaching out, ignoring her attempts to snatch her hands away from his touch, and pulling her right hand towards him.

“I’d take care of it magically, but after everything tonight, I might accidently give you talons instead of fingers,” he said with a weak smirk. She could see the strain in his eyes, and had figured that the exhaustion had made him vulnerable, because she could have sworn there was a softness around his eyes as they met her eyes.

“Accidentally? Likely story,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. The intensity was starting to get to her, making her vulnerable to the way he was gazing at her, the way he was carefully treating her hands with antiseptic – almost as if he were completely conscious of how much it was stinging, and how surprisingly comforting she was finding his presence was quite possibly the most disturbing aspect of the night. She felt very safe with him, despite the fact that, for all intents and purposes, she still supposedly considered him a mortal enemy.

He’d wrapped her hands carefully in gauze, his finger gently brushing the underside of her wrist as he did so, setting her heart racing.

“This will have to do until morning,” he said. She nodded, unsure if she could trust her voice at this point. Her eyelids were getting really heavy, and she’d found herself laying back on the bed, wanting nothing more than to close her eyes for a very long time, feeling safe and secure in the warm haziness that his fingers on her wrist was creating.

“You must be exhausted, Malfoy,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Go to bed.”

Malfoy bent over, leaning down on one elbow to stare at her with that knowing half-grin that often made her want to smash his arrogant little face, but tonight, she found it more endearing that she’d ever could have imagined possible. It still, however, aggravated her, but in a much more pleasant fashion, especially as he carefully took her hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice soft. “Not this time.”

“Oh,” she said, and she had to turn her head away to keep him from seeing the tears that had suddenly welled up. “I guess I can accept that, if you’re going to be so pigheaded and stubborn about it.”

“I am, weasel.”

“Good,” she whispered. They had both fallen silent after that, and it wasn’t long before their mutual exhaustion finally caught up with them, and they’d drifted in a deep sleep.

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Ginny took a moment to wonder why everything seemed so much harsher in the morning. It was hard to understand how, just a few hours ago, she’d felt relieved at his insistence that he stay with her, when now, her heart was jumping into her throat and her face was burning from the embarrassment of the whole thing. Ginny Weasley did not submit to another’s will just because she was tired and emotional; that just wasn’t who she is and now, in the stark light of day, she was more than a little upset with herself.

Especially as he was now sitting up and looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. His hair was flattened rather amusingly on one side, causing a strange peak at the top of his head, and he moved stiffly as he approached her, climbing over the pile of bedding.

“What are you acting so skittish for?" he grumbled, seemingly put out by her surprise to find that they were in the same bed together. It was understandable, given that they had been so exhausted the night before, that he would have fallen asleep there, but there was that secret part of her that ached with loneliness - the loneliness of being without her large family, of having few true friends to rely on, on being completely isolated from much of the society she lived in - that was incredibly soothed by his presence, and that was more terrifying than anything they’d been through the previous night.

"I'm not acting skittish," she retorted, sounding harsher than she had intended.

"You're acting as if you're expecting a hoard of Death Eaters to burst into the room and Avada you just because you slept in the same bed as your boyfriend," he scowled.

"You're NOT my boyfriend," she protested, before she was able to stop herself or hesitate for a moment to consider his feelings. Malfoy looked at her, his face a frozen mask of neutrality that she wasn't able to read. He stared at her like that for a moment, but it was a moment that felt like an eternity, as she reeled from the horrible feeling of guilt - how could she have reacted so rudely, as if the mere suggestion that he was her boyfriend were the worst thing possible, when he had quite literally saved her life the night before? His cold, unreadable eyes locked with hers, and she felt her heart lurch from the shame. Until he smiled; that arrogant smirk she'd come to loath so much.

"Well, Weasley, I was only thinking of you and your reputation. Wouldn't want it to get out that you'd slept with me twice when you're not even my girlfriend," he said, with that sly look that made her want to strangle him. "Of course, it would hardly surprise anyone, considering your background."

"It's not the same thing!" she protested, sitting up on her knees, her arms crossed across her chest as she faced off with him.

"Then say you're my girlfriend, and we can avoid any future misunderstandings that others may interpret," he said, slinking closer to her.

"You can't bribe me into going out with you, Malfoy!" she cried, furious. "Besides, do you really think that's a good idea? If my family found out, they'd probably think that you'd cursed me into agreeing and my brothers would mount some ill-advised rescue mission to free me from your destructive influence, and if YOUR family found out, they'd probably have every witch and wizard with red hair wiped off the face of the Earth to circumvent the further pollution of their bloodline by associating with such a blatant blood-traitor."

During her protestations, he'd moved in even closer to her, kneeling beside her in the tangle of bedclothes. He was practically looming over her, even from a kneeling position, and despite the furor of her speech, she was immediately intimidated. He looked down at her, his face a breadth away from hers, and her body reacted the way it had grown accustomed to when it came into such close proximity with Malfoy - it stopped listening to her, ignored her better judgment to move away, and responded instantly as he titled her chin up with one finger, and moved in to kiss her. Her body further betrayed her, as her arms slowly, tentatively, slid up Malfoy’s arms, until she was pulling herself closer to him, pressing her body right up against his as his lips finally brushed against hers, washing away the small thread of control she had away in the thrill of sensations he was able to conjure.

She’d been about to release a groan of pleasure which would have mortified and damaged her pride beyond all repair when she finally managed to gain control of her faculties and push him away, all while struggling to catch her breath.

“I’ll consider it,” she said, glaring at him angrily as he grinned at her, a smug and knowing grin.

“I meant what I said last night, Weasley. It wasn’t just some impulsive comment that I said, caught up in the moment. I meant it when I said I love you,” he said, his voice low. Despite the honesty in his words, Ginny felt a wave of unease as she searched his veiled eyes, unable to read his expression as he stared at her. She’d almost forgotten that whispered confession in the haze of exhaustion and pain that clouded that night, but now that he’d brought it up, she knew that it was going to be very difficult to think of anything else.

“You’re bound and determined to make both our lives as difficult as possible, aren’t you?” she sighed heavily, needing desperately to break the tension and expectation in the air. She wasn’t quite sure what he wanted her to say in response, but whatever it was, the words just would not come to her and she was grappling for something. He stared at her, that searching look which set her pulse racing, and she had to look away, inexplicably ashamed of herself.

“You’ve gone all skittish again, weasel. Now, I know that such a confession from me could make any girl lose all her senses, but you seemed slightly more sensible than others. Don’t worry, I’m a pretty generous bloke, so you can take some time to figure out how you’d like to respond to that,” he said, suddenly all arrogance and charm, once again. He took her hand with a sly grin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

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“Seriously, Malfoy, if you don’t stop following me, I’m going to curse you. And I warn you, if you are unfortunate enough to experience my Bat Bogey Hex, you will be walking with a rather strange limp for at least a week,” Ginny threatened, finally losing her patience with him as he’d been following her since she’d left his house, eager to seek refuge from the conflicting emotions he was causing and sort out her thoughts on everything that had transpired in the past 36 hours. She’d stopped abruptly, whipping around to face him, nearly causing him to run her over. He caught himself, then took a step back, gazing at her as if he were a scientist observing some unusual phenomenon.

“You could try; but I do think my reflexes are faster than yours, and it may, in fact, be you who would be walking around with a strange gait for a few weeks,” he said with an arrogant smirk, confident in his dueling abilities. Ginny released a hissing sigh of frustration and glared at him.

“Look, all I want to do right now is go up to my flat, change into my own clothing and start my homework, which is now going to take me all night because you’ve kept me at your house all afternoon when I should have been here, working on it,” she said, gesturing to the oversized white shirt and black pants she’d had to borrow from him after the house elves had confiscated her own, promising to clean and repair the damage that had happened the night before. Malfoy was still smirking at her, undoubtedly because of the way she knew she had blushed as she’d crankily lashed out at him.

“Prove you can stay out of trouble for more than a few hours at a time, and I’ll be glad to leave you alone,” he said with a casual shrug.“I wouldn’t have tripped over the curb if you hadn’t been purposely distracting me!” she exclaimed furiously, her face burning as she recalled the earlier incident when she had, distracted by the fact that he was oh-so-calmly following her home despite her dramatic exit from his house and threats of mortal wounding should he follow her, tripped over the curb while crossing the street. She’d tumbled into a rather wealthy man who she often served at the Three Broomsticks, knocking him backwards into the entourage of equally wealthy yet not quite as influential men who were walking with him, sending the entire group of them tumbling into the mud. They’d been incredibly upset with her, and as she had attempted to apologize while using several vaguely-remembered cleaning spells her mother tossed around the house almost subconsciously, she’d accidentally set the robes of the Minister of Magical Transportation on fire.

Malfoy, of course, had watched in the background as she’d fumbled her way through trying to fix the messy situation, and only when Antonin Dolohov, the Minister, had pulled out his wand, his face positively purple with rage, and pointed it at her did he jump in and smugly extricate the embarrassed girl from the potentially volatile situation. Malfoy, it seemed, was quite familiar with Dolohov and his notorious temper, but he was also knew that he was petrified of Lucius Malfoy and turned into a stuttering fool whenever a member of the Malfoy family was around. He’d graciously accepted Ginny’s apology and moved on, as Malfoy had dragged Ginny away as if she were a mischievous two year-old.

Furious by his condescending attitude, Ginny had, naturally, stomped on his toe and stormed off, hoping that he would leave her alone and that she could relish the return of a state she was most familiar with – being completely furious with Draco Malfoy and longing to viciously curse him. It was comfortable, familiar and definitely a lot safer than the flurry of unsettling butterflies that stirred whenever he smiled at her, or leaned in to kiss her, as he was growing more and more apt to do.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter if I can’t stay out of trouble for more than a few hours. The fact is that you have absolutely no business trying to keep me out of it, or looking over my shoulder to ensure that I do,” she shouted, only because he was looking at her again, with that half smile and look in his eyes that communicated just how entertaining he found it when she got flustered and reacted with her temper.

“Of course I do, Weasley,” he said, taking a step towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders and bending down so that he could meet her at eye-level. “I – “

“If you dare even whisper that ‘I look after my own’ nonsense to me ever again, I’m going to go find Claire myself and bring her back here to finish what she started,” Ginny warned, remembering the entire fiasco that had resulted from his possessiveness.

“You liked it the first time I said it,” he mumbled sulkily, looking away. After a moment, as she stood with her hands on her hips, ready to continue lecturing him and he stood above her, looking in the other direction, patently ignoring her indignation, he finally looked back at her. “I was going to say that I just like making sure those I care about, especially pretty little Weasley girls who have unfortunate luck and a keen talent for unwittingly getting themselves into rather serious amounts of trouble, are alright.”

“What a selective memory you do have, Draco Malfoy. Ninety percent of the time, you’re the reason I find myself in trouble in the first place!” she cried in exasperation. He was smiling at her again, and she turned away, fully aware that there was just no reasoning with him, starting to walk up the steps to the door. Another thought struck her, and she paused, thinking over it a moment before turning back to him. He was still standing there, in the fresh snow and pale afternoon sunlight, and she had to shrug off the way it tugged at her. “I need to say something that you’re not going to like, Malfoy.”

“And what is that, Weasley?” he asked, leaning against the wall in that casually sexy way that she made herself furiously ignore as sexy.

“I hate you!” she cried out suddenly, and catching herself after realizing the words that had come out of her mouth and the way his eyebrows had shot up, she corrected herself. “I mean to say, I used to. Hate you, I mean.”

“Is that the part that I’m not going to like, or is there more coming?” he asked, looking at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“What I am trying to say is that, for the past six years, ever since beginning here at Hogwarts, you have pretty much represented everything that I hate, and as a result, I’ve always considered you an enemy. I haven’t always been very vocal about it, because I didn’t see the need for you to ever to even know my name, but as I’ve known yours for five years and have hated you and everything you stand for, the very fact that you are standing at my door after following me home because you claim to care about me and wanted to make sure I got home alright is incredibly hard for me to accept,” she said quickly. He crossed his arms as he stood across from her, and Ginny felt a twinge of guilt as she was struck with the realization that he was a little hurt by her words.

“Not exactly the type of thing a guy wants to hear from the girl he has recently professed his love to and plans to convince to become his girlfriend,” Malfoy said with a shrug. Ginny flinched, unsure how to continue.

“What I am trying to say is that it’s a sudden change. Because I don’t anymore,” she said, forcing herself to look at him, although the mere idea that she was going to say what she was planning on saying made her want to turn and run away rather than face how vulnerable it was going to make her. “Hate you, I mean. And I can even – sometimes! Only sometimes! – I can even see what your friends might like about you.”

“I knew you were warming up to me, Weasley.”

“Having said that, I would really like you to put this whole ‘girlfriend’ notion out of your head. Regardless of how I feel, regardless of who it is, I’m only sixteen years old. I have way more schoolwork than I have time for that I have to do on a regular basis because my scholarship is based on my academic performance, which is complicated by the fact that I work as many hours as possible at the restaurant in order to help pay for the right to attend a school that gives me more homework than I have time for. I have goals, you know, and I need Hogwarts to get me there. I have plans, important plans that I’m not going to jeopardize for anything, like graduating and getting a job and – “

“Overthrowing the government,” Malfoy cut in with a smirk, interrupting her tirade.

“Yes, exactly!” she exclaimed, before realizing what she had just agreed to and that this was the son of one of the most powerful men in the Ministry. “Wait, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Get to the point, Weasley, you’re rambling and wasting precious minutes of my time,” he said, genially enough. She took a deep breath and forced herself to continue, even though her heart was now uncomfortably beating at a rapid pace in her chest and she could feel her face burning.

“What I am trying to say is that… Thank you for saying what you said last night, but please understand why I can’t… go down that path with you. I need to keep my focus on my goals, and you… you just spin everything around so that I don’t know which direction is which!” she said, grappling for the right words.

“So, that’s it then? That’s your answer?” he demanded, suddenly angry.

“But I am willing to consider the possibility of friendship,” she said, barely able to look at him, practically holding her breath. She silently pleaded with him to take what she was offering and understand just how hard it was for her to offer it. “I used to consider you an enemy and I don’t anymore and that’s going to take some time to accept, considering I never believed it could ever be possible. But I am willing to try being friends… that is, if… well, if you’d like.”

Malfoy stared at her, leaving her breathless with panic and anticipation, his penetrating eyes gazing at her face as if he were trying to find something. She bit her lip, not entirely sure why she was so nervous – if he said no, then she could just cut him out of her life and go back to her blissful state of invisibility, no longer registering on his radar. But now that she had begun to see more of who he really was, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to go back to that.

“I supposed I can accept that. For now,” he said, stepping towards her. His eyes had a mischievous glint in them, as he leaned in towards her, his mouth hovering near her ear as he lowered his voice to whisper his next words. “But I’m not sure how long you’ll be willing to resist the myriad of my charms.”

“Don’t be so full of yourself, Malfoy. You’re not as charming as you think you are,” she scoffed, feeling indescribably relieved and as if the weight of the world has just been lifted off her shoulders.

“Yes I am,” he said, moving swiftly to kiss her lips – a quick, light peck. She put a hand – still heavily wrapped in bandages – against his chest, and pushed him back. “And that’s what scares the hell out of you.”

“We’re friends, now, Malfoy. Friends can’t do that,” she declared. He narrowed his eyes, as if contemplating that statement.

“Then I guess our friendship is doomed to fail, weasel,” he said airily, before smiling at her slyly, and turning to walk away, leaving her longing to curse him for his frustrating talent for always scoring with the last word.

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It was fairly late when Draco Malfoy returned home that Sunday night. After he’d made certain the damnably stubborn Ginny Weasley was safely deposited at her flat (couldn’t she understand that he didn’t like the idea of her traipsing around the city alone when that unstable girl who tried to kill her the night before was still roaming around freely?), he’d had to visit Crabbe and Goyle, two people who were terribly unhappy with him. They were angry because he’d cursed them, because he hadn’t asked for their help and because he’d gone off on his own. After a few minutes of cold silence, however, the trio had reconciled their differences and everything was as it should be.

So, feeling rather content that the afternoon had been rather productive, he wasn’t entirely prepared for the sight that greeted him when he arrived back at the Manor. He’d waved off the house elves offering him dinner and walked straight towards the library, eager for the fire he knew would be burning brightly. It had been a fairly cold day; Halloween was only a few days away, and winter was starting to make its impending presence known.

As he walked into the room, he was completely surprised to see a tall woman with long blond hair standing with her back to him, staring out at the window that looked out over the city. The elegant cut of her robes and the signature silvery-blond hair gave her identity away, even though it had been a very long time since he’d last seen her.

Narcissa Malfoy didn’t turn around to face her only son, and continued to stare out the window in silence. Draco stared at her back for a moment, waiting to see if she would react at all to his presence, but when it appeared that she wasn’t going to acknowledge him, he walked towards the desk and sat down, rustling through the discarded sheets of parchment, looking for his Potions textbook. He found it, and flipped through a few pages until he found the proper page and began reading.

“What have we told you about wasting your time studying Potions?” her cool voice spoke, filling the quiet room. Draco ignored her, preferring to stay absorbed in the page he was reading. “I keep receiving these notes from your teachers, telling us how you have neglected other, more useful subjects while excelling in your Potions classes. There is no power or influenced to be gained through being a master of Potions.”

“Not quite the greeting one would expect for the son you haven’t seen nor spoken to in person in almost 14 months,” Draco muttered, refusing to look up from his textbook. “I’m surprised you even noticed you still had a son.”

“I noticed,” Narcissa said, her tone viciously cold while still maintaining the quiet, composed tone that terrified so many of her opponents, “because my son needed to be reminded of who he is and what is expected of him.”

“And who is that?” he snapped, tossing his book aside and standing up. His mother turned in surprised at her son’s tone, and stared at him in silence, her arms crossed at her chest and her cold grey eyes glinting harshly in the light of the fireplace.

“Someone who has a duty and a responsibility to maintain the reputation of his family name at all times,” she said, her words measured and spoken slowly.

“Very well. You’ve reminded me. I’ll see you in another 14 months,” he said, unable to disguise the tinge of disgust in his voice. He started to stalk out of the room, but Narcissa called him back with a simple warning.

“Draco. Do not get caught in public again with the girl in that photograph. You’re well aware of the consequences associated with consorting with undesirable members of our society,” she said. “If you aren’t, perhaps you should consult Nymphadora. She knows from personal experience.”

Draco met his mother’s eyes for a measured moment and left the room without another word. There wasn’t anything else left to be said them.

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Monday morning came far too quickly for Ginny. She’d spent the remainder of her weekend filling Hermione in on everything that had happened, responding to the growing pile of letters from her mum who needed reassurance after having heard barely anything from her only daughter since she’d sent Sirius Black to talk to her about the tabloid photographs, and catching up on her homework, all of which was complicated by the fact that her hands were still rather tightly wrapped in thick bandages and throbbed, a constant reminder of just how eventful that weekend had been, and just how much she was lying to her mum when she told her that everything was perfectly fine. However, despite how tired she felt, she was also rather satisfied. It felt as if a heavy weight was finally gone from her shoulders – her tenuous position at Hogwarts, ever since she’d defended Claire and brought on the wrath of Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin crowd, finally seemed to have regained some stability, especially now that she and Draco Malfoy had agreed to be friends.

At least, she felt that way until she entered the Great Hall and realized with a start that apparently her newly formed friendship with Malfoy hadn’t been advertised to the rest of the student body. Nor had the fact that her alleged ‘betrayal’ of Draco Malfoy wasn’t all that it had been made out to be. After the bustle of the crowded halls had come to an abrupt halt as she’d started to make her way to her first class of the day, she realized this fact as she was greeted with a couple hundred pairs of hostile eyes glaring at her in a way that would have been positively terrifying if it hadn’t been for the fact that Crabbe and Goyle soon pushed their way through the crowd to say good morning to her.

After the confusion as to why Malfoy’s best friends were speaking to the girl who had so grievously wronged him had passed, and everyone just accepted the fact that Ginny Weasley was no longer an open target, the crowd begrudgingly moved on, leaving Ginny trying to extricate herself from their company, lest she be late for Snape’s class again. Considering that he’d probably come in that morning to see the shocking state of his Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, she was not very keen on provoking his short temper even further by her chronic tardiness.

“Guys, I really need to run. We’ll chat later,” she said distractedly as she checked her battered pocketwatch.

“Weasley, just make sure you talk to us before you see Malfoy. He’s a bit… punchy this morning, which means he’s inevitably going to act like a giant git and knowing you…” Crabbed trailed off, glancing at Goyle for some assistance.

“And knowing you, you’ll call him on his nonsense and he’ll irrationally act like an even bigger git that he was originally and you two will start hollering at each other and it’ll be the Blue Holwer all over again. And blue just isn’t your colour,” Goyle said. Ginny stared at them for a minute, processing what they had said, before just shaking her head and starting to walk away.

“I’m late for class and Malfoy is characteristically a big git most of the time, this shouldn’t be any different,” she called over her shoulder. “But thanks for trying to warn me. Don’t know if you heard, but we’re friends now so you really needn’t have worried.”

“That’s why we’re warning you. He tends to take things out on his friends worse than his enemies or people he doesn’t like,” Crabbe said warningly, but Ginny was too preoccupied by the sight of a rather furious-looking Professor Snape standing at the entrance of his classroom.

“Weasley!” he barked as he spotted her, zeroing in on her with startling speed.

“Good morning, Professor Snape. Have a good weekend?” she asked as cheerfully as she could, peering through the door and spotting the classroom which had been cleared of the debris from the destroyed wardrobe. “Oh, I see you’ve done some redecorating! Very nice, sir!”

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Snape hadn’t been at all impressed with her compliment, and after an almost unbearable class of his berating all of his students for their lack of knowledge in the Dark Arts, he’d assigned practically a month’s worth of homework. Already feeling burdened by the amount of work she was behind, Ginny had decided to forgo the usual torture that was eating lunch in the Great Hall with her fellow students, and had found a secluded corner in the library, poring over her books, determined to make a serious dent in the essay Snape had assigned.

Her goal was rather short-lived when her refuge was intruded by a scowling Draco Malfoy, who sauntered up to her table and slumped into the chair, where he then proceeded to sulk for almost three minutes, until she finally looked up at him from the book she was reading. She stared at him silently, raising her eyebrows inquisitively at him. He rolled his eyes and sighed moodily.

“Where have you been all day?” he snapped. She paused for a moment before answering, wondering what was different about Malfoy. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was just… not quite right with him.

“Considering we have classes all morning, it is safe to assume that that is where I’ve been – in class,” she responded simply, before turning back to her text book. She spotted a potentially useful passage, and picked up her quill awkwardly with her bandaged hand and attempted to write down a note on her parchment paper, which was already very messy and covered with large, clumsy handwriting and smudgy blotches of ink.

His eyes snapped down at her hands, and she could see his expression change from moody to furious, as he reached out and snatched her quill out of her hand.

“Why haven’t you taken care of your hands yet?” he barked. Narrowing her eyes at him, she reached out and snatched her quill back, only to fumble it so that it dropped the table with a faint clatter.

“For any number of reasons, the main ones being that it is both incredibly illegal to do so – at least, for my sort, as you put it last time, but also because it’s a rather difficult spell to cast on oneself when you don’t have full use of either hand,” she said crankily, already irritated, as usual, from the ordeal that was Snape’s class. “Malfoy, this may be hard for you to grasp, but I’m not exactly the most welcome student to ever grace the school’s halls, and so I try to avoid giving them any excuse to toss me out – at least, the ones that I can avoid. Ever since you barged your way into my life, that’s becoming a great deal more difficult.”

“If you hate it here so much, why do you stay?” he muttered, as he took her left hand in his and started untying the bandage she’d clumsily tied around it that morning after her shower.

“What gives you the impression that I hate it here?” she asked with a frown.

“You positively emanate disdain for everyone and everything in this school, weasel. You may not be aware of it, but those of us with any degree of intelligence can easily see that much,” he responded, meeting her eyes before looking down again. Having successfully removed the bandage, he seemed to be examining her torn knuckles as he reached into his pocket to pull out his wand.

“It’s what the school has become that I hate,” she said fiercely, before gasping slightly as the skin on the back of her hand began to tingle intensely as Malfoy cast the healing spell. “My parents both went to Hogwarts – it’s where they met – and we all grew up on their stories about their years here. The mischief they’d get into, the inter-house competitions, their weekends in Hogsmeade, back when it was a sleepy little village instead of the horrible city it is now, the Quidditch games, their life in the dorms… They both loved it here, and after hearing all of their memories, to come here and have it be, well, what it is now… it’s such a disappointment.”

“The death of an ideal,” Malfoy said, turning his attention to her right hand, his fingers gently stroking the underside of her wrist for a second before he set to work, unwrapping the bandage and muttering the spell that erased the swollen and broken flesh and completely dispelled the uncomfortable throbbing that had been plaguing her all morning as she tried to ignore it and carry about during her classes as usual. He looked up, meeting her eyes as he laid her hand down on the table, releasing it for only a second before his fingers were stroking the newly healed skin on the back of her hand. “For someone so determined to be a hardened realist, you’ve got quite the naïve sense of idealism. But you still didn’t answer my question – why are you here if you don’t like it?”

“I’m here because my parents, though they would never say it, want me to be here more than anything else,” she said, snatching her hands away from him, as his touch was starting to send that familiar and all too dangerous thrill down her spine. “There aren’t many of their dreams that can be achieved, but having at least one of their children graduate from Hogwarts and experience the place that created some of their favorite memories is something I can do for them, as much as I hate it.”

Malfoy stared at her as she spoke, his searching eyes looking straight in hers, making her feel extremely uncomfortable. There was a look in his eyes that was completely unsettling, almost as if he were trying to grasp a completely abstract idea that he just couldn’t comprehend. There was a moment of silence, the only thing that could be heard was the scattered sounds of the other students flipping pages and scratching their quills against parchment. Then he blinked and his expression was unreadable once again.

“Let’s not forget the certain advantages that come along with being a Hogwarts graduate. Future career in the Ministry, perhaps?” he asked, and she could definitely hear the implied accusation in his voice. “How are you going to fight the system unless you’re on the inside of it?”

“Couldn’t you just believe that I want to make my parents happy?” she sighed wearily, looking back down at her textbook. He’d come to her rescue and that had made her put more trust in him than anyone outside of Hermione, but the haze of disbelief was wearing thin and she was starting to become very uncomfortable with how much he knew of her opinions regarding Voldemort and his Death Eaters – his father being principle among them.

“No, I couldn’t,” he snapped. It was then that Ginny realized what was different about him. He’d lost his swagger – that arrogant knowledge that the entire population would kill to be in his good graces, and the expectation that all would fall victim to his charm. That confidence, and all that came with it – his scathing wit, the sly grin that made her want to punch him in the face again – it had all dissipating, seemingly overnight.

“Surely that’s not an entirely inconceivable concept, even for an arrogant prat like you. You seem to be following right along in your parents’ footsteps, would you expect me to believe it’s not motivated by some desire to please them?” she snapped back, feeling more disconcerted by this altered Malfoy sitting across from her like a sulking child instead of the arrogant irritability that normally defined his demeanor. Malfoy jumped out of his chair at her words, tossing his chair back with a loud clatter that cast a deathly silence over the library.

He looked down at her, and she drew back slightly. He was furious; something she had said had infuriated him, and after pacing away from the table a few steps, he suddenly turned back and slammed his hands on the table, leaning over so that he was only a few inches from her face. She met his intense grey eyes, glaring at her.

“You shouldn’t assume things about me based on who or what my parents are, you ignorant little pauper,” he spat, causing Ginny to jump to her feet, electrified by the sudden flare of temper that shrouded everything else with the burning need to retaliate.

“So, we’re back to that again, are we?” she cried, planting her own hands down on the table, facing on with him. “Some friend you are turning out to be, Malfoy. I think I liked you better when I couldn’t stand you. And how dare you accuse me of something you’re guilty of doing with the exact same breath! You continually make assumptions about me based on who my parents are and how much money we have!”

“Don’t become just another name to add to the list of people who think I can be nothing more than a brainless pawn in my parents’ plans, who just assume that I have no aspirations of my own!” he cried out.

“Well, if your personal aspirations include becoming the most insufferable snobbish prig that ever graced this school’s halls, congratulations, you’ve been quite successful,” she snapped, snatching up her textbook, quill and parchment paper, stuffing the lot of it into her bag. “Friend or not, I’m not going to just let you insult me!”

“You started it,” he called out to her as she stalked away from him, heading for the door. She paused, turning back to face his darkly glaring face. Now that the intense flash of anger had begun to subside, she was just confused. What had she said to set him off, what had shattered the tenuous peace they’d agreed on the other day?

He was standing beside the table and overturned chair, his arms crossed petulantly across his chest as he glared at her, and Ginny felt certain that she was staring at a stranger. A stranger that was using this furious front to hide something else, the truth about what had been the real cause of his sudden demonstration of anger. Shaking her head with a disgusted sigh, she returned to storming out of the library, determined to track down the only two people who could have an answer as to what had caused Malfoy’s behavior, vowing to herself that if there wasn’t a good excuse, she was going to shove him in the Vanishing Cupboard on the first floor, and wouldn’t give a second thought to where he might turn up.

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Much later that night, Ginny was sitting in the empty dining room of the Three Broomsticks, her schoolbooks spread out in front of her, trying not to chew the end of her quill anxiously as she tried to concentrate on her essay about the major rules of Transifiguration. Every few moments, she would sigh deeply, shift her papers around a bit before trying to settle back down to work, but it was incredibly difficult to think about anything other than her row with Malfoy that afternoon. She could hear the clock ticking in the background, echoing across the empty restaurant, conspiring to drive her mad.

“We’ve been waiting for you at your flat for over an hour. What are you still doing here?” Crabbe said, before chuckling softly as she jumped and let out a squeal of fright over his startling appearance. After catching her breath, she glared at him.

“I should you be asking you what you’re doing here!” she exclaimed, spotting Goyle in the shadows behind him. Figures that he would also be there; Ginny had trouble remembering a time when she’d ever seen one without the other. Crabbe shrugged off her indignation, sauntering forward, dropping down in a chair across from her and meeting her eyes with a disgusted look as he picked up one of her pages of notes.

“You’re out this late doing schoolwork? I think your life needs a little more excitement, Weasley,” he said.

“It’s had quite enough of that for the time being, I’m sure we can all agree to that,” Ginny said with a wry smile. “So, gentlemen, what brings you here?”

“We were waiting for you at your flat and thought that you might actually still be here. What are you doing here so late?” Goyle asked, with a frown.

“Homework. There’s more space to spread out here,” she said, trying to repress an involuntary shudder. Her tiny flat, normally comfortingly familiar and cozy, now – thanks to Claire – seemed unbearably small. She was finding it hard to even sleep there and had decided to start doing her homework at the restaurant after closing. “Why were you waiting for me?”

“Mostly because we wanted to know what you said to Draco to set him off on such a tear. He’s been a ridiculous mess since this afternoon, and we just assumed that you were the reason,” Crabbe said, in his typically light-hearted fashion.

“I told him he seemed to be following right along in his parents’ footsteps,” Ginny said with a shrug of her shoulders, only to be met with a chorus of groans from Crabbe and Goyle.

“Tell me you didn’t!” Goyle cried out accusatorily. Ginny watched in exasperation as the two friends simultaneously slumped over-dramatically in their chairs and glared at her.

“I know we shouldn’t have let him go looking for her during lunch,” Crabbe said to Goyle, as if Ginny wasn’t even in the room.

“What’s the problem? It’s not as if I haven’t said worse to him, why are you two drama queens making such a big deal over such a little thing?” Ginny demanded. “Malfoy went off like a crazy person after I’d said it, but I thought that was just Malfoy being Malfoy!”

“Malfoy doesn’t exactly have the… easiest relationship with his parents. And any insinuation that he may be like them tends to… well, set him off,” Crabbe said gravely.

“There isn’t much that doesn’t, with that filthy temper of his,” Ginny commented distractedly. She was suddenly recalling something that he said to her just after their night in the Astronomy Tower, when she’d quipped that the status quo of their world had benefitted his family: “It’s done nothing of the sort. It’s certainly benefited my parents individually, but it’s been anything but to my family. Let’s just say that we’re more like a group of individuals that share a surname and occasionally try to mess about in each other’s lives…Perhaps we were happy once, but it was all so long ago, who can remember trivial things like that?”

“When he was young, his parents spent most of their time in London, until they moved there permanently about five years ago. He rarely sees them, and when they do get together… it’s never very pleasant. The last time they were all together was for Tonks’ wedding, over two years ago,” Crabbe said.

“Remember when we were little, Vince? They seemed so different back then,” Goyle said. “I always thought he had the best parents, and with Tonks around… his house was always pretty lively.”

“What happened to them?” Ginny asked softly.

“Oh, power, undoubtedly. After the war ended, things were so calm for awhile, but then all those rumours about Dumbledore building up an army and starting some kind of resistance movement started floating around, and both Lucius and Narcissa were called back to the Ministry,” Crabbe said. Ginny thought wryly about how different their versions of history were – she never recalled a calm period in all her life, but then again, her side was the one that lost.

“They’re ambitious, the both of them. Sometimes their ambitions didn’t always match up, and before you know it, they’re in opposite factions, both competing against each other for more power in the Dark Lord’s government. Happens all the time,” Goyle said with a casual shrug of his shoulders. Ginny was momentarily overwhelmed by a wave of sadness brought on their acceptance of such a situation as completely normal.

“In any case, you just can’t go around comparing him to his parents. It makes him stroppier than pretty much anything else can. Often, you almost forget that Malfoy has parents; he only gets the occasional letter from his mum wanting to know if he’s dating the girls she keeps trying to set him up with – part of her empire-building strategy. But when one of them is in town, it’s very dangerous territory,” Crabbe said.

“And is one of them in town?” Ginny asked tentatively, a sharp jab of fear spiking deep within her. She had the sudden urge to rush home and start a long letter to her parents, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Yes,” Crabbe said, after a moment’s hesitation. Ginny nodded slowly, her mind spinning.

“Okay then. Well, if you see Malfoy before tomorrow, tell him I’ll see him at school,” Ginny said, standing up to gather her things.

“Are you going to play nice? I mean, whatever he said, he only said it because he was angry about what you said. He didn’t really mean it,” Goyle protested as she efficiently began to usher them out the door.

“Malfoy is enough of a coward on his own without sending his two best friends to come and plead his case for him. But if I’m right about what I think I know about Malfoy, he’s going to be absolutely furious that you two even came here tonight, so you’d better leave before you two just end up making him act like even more of a git. See you tomorrow,” she said, practically pushing them out the door and shutting it behind them. They stared at her through the glass window, looking rather amused, and she just waved cheerfully at them.

It was only when she was finally alone again that she sat down again, and considered everything they had told her, with Malfoy’s words running over and over through her head.

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He was waiting for the next day, just as she came out of Snape’s class, just before lunch. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and glowering at anyone who gave him more than a passing glance, Ginny paused for a moment as she exited the classroom, involuntarily struck by the image of him. Whatever it was that had chipped away at his arrogant swagger, his aura of self-confidence, seemed to have dissipated. As he noticed her, and those penetrating eyes that always set her pulse racing met hers, she could see that the charming arrogance had, indeed, returned.

She walked up to him, walking slowly – almost sauntering – towards him, looking up at him warily as his eyes darted away from her. Ginny stopped in front of him, contemplating what to say.

“It’s hard to see why so many people adore you, especially when you’re such a terrible friend,” she said finally. Despite what she’d heard from Crabbe and Goyle, she was still a bit stung by his sudden change the other day, from the cranky yet considerate person who could gently heal her fingers while teasing her for being stubborn, to the snarling jerk who represented everything she hated.

“That’s why they adore me,” he said, rather stonily. He still wasn’t meeting her eyes, and she felt her temper spark.

“Oh, keep telling yourself that,” she said, rolling her eyes exasperatedly. But she realized something in that moment, as he sheepishly cast a sideways glance in her direction – the very fact that he was there waiting for her was some form of apology, severely inadequate for what he had said, but all that he could muster. Anything more would be against his very nature, and as incredibly difficult as that was to accept, Ginny found that she was alright with it. Just as he had, eventually, been able to accept her tentative offer of friendship as all she was capable of offering. “I guess you make up for it in other ways.”

“Oh really?” he asked, his eyebrow arching as his eyes finally met hers. She felt her heart lighten as she recognized a friendly mischievous twinkle, and found herself smiling. She turned to walk down the hallway, planning on accepting his apology by sitting with him and his friends in the Great Hall during lunch.

“Well, only really when there’s a deranged psychopath who has me locked in a closet,” she said, casting a sly grin over her shoulder as she darted down the hallway, laughing as he chased after her.

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“Ginny! Are you coming Friday night? Oh, you just have to come,” Millicent Bulstrode was exclaiming, clutching Ginny’s arm tightly in her spontaneous excitement. Frowning skeptically, looking over her shoulder to see if Pansy Parkinson was lurking around the corner somewhere, waiting to curse her as Millicent distracted her with her sudden fawning attention, Ginny extracted her arm from Millicent’s grip. She’d been fawning over her as soon as Ginny had been ordered to sit down at the Slytherins’ table, sliding down next to her and continually trying to engage her in conversation.

“She’s right, you should come Friday,” Crabbe said, with an approving grin. He’d taken notice of the way that Ginny and Malfoy had been bickering as they came into the Great Hall and was beginning to drive Ginny a little crazy with the way he kept trying to telegraph his approval of the fact that they’d seemed to have patched things up.

“I can’t, I’m working Friday night,” Ginny said, feeling quite proud of herself as she managed to sound disappointed. “Millicent, where’s Pansy? Surely she can’t survive without you for so long.”

“I don’t care where she is. I’ve had enough of her attitude. The things she says about you, Ginny! Like the other day, when you were walking to class – “

“Millicent, I really don’t need to know what she’s been saying about me,” Ginny interrupted with a laugh.

“You should still come Friday. What time are you finished work?” Crabbe pressed. “We’re just going to be at All Hallows’, but with Halloween only a week away, it’s going to be a pretty good party.”

“Thanks, but I won’t finish until fairly late,” she said. Malfoy glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes and there was something about the half-grin on his face that told her that he knew very well how she really felt about having to turn down the invitation.

“Try not be so broken up about it,” he said softly, leaning down to whisper in her ear. She shrugged him off, almost set to remind him once again of her ad hoc boundaries of their friendship but she was too distracted by the tiny shivers that were running down her spine. It was a little frustrating to her that he could still have that effect on her, just by whispering in her ear. “Any party worth going to doesn’t really start until fairly late, and the later you arrive, the more fashionable you are.”

“But of course, you shouldn’t expect anyone with my breeding to have any sense of what is fashionable, so you’ll condescend to forgive my ignorance,” Ginny prattled off, anticipating the next words out of his mouth. The slight shade of puce his face had taken on as he stared at her, mouth gaping, indicated that she’d hit fairly close to the mark. After a split second of speechlessness, he recovered, shaking off the momentary surprise.

“I’m glad that you recognize how magnanimous I can be, given the proper set of circumstances,” he said and she had to laugh at the ridiculousness of someone actually using the world ‘magnanimous’ to describe themselves. “Regardless, my original point was that you should still come.”

“So your snotty Slytherin friends can condescend to make the poor Gryffindor feel included, while they get roaring drunk and discuss how great and powerful they all are? No thank you, I’d rather spend the night at home, writing Snape’s essay,” she scoffed, standing up from the table.

“Who is the snotty one now?” he demanded, following after her. “If I ever had any doubts about what house you belong in, your righteous indignation just reaffirms that you are definitely a textbook Gryffindor.”

“My righteous indignation?” Ginny cried out, turning around on him, outraged.

“Oh, don’t worry, little weasel, your blatant hypocrisy is also a dead giveway,” he said, with a casual shrug and annoying smirk. She stared at him, crossing her arms, feeling her temper starting to spark, mostly because he knew that he was pushing her buttons, that he even knew what buttons to push, and he was doing it anyway.

“Oh, is the poor little Slytherin upset because the mean little Gryffindor prejudged all his friends before she’s even met them, just based on what house they belong to? I can only imagine how horrible that must be for you,” she said snarkily, before imitating his smirk the best that she could. He stared back at her, crossing his own arms, and a tense silence had fallen over the room as the rest of the school population watched their showdown. Suddenly, Malfoy leaned down, plunking his hand down on her head and ruffling her hair, jarring her out of her focus on staring him down.

“Well done, little weasel. I suppose there’s a chance we can be friends after all,” he said, meeting her eyes and arching his eyebrow mischievously. She glared at him, but his obvious amusement with her was infectious, and before she knew it, she found herself grinning back at him.

“Would you look at this? A bloke is gone for a few weeks, and comes back to find himself in some bizarre and twisted version of reality no one would have ever thought possible,” the quiet voice, with the signature mildly-bored tone, of Blaise Zabini said, interrupting the moment. Hardly daring to believe that she wasn’t hearing things, she could see in the series of expressions that crossed Malfoy’s face that his best friend and the object of her massive unrequited crush had, indeed, returned to Hogwarts.

“Blaise! When did you get back? Aren’t you supposed to be off gallivanting around with Cho and her Quidditch team?” Crabbe exclaimed, as he slapped his friend on the shoulder in greeting. The Slytherin girls, stars in their eyes as they realized that their second choice was back in town, rushed towards him, Millicent Bulstrode leading the pack.

Malfoy hung back from the crowd pushing around Zabini now, demanding to know all the details of his time away, and what had brought him back to Hogwarts. Ginny, not quite sure what to do with herself, just watched the scene unfold, trying to understand what was making her so breathlessly excited and nervous. Oh sure, Zabini was as beautiful as ever, with his dark eyes and quiet voice, calmly answering the questions that were being hurled at him, but after everything that had happened – after what she’d overheard him say to Cho Chang about her – surely she still wasn’t harboring her doomed crush on the Slytherin boy?

Then Blaise scanned the Great Hall, and when his eyes met hers and she nodded to acknowledge him, determined to keep her expression neutral. But as he smiled at her, she felt an overwhelming rush of warmth flood her face, and she had to look away, unable to keep from smiling shyly as she realized that she was blushing.

Even with all the commotion going on around her in the Great Hall, as the rest of the students craned their necks to catch a glimpse of the popular boy, she could still feel the weight of his eyes on her. Forcing herself to recover from her uncharacteristic bout of shyness, she glanced up and was greeted by the sight of Malfoy glaring at her with his arms crossed, his face stony and unreadable. Surprised that he would be concentrated on her, instead of joining the crowd hovering about his newly-returned best friend, she frowned at him, wondering what his problem was now. As he stared at her, she felt a strange spike of fear, as if she’d done something wrong, something she needed to apologize for.

“Blaise Zabini is back. Isn’t that great, Malfoy? Your best friend came home – you might not need me to be your friend after all,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. Malfoy looked as if he were considering her words very carefully, before he made a move to start walking to the entrance, where the crowd had finally started to thin out.

“I’ll keep that in consideration, Weasley,” he said as he passed by. But then he suddenly leaned over, to whisper in her ear. “But never forget, weasel, it’s not about need. It’s entirely about what I want – and that is you.”

He was already icily greeting his friend and chastising him for coming home without giving any of them any indication that he’d be home soon by the time Ginny recovered from the sudden light-headedness and feeling that her knees had grown incredibly weak.

“Let’s get out of here, we need to celebrate your triumphant return to Hogsmeade – I say we skive off the rest of the day,” Goyle proclaimed, causing a flurry as the Slytherin girls started offering to tag along, citing all the various reasons why they were available. Crabbe and Goyle shrugged at each other, and ushered a few of Pansy Parkinson’s usual crowd out the door with them.

“Yes, let’s get out of here,” Malfoy agreed, and cast Ginny, who by the time had recovered enough of her faculties to make her way to the outskirts of the huddled group, a sideways glance. “Weasley, you stay here – a girl who can’t even manage a simple healing spell needs all the classes she can take.”

And with that, the Slytherin group exited the Great Hall, Blaise Zabini giving her a sheepish smile and friendly wave as he was ushered out by the twittering group of girls who were practically clinging to him, leaving Ginny standing there all alone as Malfoy followed along behind.

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Author's notes:

- Blaise returning? Totally HYD. Also, Draco's comment about not wanting to let her go when he finally caught her, bringing her back to his house to look after her are also all from HYD (although used in a slightly different context). The rest, such as it is, is my own.

- So, it's been a really long time since I've updated, hasn't it? I got a lot (like A LOT) of messages asking me if I've abandoned the fic - the answer is definitely no. I just had a really busy summer that transitioned into an even busier fall and this chapter just wasn't doing it for me, so I procrastinated. In any case, when I started writing, I planned to do 4 "arcs" to the story, 4 of the storylines from HYD that I particularly loved. Last chapter finished the first of these arcs, and this one introduced the second (which is actually going to be fairly small, comparatively), so there is still a lot of story left for me to write, so hopefully you'll keep reading, even between ridiculously long periods without updates.

As always, I will continue to post fic bits on my Live Journal between chapters - and I certainly won't be abandoning the story.

What a girl wants…

“It’s a simple question, Ginny, you don’t have to get so stroppy with me about it,” Hermione said sharply as she bustled about the empty restaurant Friday night after closing, her patience having snapped after the third time Ginny had answered a benign question with a sarcastic and biting remark.

“Sorry,” Ginny mumbled. She dropped the pile of receipts she was adding up and sighed, unable to concentrate.

“Considering your current dilemma, I’ll forgive you this time, but the state of your various romances is hardly a good reason to snap at a friend,” Hermione sniffed disapprovingly, with a sly look at Ginny, who had buried her face in her hands as she groaned.

“Various romances?” she groaned. “Hermione, don’t tease. Besides, I don’t have ANY romances, let alone various.”

“Oh, come now. What about Malfoy? Wasn’t it just a week ago he was confessing his undying love to you?”

“Considering his brain had just been scrambled by a few powerful doses of the Cruciatus Curse, I’ve decided to just write that confession off as a moment pure insanity. Unfortunately, he has failed to see it that way, what with his firm belief that he actually meant what he said,” Ginny said despairingly. Hermione tried valiantly to hold back her laughter at her friend’s expense, but she just couldn’t help it.

“Oh, Ginny, one day, you are going to look back and recognize the dramatic irony in this situation,” Hermione said bemusedly.

“And what irony is that?” Ginny demanded grumpily, tossing down the receipts in frustration as she lost count again.

“You have a hopelessly romantic soul, Ginny Weasley, and would probably have dropped all protestations and doubts about such ill-fated proclamations of love if they were coming from anyone other than Draco Malfoy. Particularly given the circumstances and past events that all conspired to lead up to said proclamation,” Hermione said, her voice taking on that particular authoritative quality it always got when she was giving a lecture or reciting a list of facts that proved a particular argument she had been trying to make. “But, of course, because it is Draco Malfoy, you can’t even recognize him for what he is.”

“And what is that?” Ginny sneered, feeling decidedly agitated that her best friend, the one person she could discuss the highly controversial topic of Draco Malfoy with, was, in fact, not playing the sympathetic role she’d envisioned that afternoon. Hermione wasn’t supposed to contribute to the confusing turmoil that seemed to shroud her life whenever the subject of Malfoy was brought up.

“Well, obviously your romantic ideal. Now, before you get all huffy and flounce out of here, vowing never to speak to me again or perhaps plotting some form of revenge and writing off to the twins for details on their latest practical joke, I still think you should stay as far away from him as possible. But it’s easy for me to see why you’re so mixed up about all this, and that’s because we’re talking about the boy who broke a hundred different rules when he healed your arm – I don’t care if he dismissed it and played it off as if they are rules he is exempt from because of who his father is, because that is complete bollocks and everyone knows that it’s really dangerous to break that set of rules. And then, after the horrid public display via spelled mistletoe that was your first kiss, he then proceeded to snog you in a moonlit fairy garden, waited for you all day in the cold when you almost stood him up for your date together – to which he demanded you attend in front of your entire school thus defying every social norm he’s grown up believing, tried to sneak you in to see your favorite Quidditch team and ended up getting the two of you locked in the tower for the night, and tried to keep you calm the entire time after learning about your fear of tight spaces.”

“Hermione, I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Ginny mumbled uncomfortably.

“I’m not quite finished yet. Then, of course, he raced off to your rescue after finding out that the psychotic Claire had kidnapped you and locked you in a closet, and let them curse him so that nothing would happen to you – all of this, after thinking that you’d slept with some random guy. And then he told you he loved you, and even after all that you’ve said to him, telling him to leave you alone and how you’ll never be his girlfriend, he’s still persisting. Ginny, this is the kind of tragic romantic hero that only exists in those terribly written romance novels you love so much!”

“He’s nothing like my… my romantic ideal, as you put it. This is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about! The boy who made my life a living hell just because I dared to defend a friend. He’s nearly gotten me killed at least three times, and he’s humiliated me more times than I care to count!” Ginny cried. “And now that I think of it, my own brain must have been fairly scrambled by all the curses flying around that night – I can’t believe I agreed to even try to be friends with someone like him!”

“And that’s why you’re so confused! You’ve seen how awful he is, but then again, he also kissed you in a moonlit fairy garden. What girl wouldn’t be all messed up about that?” Hermione said, sounding completely confident in her diagnosis of Ginny’s problems. “And add to that the reappearance of another person who also embodies a number of ideal qualities, and I would hate to be you right now.”

“Well, thank you, you’ve been horribly unhelpful,” Ginny snarked sarcastically.

“Have you heard anything from your family, after the newspaper incident?” Hermione asked, referring to the front page photo of Malfoy kissing her the morning after their night spent locked in the Astronomy Tower.

“Not about that incident, at least since Sirius stopped by to see me, but I have had my regular weekly letter that’s been decidedly oblivious to the whole thing. I think she’s hoping that if she doesn’t bring it up, it means it never happened. Or that my brothers never see it and figure out that I was the mysterious girl in the photograph, because then they’d never leave me alone – I’d be sharing my flat with all five of them,” Ginny said, smiling to herself as she tried to imagine the apoplectic shade of purple Ron’s face would turn if he knew that she and Malfoy were even “friends”, let alone everything else that had happened.

Hermione picked up a broom, and started sweeping under the tables, a task that Ginny hated more than most of their duties in the restaurant. Watching her friend move about, Ginny contemplated a passage that had been in her mother’s weekly letter, debating whether she should bring it up or not. Deciding that it was in the best interest of her friend, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the folded piece of parchment.

“Hermione, my mum did mention one thing that I think you should hear about. She’s always warning me about staying out of the path of the Death Eaters – in fact, I’d be concerned if she didn’t include something along those lines, worrier that she is – but she mentions something this week that you should know about.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s been some talk of creating a new Magical Declaration that will further restrict the freedoms and rights of Muggle-born witches and wizards. It’ll go far beyond all the wand registration and magical monitoring that you have to agree to now… she said that there’s been talk that they’ve been carrying out some kind of experiment – trying to find a way to permanently restrict the types of magic anyone who isn’t a pure blood can perform,” Ginny said, her voice low and serious. Hermione froze after turning to meet her friend’s eyes. “She thinks that it’s about to get a whole lot more dangerous for you around here, and suggested that you might want to consider returning to the Muggle world and your parents.”

“Your mum has been suggesting that since the very first moment you told her about me and how I convinced my parents to let me move away from home and study magic in a world they could never be part of,” Hermione answered genially. She noted Ginny’s concerned look, and sighed. “Ginny, I’m not going anywhere. Besides, if you were to ask my parents about their daughter Hermione, they’d proudly tell you that she was away studying in America and that they hoped to have her home for Christmas the next year.”

“I thought they knew where you were!” Ginny cried, half in shock, half in pure admiration.

“They did, for the first year or so. Hardly approved, but I can be fairly persuasive when I set my mind to something. But after learning more about the particular characteristics of the magic world – namely, that it’s not exactly the safest place for a witch with Muggle parents… well, I figured they would change their minds, and I couldn’t have that. I have too much to learn about magic!” Hermione said, determined. Ginny had to suppress a shiver; Hermione really could be a bit frightening sometimes. “Anyway, your brothers gave me some tips on how to Obliviate and Confund them into believing a different reality, one that they would be happier knowing.”

“Hermione, how come you’ve never said anything before?” Ginny asked, staring at her best friend in shock, feeling as if she were speaking to a complete stranger. Hermione glanced at her, and looked down as she obsessively the floor around her. “That can’t have been easy! And I’m not just talking about the magic behind it.”

“With everything else that’s been going on? Besides, Ron and that friend of his made me promise that I wouldn’t tell you about it – they thought it might give you some grand ideas the next time your mum gets too frightened and tries to pull you out of school,” Hermione said with a wry smile. Ginny felt a flush of anger; ever since Ron had met his newest friend, he’d grown rather secretive and bossy, always telling her what to do without telling her why. He and that Potter boy had formed some kind of secretive clique, and now they were dragging her friend into it.

“I see. It was alright for Ron and Harry to know about this – let me guess, they probably helped you cook up the whole plan too, didn’t they? I knew it was a mistake to bring you to the Burrow last summer, when I knew Harry was going to be there,” Ginny said, petulantly stomping her foot in anger. Hermione shook her head at Ginny in exasperation and turned away, walking to the other side of the dining room to check on the tables in the further corner. “What, are you just going to walk away?”

“Until you stop acting like a jealous twit? Yes, I am going to walk away. Ginny Weasley, you keep a great deal of secrets from me, but I’m not allowed to have any of my own?” Hermione demanded in a scolding tone of voice.

“I trust you. You’re one of the only people I trust in the entire world, besides my family. I never guessed that trust didn’t extend both ways, that’s all,” Ginny said softly. Hermione stared at her, her brown eyes shining in the dim light of the restaurant’s lamps, and she looked as if she were about to say something. Feeling edgy and raw, Ginny glanced around her, surveying if there was any more work that needed to be done, desperate to escape before she said anything to damage the only friendship that truly mattered to her. “Well, it looks as if everything’s in order here. I’ve got more homework than I can even keep track of right now, so I’ll be off.”

She was in such a hurry to get away from the site of the argument that she didn’t even pause to put on a coat before rushing out into the cold air, she just grabbed it from the back and dashed out the door. Which caused her to nearly crashed into the two masked Death Eaters loitering by the entrance.

In order to avoid colliding head on into the taller of the two, she stopped short and her shoes slid in the freshly fallen snow, causing her to emit a little squeal of surprise. The Death Eaters, who had been previously absorbed in their conversation, both turned to see the teenage girl struggling to regain her composure and shrug herself into her coat as the frigid air slammed into her, causing her to immediately start shivering – but not just from the cold.

“Is there a problem?” the one closest to her demanded brusquely. Ginny’s only thought was that her Muggle-born best friend was still inside, and would be wandering unknowingly into the company of two Death Eaters alone – never a safe thing to do, even if she had all her permits in order, but especially now, with an ongoing manhunt for an escaped convict that had everyone suspicious and nervous.

“Of course not, I just didn’t see you there in the dark,” she answered brightly, forcing herself to be cheerful and polite.

“You’re Weasley’s daughter, aren’t you?” the other Death Eater said, more of an accusatory statement than a question. Even behind their masks, Ginny could see a pointed look passing between the two men, and her heart starting beating a bit faster as the fear she hadn’t yet felt finally kicked in. They closed in on her, cutting off her path to the sidewalk.

“Seen anything suspicious around here? I’m sure you have heard about the man who escaped from Azkaban a few weeks back. Haven’t seen anything worth mentioning, now have you, girl?”

Looking up into their masked faces, the frustration that Ginny felt was the most terrifying thing about her situation. She couldn’t even see their faces. They thought they were powerful and important, as if the entire world should jump on their demand, and they wouldn’t even show their faces to the world. As her thoughts processed, she knew what answer she had to give, but the answer she wanted to give was the one that slipped out, before her better senses could grab hold of it.

“Of course not. Had I seen anything worth mentioning, I would surely have mentioned it. To the proper authorities, that is,” she said, not even trying to keep the contempt out of her voice. The Death Eater to her left reached out, gripping her elbow, squeezing it uncomfortably as he picked up on the defiance in her voice.

“You’d better take care, little girl. We know all about you and all about your family,” he said, his voice hypnotically soft and menacing. Ginny glared up at him, forcing herself to remain calm – and silent. He leaned closer, the grip on her arm becoming tighter, causing her to try to squirm free of his hold on her.

“More importantly, we know just how far away the rest of the wretched pack of mongrels they have the nerve to call purebloods live,” he continued. “A young girl like you, all alone in such a big city… you’d better take care. You might find that the streets are quite dangerous after dark – particularly on the route between this restaurant and the flat above the sweet shop.”

Ginny stared at them, unable to speak, not even to conjure a biting and sarcastic remark. Her mind was spinning – they knew where she lived. But the question was, why would they care? She was insignificant. Fodder enough for their children to torture during their moments of boredom at school, but hardly important enough for actual Death Eaters to go out of their way to terrify.

“Now then, girl, have you seen anything suspicious these past few weeks that you feel you should report to the authorities?” the other one asked as the painful grip on her arm was released.

“Nothing suspicious, no,” she answered deferentially, her voice even as she tried to keep the panic out of it.

“And if you do see anything…” the one with the soft, hypnotic voice prompted her.

“I’ll be sure to report it right away,” she parroted, gaining a slow nod of approval. Another look passed between the hooded men, and they seemed ready to depart.

“Very well. Mind yourself out in the streets this late at night – Hogsmeade isn’t as safe as we’d all like to believe,” the taller one said pointedly, as they turned and started walking away. As soon as their backs were to her, she was crouching down in the snow, her fear weighing on her so heavily that she wasn’t sure how much longer her knees would have been able to support her. She took a few deep breaths, trying to expel her panic and calm herself down, and covered her face with her shaking hands, unsure of what to do next. She tried to convince herself to stand, to go back into the restaurant, to tell Hermione everything and beg her to go home to her parents – or the Burrow, at least, where she’d be safer than out here on her own, but she couldn’t conjure up the energy to move.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, crouched in the snow with her jacket only half on and her legs freezing from the poor protection the skirt of her work uniform provided. But it was long enough that she nearly tumbled over when someone approached the restaurant entrance, as she realized their presence and tried to jump up, only to realize that her legs had fallen asleep. As she tripped over herself, a pair of arms reached out and caught her, pulling her up and supporting her as her legs regained their feeling.

“This is the Friday night plans that you’ve snubbed me and my exclusive group of friends for?” Malfoy asked skeptically, bending his knees to meet her at eye level as his warm hands held her steady at her waist. Her teeth were chattering from the cold, and she clumsily tried to explain to him that she was just waiting for her friend to finish closing up the restaurant. He watched her as she rambled, one eyebrow crooked in amusement, while his clever hands straightened out her coat, slipping her other arm in, pulling it closed and buttoning it for her as she tried to bat his ministrations aside.

“Well, it hardly matters. Are you ready, then? It’s always noted when a Malfoy leaves a social gathering – if I’m not back soon, they’ll assume the party is to blame and it’ll all be over before I get back,” Malfoy said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. She planted her feet and refused to move.

“No!” she cried emphatically, ignoring the surprised look on his face. She yanked her hand away from him and crossed her arms defiantly. “I have to wait for Hermione to finish – we always walk home together when it’s this late. I can’t leave her alone, the streets aren’t very safe.”

Malfoy was staring at her, in that quiet, piercing way of his that was so discomforting because it felt as if he could see right through her and all the secrets she had. Her own words, so similar to those of the barely veiled threats the Death Eaters had made, caused her to shiver involuntarily, remembering how frightening they’d been. She stared back at Malfoy, but couldn’t meet his eyes, not when she was feeling so vulnerable and he was staring at her in that knowing way. She settled for a point just above his shoulder, and hoped he didn’t notice.

He sighed dramatically, a deep sigh that communicated an amused exasperation. It was so unexpected that Ginny glanced at him, perplexed, the cold fear that had been gripping her for so long easing slightly as his prolonged sigh reminded him of Pansy Parkinson about to answer a question in class while attempting to portray an aura of someone who was just indulging the professor.

“Why didn’t you just say so? We’ll drop her at her flat on our way through,” he said, indulgently. “You didn’t have to make such a big fuss, you know. We are friends, after all. Friends help out friends of their friends with little favours now and then, or at least that’s what I’m told.”

“Malfoy, I don’t think Hermione would be particularly amenable to accepting such a favour from the likes of you,” she said.

“The likes of me?” he questioned, frowning, clearly irritated.

“She means someone who, if they had their way, would see to it that I was never allowed to even touch a wand, let alone live among decent wizards and contaminate their villages with my non-magical DNA,” Hermione said.

“You’re a Mudblood?” Malfoy asked, clearly surprised. Ginny jabbed him with her elbow, glaring at him with her eyes blazing, and he sighed, rolling his eyes. “Right, forgot you’re of the type whose brains completely implode at the merest whisper of any phrase that contains a trace of something considered not completely politically correct.”

“You’re speaking about my best friend and since you seem so determined for the two of us to be friends, it would only be natural to expect you not to resort to calling her filthy and derogatory names when she’s twenty times as clever as you and could probably curse you back into Grindelwald’s time if she feels you’re not giving her the proper amount of respect – not that she would, of course, but it should be enough to know that she could,” Ginny said huffily. Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, but Ginny continued before he could get a word in. “And don’t even try to say that everyone else says it, or I will be the one cursing you.”

“Well, now that you’ve made your feelings on this particular subject rather well known, why don’t we get going? Its freezing out here, and I’m sure your friend has much better things to do than stand around and listen to you threaten me all night,” Malfoy said, his voice rough with sarcasm as he grabbed Ginny’s hand and pulled her towards his waiting carriage. “You too, Muggle!”

Hermione watched, perplexed as Ginny yanked her hand away from him and kicked his shin.

“What was that for?” Malfoy raged.

“Her name is Hermione, not Muggle!” Ginny shouted, indignantly. Hermione rushed forward, as Malfoy’s face was bright red and he looked ready to pull out his own wand and begin cursing the difficult redheaded creature standing in front of him with her arms crossed, ready to do battle.

“But she is a Muggle, is she not?” Malfoy asked, incredulous. Couldn’t the stroppy little brat recognize that he had, at least, made an effort for her?

“Technically, I’m a Muggle-born witch, not a Muggle. Bloody hell, it’s freezing! And late! I have an essay to finish up for tomorrow. Let’s get going, shall we?” Hermione interjected, taking pity on the two stubborn and furious idiots squaring off in front of her. She brushed past the both of them, into the waiting carriage.


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Ginny was fairly certain that she should have conducted a bit of research into what life is like as one of Malfoy’s “friends” before she had agreed to become one. Because as far as she could tell, for her, it would be a matter of hanging around and being either completely bored or treated like some poor, clueless unfortunate who didn’t know how to behave in society. At least, that’s what she could assume, based on that night’s party.

After she and Malfoy had burst into the packed VIP lounge of All Hallows, there had been a veritable pause as everyone turned to witness the return of one of the event’s main attractions. Without Malfoy to fawn over, the single girls had had to settle for other Slytherins who weren’t quite as rich, popular or powerful, and that had them all a little uptight by the time Ginny and Malfoy appeared.

Ginny could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on her, and glancing quickly around the room, she was relieved that she hadn’t yet taken off her coat. Judging by the fashionable ensembles the girls were wearing, she doubted that her worn and comfortable white blouse and black skirt would make the grade. But Malfoy had been too eager to get back and there wasn’t time for her to stop at home and change. Not that it would have made any difference, Ginny surmised wryly to herself, as it was highly unlikely that she had any clothes they would approve of.

“Ahh, complete disdain! Adds a certain atmosphere to social gatherings, doesn’t it?” Ginny said, casting a mischievous glance up at Malfoy, who was glaring back at his friends, as if the force of his temper alone would make them all look away.

“We Slytherin much prefer open hostility,” Crabbe drawled, coming up behind her.

“Well, in this case, I think we have both,” she said, faking a bright smile as Goyle also joined them. Her attempts to carry on as if there was nothing amiss, even though they were being gawked at, only seemed to enrage them further. Ginny spotted Pansy Parkinson in the far corner, surrounded by a new batch of assumingly brainless followers, and it did warm Ginny’s heart to see that she was practically gnashing her teeth, watching Ginny banter with the Slytherins. She tossed her head, determined to not let them intimidate her into having a terrible night, especially when she didn’t really even want to be there. “I have no idea why your social gatherings are so popular. No one looks as if they are having a good time at all.”

“They don’t matter – we’re the ones that have the good time,” Crabbe said with a knowing looking, before eyeing a tall blonde hovering by the bar, clearly trying to catch his attention. “Can I get anyone a drink?”

“My usual. And nothing alcoholic for this one,” Malfoy said, tugging the end of Ginny’s braid. “Weasels can’t hold their liquor.”

Ginny swatted his hand away, glaring at him playfully. Their interchange hadn’t gone unnoticed by the crowd, but everyone had at least started to try hiding the fact that they were all watching them. Ginny tried to ignore how ridiculously expensive everyone’s designer apparel was, because the thought of what one of Millicent Bullstrode’s earrings could buy would make her ill. So caught up in her efforts and the constant distraction that was Draco Malfoy hovering around behind her, she barely noticed the commotion on the couch by the glassed-in wall, which had started to pull the focus in the room away from her. But after catching a few pointed looks around the room in that direction, she finally glanced that way, and froze in horror at what she saw.

It was Blaise Zabini – her quiet, introverted, nice Blaise Zabini – fully making out with some brunette Ginny didn’t recognize from school. Watching the spectacle, Ginny felt as if she’d been hit by lightning. After all, hadn’t he gone after Cho? The romantic hero in that particular tale couldn’t be a cheat, it just couldn’t be right, Ginny thought vehemently.

Malfoy, because there could never be something that he didn’t notice when it would otherwise be convenient for Ginny, picked up on her sudden tension.

“You’re far too magnificently stubborn to let this crowd intimidate you,” he whispered, leaning over her, obviously thinking that she was bothered by all the attention they’d garnered when Malfoy had reappeared with The Weasel. Feeling slightly nauseous, she struggled to shrug it off, promising herself that she’d corner Blaise alone later that night and grill him about what could have possibly come over him. She feverishly hoped that someone had cursed him into acting so strangely.

“Not at all intimidated,” Ginny shot back, her voice sounding weak and strangled as she forced it out. “Just wondering why on Earth these supposedly famous parties are supposed to be so fabulous as to warrant their exclusivity? As far as I can see, they must get rather dull after awhile.”

Malfoy gave her slanted look out, but even as she watched him out of the corner of her eyes, pretending to watch the crowd, she saw a faint half-smile cross his lips, as if he were smiling to himself, and she felt a flutter in her stomach that set her heart racing.

“Well, weasel, it’s not going to get any more exciting until you start lecturing us all on the errors of our ways and convincing us to reform our arrogant ways,” he said teasingly, turning towards her. “That will liven things up. Why else do you think that I brought you along?”

“Why else would you force me to come along?” Ginny admonished, still longing for her pajamas and the quiet of her room, especially now. She had to keep her eyes glue to Malfoy to keep herself from staring at Blaise’s antics over on the couch.

“I hardly had to force you – the strength of my inner charm was too much for you to handle. Your protestations never stood a chance against me,” he smirked, leaning over her. She glared up at him, Blaise all but forgotten as she tried to summon a witty retort while dealing with the storm of butterflies the look that Malfoy was giving her was conjuring in her stomach.

“I’m far too magnificently stubborn to be persuaded by your charm, my friend,” Ginny scoffed.

“Give me time,” he said, leaning in before she could protest or move away, planting a quick kiss on her forehead. She pushed him off, involuntarily throwing her head back and laughing.

“If we’re going to be friends, you’re going to have to stop doing that,” Ginny said as she laughed at him as he indignantly tried to play off her rejection while the crowd in the room turned to stare at them. He then smiled at her, a slow, cocky smile that suddenly made Ginny feel as if she had just been backed into a corner. She stepped backwards, bumping into the edge of the bar, nearly jumping out of her skin as he moved in closer.

“You and I can never be friends,” he said, his voice low as he leaned over her. Her heart started to race, and while she longed to retort, the way he was looking down at her, so predatorily, seemed to have stolen her capacity for speech. “We can continue to pretend, weasel. If you want me to play along with this ridiculous experiment of yours, I’m willing. But only for so long. And I think you know why.”

“And why is that?” she asked stupidly, fighting between panic and desire as he placed his hands on the bar on either side of her, essentially trapping her. He smiled again, a slow, cock-sure smile.

“There’s too much passion, too much energy between us. We’re either going to be a pair of passionate lovers, the kind of they write epic stories about, or we’re going to be mortal enemies, consumed only with the thought of destroying each other for the rest of our lives. Often, we’ll probably both at the same time. But we’re never going to be just friends, and I can only hope that you’ll realize the truth of that sooner rather than later,” he said, his voice enchantingly soothing as he lifted a hand to brush the strand of hair that had fallen out of her braid aside. She was staring straight into his eyes, and as the reality of what he’d said sank in, the crushing weight of panic that only ever accompanied an attack of her claustrophobia overwhelmed her. She just nodded weakly, before twisting out of his reach.

As she dashed away, she could feel his eyes on her. She turned once, and saw him leaning casually against the bar, watching her with confident, carefree smile on his face, and in that instant, she did hate him – for how could he be so relaxed and confident when just the thought of what he’d said, let alone whether or not it was an accurate diagnosis of their relationship, had her running for the nearest wide-open space before she hyperventilated?


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She didn’t have a chance to get very far. She’d made the mistake of cutting across the dance floor, which had become rather crowded as the music had started playing. Trying to push her way through the groups of gyrating girls and the boys standing, just aside, watching them and working up to the moment when they’d make their moves, Crabbe and Goyle had spotted her. Grabbing her quickly and trying to charm her with their smiles, they pulled her into their circle on the dance floor, pleading with her to dance with them. She tried to shrug them off, but they were rather insistent. She could still feel Malfoy’s eyes on her, and even as disconcerting as that was, what upset her more was that he could possibly be leaning ever so casually against that bar, smirking to himself that he had the power to frazzle her so much. So, she stood still for a moment, picturing him (for she didn’t dare look over her shoulder to see whether or not he was watching), and after a second’s consideration, she decided to join in.

Crabbe and Goyle, who concentrated so vigorously on projecting their suave and worldly aura, seemed to relax with Ginny, who decided that if she was going to dance, then she was going to dance. Which meant that she had to push all the snotty Slytherin girls, all silently competing with each other over who had the best moves, the best looks, the best features in order to attract the ever-sought-after attention of one of the senior Slytherin boys, out of the way. Knowing inherently that Crabbe and Goyle were really just two ridiculous boys who loved to goof around and laugh as much as the next boy, Ginny stepped up her game and decided to be as ridiculously silly as she would be with Hermione when the two girls were alone in the Three Broomsticks, dancing around the dining room as when they closed. They stared at her for a moment, as they if they were trying to decide whether or not she had lost her mind, but then jumped right in.

Despite herself, Ginny found herself having a great time – with every outrageous move she tried, intent only on making her two companions laugh, they would pull out something equally outrageous, making her throw her head back and howl with laughter. Before long, she was sweating and smiling, feeling very loose and almost elated. Malfoy’s best friends, who she’d never really understood before, were showing her a very good time, and in the process, all the cookie-cutter girls who were hovering around them were growing more and more upset with the situation, as they were continually ignored for the plain, ordinary Weasley girl, acting a fool and laughing about it, deliciously unaware – or uncaring – how irritating they found her.

Ginny was shouting to Crabbe that he’d better turn around and see the dismal expression on his date’s face, as she stood just behind their huddle on the dance floor, standing with her arms crossed and glowering at Ginny, when the touch of someone’s hands on her hips caused her to jump up, her heart hammering in her chest as he mind immediately jumped to Malfoy. As she turned around to see who it was, she was surprised to see it was Blaise Zabini, smiling down at her with his handsome face and warm eyes. He mouthed something to her, but Ginny couldn’t make it out over the throbbing din of the club music, and finally, he just gestured towards the doors to the balcony, and pulled her along with him.

Ginny gasped in the fresh, cold air as soon as it touched her heated skin as they stepped outside. Her ears were ringing from the music, and she felt so hot from the dance floor that she almost expected steam to be rising off of her limbs.

“Oh, it’s lovely out here,” she said with a happy sigh. She leaned against the balcony’s railing, and tried not to remember the last time she’d been on there, the night she’d accidentally overhead Blaise and Cho discussing her, and whether or not Blaise was interested in her.

“Nice and quiet,” Blaise said, in that quiet voice of his that set Ginny’s heart racing. She tried to shrug it off, recalling the horrible scene of him and that random girl snogging on the couch just an hour ago, but as he leaned down beside her, she couldn’t help it. After all, this was Blaise Zabini, the very first Slytherin to ever come to her rescue.

“I can hardly hear a thing, my ears are still ringing from the loud music,” Ginny said with a giggle. It had been a long time since she’d had that much fun. He turned and smiled at her, and Ginny had to look away before she started blushing. Oh, what a powerful smile that one had!

“How have you been, Weasley? I haven’t had a chance to properly say hello to you,” he said.

“No, I don’t supposed you have. Malfoy’s been keeping you rather occupied – like a puppy whose been left alone for a few hours, desperate for attention,” Ginny said, biting back a smile as she thought of how exuberant Malfoy could be when it came to his friends and the things that made him happy. The more time she spent around him, and the less she came to despise him, the more she realized that he was almost two people – the snide, arrogant, ruthless cold-hearted bastard who ruled Hogwarts with an iron fist and raging temper, but also a delightful little boy who was easily enchanted and excitable about the things that he cared about. He’d been almost jovial all week, rushing to and from classes with his group of friends whole again, skiving off to run into town or take over the Quidditch pitch. Ginny had hardly seen them at all, and knew only of their exploits from the whispered gossip in the halls.

“It’s hard for him when all four of us aren’t around,” Blaise said thoughtfully. Ginny leaned closer, wanting to press him about why that was, but at the same time, she really didn’t want to seem interested in Malfoy, especially not in front of Blaise. “Especially if Tonks is also in London. He takes that pretty hard.”

“Why is that?” Ginny asked, unable to help herself.

“Because we’re all he has. With his parents away in London all the time – they have been ever since he was little – we’re more like his real family. He hates to be alone, in that grand old coffin of a house he lives in. Even with the four of us there, it still feels incredibly empty,” Blaise said. Ginny ignored the stab in her chest at this new revelation, not wanting to acknowledge that she and Malfoy may carry similar burdens.

“What’s brought you back to Hogsmeade? I imagined you’d be off with Cho on their training tour, somewhere in Europe,” Ginny exclaimed, eagerly changing the subject, and unable to conjure anything other than the burning question that had been on her mind since his dramatic reappearance at Hogwarts. Blaise was silent for a moment, and he gave a great sigh.

“I was getting in her way. I just wanted to be with her, for her to be happy, but I was causing her nothing but trouble. So I came back here,” he said, his voice so low, Ginny could barely hear him over the throbbing music inside. Despite that, Ginny could hear the pain in his voice, and cursed herself for asking something so foolish.

But at least it was a reason why she’d seen him recklessly snogging with some girl he couldn’t possibly know very well. Her romantic hero was nursing a broken heart, and for now, if he needed to repair it with meaningless flings with meaningless girls, she could forgive him his imperfection and hope that it wouldn’t last too long.

“A rather lot has happened since you left! Insanity, really, if you stop and think about it. An elaborate plot, a raving lunatic, a kidnapping and a bout of torture later, and Malfoy and I suddenly decide to call a truce and try to be friends,” Ginny said, desperate to change the subject, and take that melancholy look of his face.

“Now that is rather impossible to believe. I’ve heard the story in bits and pieces, but I’ll have to get you tell me the rest of it someday soon. Otherwise, it’s just too hard to fathom. You and Malfoy. Friends,” he said, feigning shock.

“You’re friends with him, you must know what he’s like. An offer of friendship to him ought to come with a warning label,” Ginny cried, her frustrations with him from earlier in the night coming to a head once again.

“Well, he’s particularly Malfoy-ish when it comes to you, Weasley,” Blaise said with a laugh as Ginny sputtered his objections. “Oh come on, you know exactly how to push his buttons, and you must enjoy doing it. You were the first person to stand up to him.”

“The first person foolish enough to stand up to him,” she said wryly. “And now look where it’s landed me.”

“It was quite wonderful to watch. No one but Tonks can put him in his place like that,” he said with a laugh. They settled back into a companionable silence, staring off in the night as the beat of the music inside throbbed against the silence. Ginny was starting to feel the cold, so far from the heat of the dance floor and standing in her blouse and skirt. She considered going back inside, to claim her coat and inform Malfoy that she was leaving, but she wasn’t quite ready to break the spell of that moment, in Blaise Zabini’s calm and reassuring presence. She felt like she had an ally, someone who understood Malfoy and what she was up against when dealing with him.

“I’m sorry things didn’t turn out so well, Blaise Zabini, but I am glad you’re back. We all missed you around here,” she said softly, and was rewarded with a warm smile from him. He turned towards her at her words, placing his hand atop hers, which were resting on the railing.

“Some more than others, I hope,” he said, his eyes glinting strangely. Ginny froze, unsure what to make of that comment. He leaned in a bit closer, looking as if he wanted to whisper something in her ear, but whatever it was he was going to say, Ginny would never find out.

Because Draco Bloody Malfoy, with his impeccable talent for catching Ginny unaware, burst through the doors to the balcony, startling them both with the sudden interruption. Ginny jumped slightly, remembering what Malfoy’s jealousy could do, but Blaise acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary, his hand still resting warmly on hers as he stood close by.

“Don’t mean to interrupt this rather cozy-looking tête-à-tête,” Malfoy said, his tone cold and his face stony. “Are you ready to call it a night? I’d like to get the weasel home before she turns into a pumpkin.”

“Seems yet another night of playing Cinderella has come to an end. Reality beckons,” she said uneasily, hoping her weak attempt at a joke would break the strained atmosphere between the three of them.

“Come along, little weasel. Your coat is inside, you must be freezing,” Malfoy said, and Ginny wanted to cringe away from his hard look as he spoke. It had none of the gentle amusement she’d experience earlier that night when he’d found her crouched in the snow.

“Part of your new duties as her friend?” Blaise asked, his tone even yet slightly hard.

“The girl has developed a talent for disaster – and it’s a dangerous world out there for little weasels,” Malfoy answered slowly. Ginny frowned as she watched this interchange, and couldn’t help but feel as there was a deeper subtext to their words than she could decipher.

“I hardly need you to hold my hand while I cross the street and make sure that I reach my flat. I’ve been on my own for a while now, and it’s only since I’ve met you that I’ve started running into trouble,” Ginny cried out, irritated with Malfoy’s tendency to treat her like a child. She sighed in exasperation, and marched away from both boys, pushing past Malfoy on her way back into the club.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she thought she heard Malfoy mumble as she passed by.


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She had looked so fragile. That had been his first impression of her that night, when he met her as she was shivering in the snow, her coat splayed around her. There had been a brittleness in her eyes, as if it would take just a touch of pressure before she would break.

He hated to see her like that.

So he’d tried, all night, to make her angry, to get her flustered, to irritate her, to get her to argue with him. Anything to bring back the courageous defiance she always wore like a shield about her, because it always brought the fire back into her eyes. Well, also because it was just so entertaining to see her when she was angry, if he were to be completely honest.

But nothing had worked. She’d scattered away from him the first chance she got, like a skittish animal unsure if it was wandering into a trap, instead of rising to the challenge and contradicting what he had said. But watching her on the dance floor, surrounded by the safety of his two best friends, he’d seen whatever it was that was haunting her melt away and she’d let go, allowing herself to have a good time.

He tried not to hate Crabbe and Goyle for it. He tried even harder not to grab Blaise, violently shove him against the wall and demand to know what the two of them had been giggling about together, on their own, for almost half an hour, and demand that he stay at least ten feet away from her at all times.

“I’m glad you came tonight,” he said, standing just outside the entrance to her flat.

“I hardly had a choice in the matter, did I?” she asked sarcastically. She’d barely spoken to him since they left the club. “You really don’t have to walk me to my door, Malfoy. I am rather capable of walking five feet without stumbling across trouble.”

“Perhaps, but why take that chance?” he smiled. She turned to him, clearly exasperated, and planted her feet while crossing her arms and staring up at him defiantly.

“That’s it, Malfoy. That. Is. It. I refuse to act like any of your other ‘friends’ who jump up to obey your every command. You don’t have that kind of control over me, and I’m bloody well tired of you barking orders at me. So I am going to stand here, like the stubborn little weasel you claim that I am, until you march your refined and spoiled arse back into your carriage and leave me to walk up to my door in peace.”

“Weasley, I’m attempting to be a gentleman here,” Malfoy protested. “Surely you can’t fault me for behaving as I’ve been taught since I was old enough to understand there was a difference between girls and boys.”

“Now, if I let you off with that excuse, what’s to stop you from using it again? How am I to know what despicable things you’ve been taught from birth? Your horrible manners with Hermione is a perfectly good illustration proving that I should be very wary of that claim.”

“I gave the girl a ride home, didn’t I?” he growled, irritated. He stared at her, hoping to menace her into compliance. She stared right back at him, defiant as ever. If he hadn’t been so irritated, he would have been pleased to see it. But of course, trust the Weasley girl to have the worst timing possible to regain the defiance that he normally found both attractive and irritating, in equal amounts.

“Just be sensible, and let me walk myself the remaining four steps to my door, all on my own,” she demanded. Oh, how he appreciated how very different she was from all the cookie-cutter Slytherin girls who populated his life. They, at this point in the conversation, would have started to attempt to charm him into compliance, batting their eyelashes, breaking out some irritating pet-name for him, start using a simpering tone of voice that was so very irritating, it took a great deal of discipline to remember that he had been taught a certain degree of decorum – and that it was considered rather brutish to curse an unarmed girl for being a nitwit had been chief among those lessons. But Weasley, she had no time for such foolish nonsense – it would never even cross her mind as a possible strategy to bend him to her will. She would try to reason with him, argue with him, threaten him, stand up and cause such a nuisance that he would have to give in just to make her stop.

As her eyes sparkled defiantly at him in the darkness of the cold winter night, he was struck by how exhilarating it was, arguing with her about something ridiculous and mundane as whether or not he was allowed to escort her to her door.

“Perhaps we can negotiate a compromise,” he said, his resolve softened in that moment of weakness. “I’ll stand here and watch you walk yourself to your door, and stand here until you light a candle in your flat.”

She stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she considered his (incredibly generous, in his opinion) offer.

“It’s either that, weasel, or I’m going to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder and march you up to your room, with you kicking and screaming, if necessary,” he growled after she considered it for a second too long.

“Fine. I suppose that will be about as good an agreement as we’re going to reach tonight,” she finally agreed, and after he had grunted his acknowledgement, he caught a sly smile she was trying to hide, and instantly knew that she had won that round. “Listen Malfoy, thank you for dragging me out with you tonight, even though I seriously thought I wanted to be anywhere else in the world then at that party. I actually ended up having a fairly nice time.”

“Good. There’ll be another event next week you’ll have to clear your schedule for,” he said, remembering the half-baked plans he and Goyle had discussed that afternoon involving a villa in the south of France.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said, trying to admonish him. But the hour was late, and he could tell she was exhausted, and the half-hearted attempt at protest was brushed aside.

“Goodnight, now, little weasel. Run along inside, and don’t forget to light that candle,” he said softly, wanting to end the evening on a high note. She smile sweetly at him, and after digging out her keys, she walked the five steps to her door, and went inside.

He waited outside, his breath sending out puffs of steam in the cold air, for a minute until finally he saw light fill the top window and her slim silhouette pass by, waving once. He smiled, pleased that she had kept to their agreement. After her form disappeared from the window, his smile faded as quickly as it had come.

“I know you’re there,” he said, his voice deadly soft. He looked beyond the entrance to Weasley’s building, further down the darkened alley way, and could see them standing there, trying to crouch in the shadows. In their dark robes and hoods, they were almost imperceptible. To almost anyone, but for Draco, who had grown up in their ranks, who could recognize all but the very newest of their order even while in their full regalia, they were fully visible. He’d seen them earlier that night, as he’d arrived at the Three Broomsticks to pick up Weasley.

The two forms walked forward, their boots crunching in the snow. They stood in front of him, their embarrassment at being caught making their bold and defiant as Malfoy stared them down, allowing his rage to build as his mind spun out the different scenarios and reasons that would have had them stalking the Weasley girl.

“If I ever catch either of you – or any other of your friends or coworkers – hovering around that girl again, it will be the very last, entirely foolish, thing you will do,” he said coldly. “I don’t care who sent you, and I don’t care why you’ve been following her. It ends right now.”

“You can warn us off all you like – about ready to give up this assignment anyway. Scaring little girls in the dark isn’t really what we signed up for. But there are others,” one said, his thick accent giving away his identity. He was too inept to even attempt to disguise himself, Draco noted with disgust. “Others who aren’t going to care, not with the amount of Galleons being offered. And they’re not going to care what a kid like you thinks about it, either.”

“I’ll say it one more time – if you even look at her again, it will be the last thing you do,” he said, his tone ice cold. The two Death Eaters standing in front of him glanced at each other uncertainly, but then the one who had spoken nodded his understanding. Without waiting for them to slip away in the shadows again, Draco turned and marched back to his waiting carriage, making sure that the door snapped shut enough to emphasize his statement.

As it rolled away, headed back to the Malfoy home, his mind started to run through a list of names, sorting out who would have enough influence, money and resources to assign two mid-tier Death Eaters to stalk Ginny Weasley.

He didn’t like the two names, the only two who fit the criteria, that he came up with.


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She started hiding in the library during lunch or any free time she had between classes. It was rather beneficial to her grades, as it gave her ample opportunity for catching up on homework and poring over her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook (but mostly because every time she succeeded in answering a question correctly in his class, Snape would glower darkly at her – an incredibly satisfying reward for all her hard work). While the improvement in her grades was definitely a benefit, it wasn’t the reason she was hiding out there, at the dusty little desk hidden at the back of the stacks.

Oh no, the real reason? Had everything to do with Draco Malfoy and his newly returned best friend. She didn’t feel it was quite right for her to continue to stare longingly at Blaise Zabini with Draco Malfoy still insisting on acting as if he were her boyfriend. Any time she spoke to Blaise, she could see Malfoy positively glaring at her, as if she were betraying him, and he had any right to feel betrayed. Of course, it didn’t help matters at all that every time Malfoy stared at her, her heart started pounding as she remembered what he’d said to her that night at the party, and after her heart started to pound, she’d get all nervous and skittish, and bloody Malfoy would get that bloody self-satisfied grin on his face, because there was nothing he loved more than a demonstration of his power to affect her.

So, she was avoiding him. And his best friend. Other than a few chance encounters in the hallway, which she’d managed to extricate herself from rather quickly and deftly, she’d barely seen the lot of them in almost a week. While her schoolwork had certainly improved, her ability to concentrate had not. Ginny would catch herself staring out whatever window was closest or losing herself in her thoughts as she flew on her broomstick to school, often getting so off course, she’d have to run to make it to her first class on time.

Looking down at her parchment paper, she sighed heavily. It was now covered with a number of inky, Quidditch-related doodles and not a lot of Potions-related notes had appeared since she’d sat down. She had, assumingly, been staring out the window for the majority of the period; the flurry of snowflakes dancing around a rare sunny sky had been impossible to resist. Between her troubles with Draco Malfoy, the sudden reappearance of Blaise Zabini and her know-it-all best friend’s musings on both subjects and, in particular, how Ginny felt about them, she felt as if it were perfectly within reason to indulge in a few hours’ daydreaming.

She was so deep in thought, justifying the large amount of precious study-time she was devoting to staring blankly out of windows, she nearly screamed as the very cause of her inability to focus sat himself down at her table and yanked the piece of parchment on which she’d been trying to write a Potions essay out from under her fingertips.

“You have been passing up the opportunity to spend time with me and my exclusive group of friends for this?” he snorted, half-amused, half-disgusted, holding out her be-doodled essay. She tried to snatch it away, but with his longer arms, he easily held it out just out of reach.

“You bursting in here certainly isn’t helping my level of concentration,” she grumbled defensively, her face burning as he made a large show of examining her doodles. She refused to meet his eyes and acknowledge the grin he was giving her, unwilling to be charmed by him.

“Now, I’ve been fairly patient here, weasel, with your recent absences among my group of friends, believing your claims of being too busy with schoolwork and insistence that you must maintain a specific level of academic performance in consideration of your scholarship, but after seeing this demonstration of your commitment to academia,” he said, waving her drawing derisively, “I believe one could only conclude that you are only using that as an excuse to avoid me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. In order to be avoiding you, it would have to be common for me to spend my free time during school hours with you and your group of spoiled, obnoxious hooligans, but that’s hardly the case, now isn’t it?” she asked, finally retrieving her parchment. Before she’d succumbed to a bout of daydreaming, she’d actually managed to make some good notes for her essay. “Just because I haven’t altered my usual habits to include spending time with you and your friends hardly constitutes avoiding you.”

He slid his chair in closer to her, trapping her against the wall. Smiling with a mischievous glint that both made her heart beat a little bit faster and sent a shiver of fear down her spine, he leaned in.

“Now, do be a bit friendlier, weasel, or you won’t be getting your surprise,” he said.

“I don’t like surprises,” she said, gritting her teeth. She hated having him so close to her, particularly when he reached out and resting his hand over hers, lightly stroking her fingers as he grinned that stupid boyish grin of his. It made her feel so many things she desperately didn’t want to be feeling, especially not from him.

“No, I don’t imagine you would. You hardly seem the type to enjoy fun, after all. However, in the name of our friendship, as you annoyingly insist on terming our relationship, I challenge you to suck it up and indulge me for a moment,” he said, his eyes dancing with excitement. “Now close your eyes.”

Ginny obliged his request, as it would violate her very nature to turn down a challenge – particularly from him, although she did so with a long, drawn-out sigh. She heard him rummaging around in his bag, and could sense that he had placed something down in front of her. When he instructed, she opened her eyes again, and was a bit perplexed by what she saw.

Lying on the table in front of her was an incredibly elaborate mask – the kind that rich ladies would wear to extravagant Halloween balls. It was decorated by an amazing array of colours, encrusted with diamonds and gold trim, spreading out to form the shape of gold-tipped butterfly wings. Looking up at Malfoy questioningly, her fingers poised over it, she found she couldn’t even speak. The desire to reach out and touch the mask was incredibly strong; she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen something so amazing before and she longed to pick it up, try it on and run off to find Hermione so the two girls could examine its loveliness properly.

“What’s this all about?” Ginny asked instead, because it was Malfoy sitting beside her and she didn’t want him to see her so excited by something he had given her.

“It’s an invitation, of course. Haven’t you even been invited to a masquerade ball before?” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing. He plucked the mask out from under her trembling finger tips and held it up to her face. The swath of glittering tulle hanging in ribbons from the side was, it soon became apparent, spelled – it started tying itself around her head. “We hold one every year for Halloween. It’s an incredibly exclusive party, and only those with proper invitations can gain entrance.”

“Then why are you inviting me?” she muttered, heartsick with dread over the very thought of it. Her last attempt at socializing with the elite at a similar event – Cho’s party – had not ended very well, and with the rash of strange incidents occurring around town (not to mention her own run-in with the Death Eaters), she wasn’t sure it would be wise to risk another. Malfoy, to his credit, ignored her comment, concentrating instead on supervising the mask that had tied itself securely around her head.

“There now. That’s perfect,” he announced decisively, staring intently at Ginny. She looked away, unable to face that look of childish wonder in his eyes – it was becoming painfully obvious that Halloween must be his favorite holiday, for he was positively acting like a small child about his proposed costume for her. She reached behind and tugged at the tulle, pulling the mask from her face. She turned it over to examine it.

“A butterfly? You see me as a butterfly?” she asked with disdain. Malfoy nodded, thoughtfully.

“Yes. Unique and elusive,” he said slowly as he leaned in closer, his voice soft and seductive, his gray eyes fixed directly on hers in a way that made almost squirm with the desire to throw her arms around him and snog him senseless. When she realized he was only a breadth away, she jumped, smashing her elbow against the wall, causing her to curse loudly.

“Extremely jittery,” he said with a long suffering sigh.

“I don’t know if I can make it to your party – sorry, masquerade ball,” she corrected herself even as Malfoy looked as if he were going to interrupt her. “Halloween is usually the busiest night of the year at the restaurant, and if Rosmerta has booked a private party in the Merlin Room, then there will be no way I’ll be able to break free.”

“Oh, silly child, you can’t refuse an invitation to this kind of event. Believe me, Rosmerta herself will march you down to my house, no matter how busy her restaurant may be on that night. And that mask is special – I’ll be able to see that it’s you, regardless of what costume you come in or how large the sea of other disguises. You’ll be the only one with anything like it,” he said, trying to entice her.

“I can’t say yes right away, Malfoy. I’ll have to see,” she said quietly, touched by how much he seemed to want her to come. He stared at her, boyish grin instantly gone and replaced with a cold look indicating that he was not at all happy with her response.

“Remember, weasel, butterflies are elusive. You pass up your chance to catch one, you may never get a second one,” he snapped, pulling the mask out of her hands. He stood up, appearing ready to storm away, but he paused a few steps away and turned. “Be careful, weasel. While you’re still trying to decide if you’re strong enough to keep hating me, I may decide to stop chasing you.”

After he left, Ginny stared down at her now half-crumpled sheet of parchment containing the fruits of her daydreaming and a few lucid notes that might eventually be useful when she wrote her paper. In a fit of emotion she would never be able to adequately describe, she shredded the paper to bits. Feeling completely unsatisfied as she observed the pathetic bits of parchment scattered across the table, she felt the need to just scream welling up inside of her, this incredible pressure that needed to be released before she lost her mind. After furiously gathering her books and shoving them into her bag, she fled the library and sought the only place where she could truly express herself when it came to Draco Malfoy. She ran down to the Quidditch pitch.


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A/N: Thanks for being patient. More to come sooner rather than later, I promise. But, hopefully a scene where Draco inadvertently compares himself to a butterfly was worth it?

From HYD: The demand that she meet him at a party (or, in my case, drags her to a party) where she sees his best friend making out with other people.

Little red vixen

It took her longer than normal to reach the pitch, as she kept pausing along the way to scoop up handfuls of freshly fallen snow to make into snowballs, which she then hurled as far away as possible, imagining that each and every one of them was a miniature version of Draco Malfoy’s head. When she finally got there, and was greeted by the quiet, icy silence of the snow-covered stadium, she felt relieved, as if she’d been holding her breath for far too long and was finally able to exhale.

She flopped straight back into the snow, gasping only slightly when the cold shocked her through her robe but despite the shock, she stayed where she was, thinking that it might help to cool her temper. Staring straight up at the grey sky, she wrestled the situation over and over in her mind. Didn’t he understand what she risked by simply being friends with him?

Remembering his last comment before he stormed off like the drama queen that he was, she jumped up again, and, scooping up a large bunch of snow, she scrunched another snow ball and was about to hurl it across the pitch when a voice spoke up behind her.

“I’ll be extremely disappointed if you’re not imagining that the snowball is Malfoy’s head.”

She whirled around, surprised, flinging the snow ball wildly as it slipped from her grip. It smashed against the stands a few feet away. A very bemused-looking Blaise Zabini was standing before her, his robe unfastened and his scarf trailing behind him, despite the frigid temperature.

“How did you know?” she asked, stupidly. After the bizarre way their encounter at All Hallows’ had ended, she was unsure of how to act around him, especially with the way that Malfoy seemed to be jealously guarding his territory whenever he was around. Blaise’s actions just didn’t seem to fit with anything that had happened up to now, and she wasn’t even certain if he had actually been leaning so suggestively, or if it was just her wildly active imagination reacting to some very wishful thinking.

“There’s only one person I know that can activate that particular decibel of rage from you, Weasley. I suppose he told you he expected you to attend the masquerade on Halloween,” he said, in that quiet, nonchalant way he had that made her heart flutter. So different from Malfoy’s pure arrogance, there was something a little bit more stately and refined about Blaise’s confidence. Now here was the type of person a girl wanted to ask her to a masquerade ball!

“Demanded my attendance, is more like,” Ginny grumbled, remembering the scene in the library a few minutes before. The unease of Blaise’s presence had distracted her for a few moments, but the swirl of emotions all came crashing back. “I understand that he thinks he’s being friendly and trying to do something nice – what teenage girl wouldn’t want to go with someone who is supposedly the most attractive boy in the whole school? But he doesn’t understand that going to something like that, with the people who are going to be there, is hardly my idea of a good time.”

He stared at her thoughtfully, as if he were turning her words over carefully in his mind. He wandered slowly over to the bench on the side of the pitch, and sat down. He glanced up at her with those deadly dark eyes and patted the seat next to him in invitation. Jolted, she hesitated for a minute before heading over and sitting down beside him. At least this way, she thought, he can’t look at me with those eyes.

“You know, Weasley, that this event isn’t exactly Malfoy’s idea of fun. Don’t get me wrong – Halloween used to be his favorite time of the year as it usually meant his family would return home for the holiday, but now it’s more of a stifling obligation,” Blaise explained.

“Then why is he so eager to subject me to the same thing?” Ginny cried, outraged. Of course! Malfoy never truly moved past everything that had happened, and he’s still trying to find ways to torture me, she thought immediately. Blaise turned to her, almost laughing at her sudden burst of anger.

“Because, silly girl, he thinks it might actually be bearable if you’re there with him,” he said. Ginny felt her heart drop as she digested his words and recalled the look of excitement in Malfoy’s eyes as he held the mask up to her face. He had seemed rather excited about it all, hadn’t he? And she had brushed it off rather harshly. She sighed.

“He just doesn’t understand what kind of position I put myself in at these types of events. I’ve just finally gotten most of the Slytherins – except Pansy, of course – off of my back. The last thing I need is for any of them – or their parents – to see me at that type of event, with Draco Malfoy, nonetheless! Can’t either of you see that it could even be dangerous for me?” she asked quietly, finally voicing a fear that had been growing in her ever since her run-in with the Death Eaters outside the restaurant a few nights ago.

“Malfoy’s not an idiot – well, he’s not as much of an idiot as he seems. I’m fairly sure the thought has crossed his mind, and he’s got it covered. He wouldn’t risk you in any way, I’m sure you’ve realized that by now,” Blaise said.

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, frowning. Blaise glanced at her sideways, an eyebrow raised.

“Surely someone’s told you about Draco. We always say that he’s a dragon – when he finds his treasure, he hoards it to himself, jealously guarding it against anyone that would try to steal it and fiercely protective against anything that would threaten to harm it,” he explained. Ginny recalled Crabbe and Goyle explaining something similar to her back before the incident with Claire had even happened.

“What has that to do with me?” Ginny asked, fearing she already knew what absurd thing Blaise was going to say.

“Well, if I’m right, then it’s pretty obvious that you’ve become his treasure,” he said, with a smirk. It took every ounce of Ginny’s self control not to squirm with how incredibly uncomfortable that sentence made her, both because she hadn’t yet sorted out how she felt about Malfoy and because it was just… too much! Even a hopeless romantic like her couldn’t take that kind of declaration.

“I hardly think that’s the case. I’m just an amusement to him; once that wears off, I’m positive he’ll be done with me. And that is not enough of an assurance for me to risk going to that party,” Ginny said, abruptly cutting off all notions of dragons and treasures.

“Well, if you won’t come for him…” Blaise said, turning to meet her eyes, causing her heart to skip a beat, “…then maybe you’ll come for me? Save me from a night of endless boredom and inane conversation with girls trying to replace Cho?”

“If I go, Malfoy’ll think he won,” Ginny grumbled. Blaise threw his head back and laughed, the rich sound filling the empty pitch, amplifying the sound.

“Then we’ll surprise him. Between Crabbe, Goyle and myself, we’ll get you there without him noticing until it’s too late and you’re already there,” he offered conspiratorially.

“Well, now, that’s a plan I might be able to get behind,” Ginny said with a slow smile. She could hardly believe what had just happened in the space of twenty minutes – she’d just had the longest and most natural conversation with Blaise Zabini that she’d ever had; and the two of them were scheming to surprise that arrogant git. Relishing the thought of finally being able to catch him off guard for once, Ginny could now hardly wait for Halloween to come around.

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Halloween night…

“Weasley, I thought you would already be dressed by now!” Crabbe cried when Ginny stepped out of the back office of the Three Broomsticks, into the mostly empty dining room where he and Goyle were waiting.

“But I am ready. Let’s go,” she said, marching towards the door. Crabbe and Goyle glanced at each other before protesting in unison and rushing for the door, desperately trying to stop her from exiting.

“Weasley, I never knew you had such a good sense of humour! For, surely,” Goyle said, looking desperately back and forth between her and Crabbe, “that outfit is a joke.”

“I beg your pardon, it is absolutely nothing of the sort. What’s wrong with this? It’s the nicest set of dress robes that I own,” Ginny said, looking down at the periwinkle blue satin dress that had been her mother’s when she was still at Hogwarts and the school regularly hosted various balls and dances. Feeling a mix of wounded pride and frustration over their snobbery, she held her head up and glared at the pair of them. “I realize that they aren’t quite the designer quality you lot are used to, but they should be good enough for this.”

“Listen, Weasley, as I patiently try to remember that you’re just a poor little heathen and weren’t subjected to the torture of these annual overblown affairs,” Crabbe said, with a quick smile to quell any snide retorts from her over the ‘heathen’ remark. “While dress robes are absolutely the most suitable attire for ninety percent of our events, this affair is a bit beyond dress robes. You need a ball gown – anything less will be considered an insult to the hosts.”

“The last one who did wound up wandering around in Siberia thinking he was a polar bear for a few weeks before his wife was able to round him up and set him right,” Goyle said, sounding impressed.

“I haven’t got a ball gown, gentleman – I should have thought that would have been painfully obvious. If we don’t find a solution, all our scheming will have been a giant waste of time. Any suggestions?” Ginny snapped, her hands on her hips. Leave it to the boys – they’d been planning together for over a week, and never once had any of them mentioned this particular bit of information. Between her sewing skills and Rosemerta’s closet, she surely could have made something suitable in time.

“That would be why they made the wise choice to alert me of their plans,” a voice piped up from the doorway. Tonks was standing in the entrance, looking spectacular in a bright magenta gown and white fur cloak. Her hair – now a deep brown – was swept up and held in place with a few jeweled pins. If it hadn’t been for the unmistakable sarcasm in her voice, Ginny wouldn’t have been able to believe that the beautiful, elegant woman standing in front of her was the same woman. “I had a feeling they’d be no help in this area. It’s just too easy for men – beyond standard dress robes, the only they have to decide is the colour of their tie – black or white, depending on the occasion.”

“Here you are, coming to my rescue yet again Tonks! Are you able to lend me something suitable?” Ginny asked hopefully, staring at the garment bag she had slung over her shoulders. Despite herself, with all the plotting and planning that Blaise, Goyle and Crabbe had done in order to surprise Malfoy at his own event, she had actually been looking forward to it. Malfoy was so often cranky and serious that she really wanted to see him behaving like a little kid, excited and caught up in his favorite holiday. Halloween had long ago lost any kind of excitement for her, after all. It would be nice to see it through someone else’s eyes.

“Oh, my dear, have I got something for you!” Tonks said, her eyes lighting up with a mischievous gleam. “Narcissa will be spending her night trying to scope out exactly which perfect pure blood heiress she’ll want her only son to marry, so if you have any chance of making it through the ball without being Transfigured into a toad, you’re going to have to look like you’re one of them.”

“And how do you imagine we’ll go about doing that?” Ginny cried, completely certain that this was completely impossible.

“That’s the beauty of a masquerade ball, isn’t it?” she asked with a gleam in her eye. She held out a glossy wooden box and gestured for Ginny to take it. “Open it.”

Inside, nestled on a bed of red satin, was a stunning piece of jewelry that Ginny had trouble believing someone was supposed to wear on their face. It was made entirely of thin strands of gold, webbed together to form the shape of a mask. The almond-shaped eyes were defined by strands of gold braided together, and every part of it seemed to glow and sparkle. Taking a closer look, she realized that what she thought was glitter was actually a smattering of rubies, glowing warmly in the dim light of the restaurant. Looking up at Tonks, Ginny hardly knew what to say.

“I couldn’t possibly,” she breathed, her mind spinning with what she would do if any happened to something that clearly had more value than everything the Weasley family owned, combined between all of them.

“Of course you can. It was my first mask, you know,” Tonks said with a fond smile. She had a bit of a faraway look in her eye. “Met the first boy I fell in love with while wearing it, sneaking out the back door. So, of course you have to wear it. Hopefully it will bring you better luck than it brought us.”

“But won’t Mrs. Malfoy recognize it if I show up wearing it?” Ginny asked, concerned, even as she longed to snatch it up.

“Oh, honey, trust me – no one is going to be looking at your face once you see the dress I have in mind for you,” Tonks said, her eyes glinting mischievously.

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Considering what she was wearing, Ginny supposed she should have felt confident enough to take over the world. But standing in the darkened, empty hallway leading into the main ballroom of the Manor, she felt so unsure and uncomfortable in her attire, it was taking every ounce of her stubbornness to keep from turning around and bolting.

That was probably how that whole Cinderella nonsense had started, Ginny figured. You take a nice, poor girl, throw in a fairy godmother forcing her into yards and yards of heavy and expensive silk and uncomfortable glass slippers and send her all alone into a room full of the country’s most powerful and rich people – completely out of her element – and it’s hardly a wonder why she fled. She probably didn’t even make it through the door at all, and lost that fateful shoe running from the building as fast as she could as soon as she caught a glimpse of what was waiting for her on the other side of the door.

She could have killed them all for leaving her. Insisting that they had to assuage Malfoy’s inevitable foul temper, Crabbe, Goyle and Tonks had all scampered inside, leaving Ginny to fidget anxiously in the metres and metres of fabric Tonks had her swathed in. So, there she was, wearing more fabric than she’d ever worn before, feeling naked and insecure.

Tonks had really outdone herself, Ginny had to admit. When she’d pulled the gown out of the garment bag, Ginny had felt a little faint with the thought that Tonks actually expected her to wear it – let alone how she was going to get into it, but Tonks had succeeded in tackling her into the gown before she’d had a chance to protest. A beautiful, ruby-red colour, the gown was something the likes of which Ginny had never seen, except perhaps in the society pages of the Daily Prophet. The incredibly tight-fitting (and rib-crushing) bodice with a frighteningly low-cut sweetheart neckline, laced at the back, exploded at the waist in a sea of gathered satin. Ginny was pretty sure she was going to have trouble fitting through the massive doorways of the Malfoy Manor, due to the sheer volume of satin she had trailing around her in all directions.

Glancing down nervously at her bust-line, she sincerely hoped that Tonks’ charms would hold and the night would not end with any type of wardrobe malfunctions. Standing in the hall, she touched the cool metal of the magnificent mask that Tonks had insisted she wear. After she’d managed to halt the flurry of activity as Tonks tried get her ready long enough to take a close look at it, she had turned to glare at her benefactress, unable to believe what she was seeing.

“A weasel?” she had demanded, only realizing just now what the features of the mask reminded her of. Tonks had thrown her head back and laughed loudly.

“I guess it does look a little like a weasel, doesn’t it? But no, not at all. I suppose it was supposed to be a cat, but the artist didn’t quite get it right. I prefer to think of it as a fox. Come, don’t you think it’s quite fitting for you to dress as a cunning little vixen?” Tonks had asked.

After Tonks had finished with her, Ginny had stared at herself in the small mirror in Rosemerta’s office. Ginny had protested when Tonks had started to tease her hair, allowing her curls to run wild, afraid it looked far too messy. But staring at the full effect, combined with the dress, the mask and the heavy gold and ruby necklace Tonks had insisted she wear, Ginny was having trouble believing it was actually her reflection she was staring at, and that perhaps Tonks had just slipped a potion into her tea when she wasn’t looking to make her think that she could look that way.

Becoming impatient with hiding in the dark, Ginny made a decision that she couldn’t wait any longer and that it was time to go in and face her fears. Gathering her courage and ordering herself to stop being such a ninny about how she was dressed, as everyone else in the ballroom was dressed equally as ridiculous, she started to walk towards the entrance.

“Now, now, young lady. We can’t possibly have you wandering around unescorted. It’s not how we do things, you know,” a familiar voice said from behind her. Feeling instantly relieved, she turned to find Blaise Zabini, dressed in an immaculate set of white dress robes, setting off his dark colouring, wearing a brilliant coloured mask, all in hues of red and orange, perched on his nose. Relieve she was no longer about to face this alone, she smiled widely and held out her arm for him to take.

“If you’d been here earlier, there wouldn’t have been any cause for concern,” she said wryly, smoothing her skirts. She considered trying to hike up her bodice a little as a matter of security, but regardless of her friendship with Blaise Zabini, there were certain lines she had to draw. She chose instead to distract herself by commenting on his mask. “Hippogriff? How suitable.”

“Great beastly winged creature, am I?” he asked with a strange smile. “It was my father’s. I almost didn’t recognize you, all done up like that. Good thing I sent Tonks over there – I almost forgot that you’ve never been to this type of event before and might not be aware of the type of attire that’ll be expected.”

“It’s a very good thing you did. Wouldn’t want to cause a scene with all my heathen ways and embarrass you lot,” Ginny said with a smirk. Blaise turned to her, meeting her eyes.

“You look magnificent – you’re going to blow Malfoy away,” he said softly, sending chills down her spine.

“Well, that’s not really the purpose of this evening, now is it? We want to surprise him, shock him, baffle him, leave him gaping over our evil ingenuity and wondering how we had the gall to pull it off without his ever knowing or suspecting a thing,” Ginny said, uncomfortable with the inherent meaning in his words, that she was dressed up for Malfoy. Because, of course, that wasn’t at all why. It was entirely Tonks’ doing, that was all.

“You’ll do all of that, but you’re also going to dazzle him, just like you’ve dazzled me,” he said. Without giving her a moment to recover from the compliment that had her heart pounding in her chest, he lead her into the ballroom.

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Draco sighed, painfully bored by the conversation he was pretending to participate in. It was still fairly early, and so, none of his real friends had shown up yet. Growing more annoyed with each passing minute at the audacity of Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise to be so late to the Malfoy’s Annual Halloween Masquerade, he tried to distract himself by plotting suitable punishments for the insult.

He sent down his drink, and politely excused himself. The only good thing about the fact that his family was hosting the event was that it meant that he could wander effortlessly from conversation to conversation, using the excuse that he had to see to his other guests when he grew too frustrated by the inane topics of discussion. Raised to maintain a cordial yet distant demeanor towards those important yet less powerful than his family (which meant almost everyone), he was sick and tired of playing the charade of civility, and wanted his friends to arrive so he could start to enjoy himself.

And of course, he also had to spend the majority of his time dodging the various teenage girls that his parents’ colleagues kept throwing at him, eager to ensure their place in society by having their daughter marry the only male Malfoy heir, which didn’t do much to improve his mood. The orchestra had transitioned from the mellow tones of the background scores they played as guest arrived, and were starting to play music designed to encourage guests to start dancing. He wanted to make his way to an exit before any of the ambitious young pureblood princesses tried to ask him for a dance, and he’d be stuck making inane and polite conversation that would bore him even more, and solidify the certainty of the deaths of his best friends at his hands in vengeance for abandoning him to this fate.

Glancing around the room, hoping to spot his Slytherin friends, to his chagrin, he instead spotted his mother, sauntering towards him, escorting a familiar young lady with her. He gritted his teeth and tried to remember all the reasons why it was important for him to be civil to her as they approached, particularly as he recognized the girl she was marching over to him. Despite himself, he had to admit that she was stunning, in an ivory gown that seemed to make her skin glow and with her long dark hair falling loosely around her shoulders, framing her face.

“Draco, darling, look who I’ve found!” his mother said, her voice warm and cheerful. He tried not to shudder with the unnaturalness of it. “It’s Angelique Aristide! You two haven’t seen each other in ages.”

“It’s been a very long time,” Angelique said slowly in her careful English, her voice low as she stared at him with dark eyes. He stared for a moment, deciding how best to react to her presence. He tried not to remember all the golden summer afternoons he’d spent with her head resting in his lap as she tried to teach him how to properly conjugate French verbs, laughing as he strung horrifyingly incorrect sentences together. He had always been too easily distracted by her hair, unable to keep himself from running his fingers through it.

“It has. I hope you’ve been well,” he answered woodenly. He remembered the last time they’d spoken, and nearly had to bite his lip to quell the rage that accompanied that memory. It was too long ago, buried in the past, where he needed it to stay.

“Doesn’t she look wonderful tonight, darling? I was so delighted when I found out she was coming. I finally had the perfect person to give my old ball mask to. It looks stunning on her, doesn’t it?” Narcissa said. At that, his head snapped up and he studied Angelique’s appearance more thoroughly.

A leaden silence fell over the threesome as he was unable to speak, completely choking on his rage. She was wearing the butterfly mask, and now everyone around them was going to know Narcissa had given it to her.

Angelique, for her part, was staring at the floor, clearly uncomfortable and fully aware of the power struggle happening between mother and son.

“Hardly anyone has been dancing. Won’t you two help get things started?” Narcissa said, her hand resting on Draco’s arm in warning as she spoke, an edge in her voice. Without saying a word, he simply held out his hand to Angelique, who took it obligingly and followed as he led her out to the dancefloor.

The orchestra, seeing a new couple on the floor, started playing a waltz. Years of training took over, and he mindlessly stepped with his partner, and started leading. He’d grown up dancing at similar-type functions; he could practically waltz in his sleep.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, Draco. She’s been having tea with my mother again. She sent me the mask with a note asking me to wear it, and I couldn’t possibly say no, not to Narcissa Malfoy,” Angelique said softly. Draco just stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched tightly shut. “I tried to write you, to warn you what she had in mind, but you always send back my letters… and I didn’t really know what to say.”

“And now, with us dancing like this, with me wearing your mother’s famous mask, from her first masquerade when she met your father – who doesn’t know that famous story? I know what everyone’s going to think and say about this, and … just know that I didn’t plan any of this,” she said, glancing nervously over his shoulder at the audience their dance had attracted. “Draco, please say something!”

“It’s probably best if you don’t speak,” he said, his voice low yet so cold, Angelique flinched. Stiffening in his arms, she met his eyes and nodded slowly as they continued to dance.

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To Ginny’s intense relief, almost everyone in the ballroom was focused on the couple dancing some trumped up version of the waltz, and she walked in completely unnoticed. Amazed by everything that she was seeing, she’d barely been able to keep herself from wandering aimlessly through the room, eager to drink in all the wonderful things to see – from the marble floors and gilded, mirrored walls, to the amazing gowns the other girls were wearing. It was all stunning and beautiful, and it took every ounce of Ginny’s willpower to keep herself from wrenching free of Zabini’s grip and running home before they figured out that she was a horrible imposter, someone who would never belong at this type of event.

“Where to do you think Malfoy is?” she whispered to Zabini, as she had expected to find him holding court, surrounded by his group of Slytherins, similar to the thousand times she’d seen him in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. But she hadn’t been able to spot him since she’d walked in.

“In hiding, by this point, no doubt,” he answered. “We’re all hunted down by daughters of powerful men at these things, but he has it the worst, because his father is the most powerful of them all.”

“Have you ever seen a young couple so perfectly suited for each other? Their parents must be pleased,” an elderly witch said to her companion. Curious to see what the fuss over the couple dancing was all about, she stood up on her tiptoes, trying to see through the audience that had gathered at the edge of the dancefloor.

She caught a glimpse of a familiar tall figure with blond hair, dressed all in black, and knew at once, despite the mask on his face, that she’d located Malfoy. Smiling back at Blaise, she pushed her way forward, wanting to catch him action, dying to tease him over his expertise in ballroom dancing.

If she’d been asked to wager who his partner was, she would certainly have bet on Pansy Parkinson, but she noticed her a few feet away, dressed in a candy-floss pink dress with so much white lace, she looked more like a poodle than anything else, really; scowl deeply etched on her face. Surprised, she turned back to the two as they moved effortlessly across the dance floor.

His partner, in fact, was stunningly beautiful, wearing a simple ivory silk gown that fell like water over her tall, slim frame, moving fluidly around her as they danced. Ginny nervously smoothed her skirts, feeling ridiculous in the fancy ball gown Tonks had assured her was completely appropriate. More so than anything, it was how she moved that was so captivating, as every movement seemed so effortless and graceful. Malfoy’s dance partner was the picture of elegance, someone born to be watched and admired by a crowd of some of the most influential people in the wizarding world. Despite how elegantly Ginny herself was dressed, she knew she would never have that aura.

Feeling slightly foolish over their plan now that she was here, Ginny watched them and felt her face begin to burn. It was only when Ginny was able to catch a full glimpse of her face did she really begin to feel foolish. For his dance partner was wearing the beautiful, delicate butterfly mask that Malfoy had attempted to give to her.

“I may decide to stop chasing you,” he’d said, after she’d so brusquely rebuked him for having the gall to invite her to his family’s masquerade ball. Clearly, he’d found someone more suited to the mask in her absence – someone who was truly delicate, beautiful and elegant. Backing away from the dance floor, Ginny couldn’t help but think that he’d made good on his threat.

The intense anxiousness, which always preceeded an attack of her claustrophobia, suddenly welled up deep in her chest. She desperate needed some air, she thought wildly, as the room seemed to start spinning as the panic increased. Deftly glancing around her, she spotted an exit and made a run for it, Cinderella be damned.

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“Weasley? Are you out here?” Blaise called out. It hadn’t taken him long to find her there, Ginny thought ruefully. Of course, Blaise Zabini of all people would know all the quiet places to hide. She’d found a dimly lit courtyard, just off the ballroom, that had been charmed to stay warm even as it was lightly snowing. A few wizards were in a far corner, smoking cigars and discussing politics, but for the most part, it was completely secluded. “You’re missing the ball hiding out here.”

“I don’t think I can go back in there,” she confessed quietly. She’d recovered from the panic attack rather quickly, but it had left her feeling weak and shaky. “I knew this was a mistake. I don’t fit in with these people, and whenever I try, I end up feeling foolish and inadequate.”

“But that’s why he wants you there, Weasley. Because you’re nothing like any of them. He has so many duties and responsibilities at these silly events – as a host, you know, he has to chat with everyone, but has to be careful not to talk to any one person any longer or shorter than anyone else. And he also has to do things he hates, such as dancing with any number of girls that are thrown at him,” Blaise explained.

“Well, if he’s got all that to keep him busy, then what can I possibly do here?” she asked. “Trip over something so he can laugh at my clumsiness? I’m sure they’ll all find that oh so charming.”

Blaise leaned back on the stone railing they were standing beside, tipping his head back to look up at the sky. “I’m just going to get in the way, Zabini,” she said.

“That’s the problem I faced while I was with Cho,” he said. Surprised to hear him mention her name, as he hadn’t spoken about her at all since he’d been back, Ginny looked up at him in surprise.

“She was so busy, captaining her team, with practices and press conferences and matches, it was hard to spend any time with her at all. The more I tried to help out, the more I felt that I was simply in the way.”

“That’s why you came back here, then?” she asked softly.

“But it’s not that way for Malfoy. He wants you in the way. You should go back in there,” he said. “Well, after you’ve got a bit of colour back in your face – you’re looking a bit sickly, pale as you are, Weasley.”

“Thanks, that was most helpful,” she laughed. “Perhaps I should go in – at least to say hello. I did get all dressed up, after all.”

“Weasley, it’s best if you don’t mention anything about Angelique – that was who he was dancing with. It’s a bit of a touchy subject, and you know he can be.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And we’re going to try to avoid Narcissa Malfoy all we can – she’s been desperately hunting for that red-headed strumpet who was photographed with him in the Daily Prophet, and hasn’t been able to put a name to the face yet.”

“Don’t suppose she would think it possible for her son to be consorting with a Weasley, that notoriously red-headed family?” Ginny said lightly. There was an unspoken warning in Blaise’s words and she wondered how her friendship with Malfoy had gone undetected for so long, considering how they were the subject of all the gossip at school. She didn’t even want to think about what would happen if the Malfoys knew.

“You’ve got a bit of colour back in your cheeks now. Time to get back in there,” Blaise said.

She started to move towards the door, but stopped when she realized he had stayed still. “Aren’t you coming?”

“Time to see if you’re capable of standing in that room all by yourself. You were magnificent at Cho’s party, but this is a much different crowd. If you can survive in there, you and Malfoy will have no trouble,” he said with a smile.

“Stop talking as if we’re some doomed couple, torn apart by family differences. We’re just friends, Malfoy and I. If we can attend the same ball with no one being cursed or needing a Mediwizard, then we’ll have no trouble truly being friends,” she said.

Blaise just looked at her, a disbelieving smile on his face, shaking his head in doubt. She shrugged, and walked back into the Manor.

It seemed to be at some kind of break in the festivities, as there were more and more couples lingering in the dark hallway heading out o the courtyard. Perhaps the dancing spectacle had finished. She hesitated at a narrow bend in the long hall back to the ballroom, composing herself, trying to imagine how it was all going to play out – she was going to saunter in there and be every bit as magnificent as the other girls (who’d actually been properly invited and not snuck in through the backdoor), even when she felt like cheap imposter.

A murmur echoed down the hall as a tall blond dressed all in black made his way down the corridor. Malfoy was walking towards the courtyard and he would have to walk past her to get out there. She stood still, anticipation welling up inside her chest. He was stopped a few times as friends of his parents congratulated him and complimented him on his dancing. He barely acknowledged them with a nod as he continued walking.

As he approached, he finally turned his gaze on Ginny, and she felt a jolt of surprise as he didn’t react at all to seeing her. Even as their eyes met, he just continued down the hall as if she wasn’t even there. She maneuvered slightly so as to give him ample room to negotiate past her skirt, and feeling adventurous, she even nodded at him in greeting as he approached.

She stepped past him, shocked that he hadn’t even realized it was her – he who noticed and perceived every little thing she didn’t want him to see. She was so wrapped up in her surprise that she very nearly yelped when an arm reached out, wrapping around her waist, guiding backwards down the hall and around the bend. He pulled her along with him, and when she nearly stumbled from the bulk of her skirts, he just hauled her closer to him, practically lifting her off the ground.

It only took a few seconds, but before she knew it, he’d maneuvered her down the hall and through a door, into a darkened, empty room, and had pressed her backwards until her back was against a wall.

He stared at her in silence as he heart began to race. She couldn’t make out his expression in the dark, but the scarce light caught his eyes in such a way that made her breath catch in her throat. He leaned in closer, so that his mouth was near her ear.

“I knew that the vixen dressed all in red couldn’t be anyone else but you,” he said softly, his breath tickling her ear.

“You were supposed to be surprised,” she answered back, her heart soaring at his words.

“More relieved that someone had come to save me from my misery. Pity you were too late to save me from the bloody waltz.”

“You looked rather as if you were enjoying it,” she muttered before she could stop herself. “The two of you made quite an elegant pair.”

He bent lower, meeting her eyes. Without even having to see his face, she knew he was smirking at her, pleased with himself.

“You sound a bit jealous, weasel. Careful now, or I might start to think you actually like me,” he said, his tone delighted. She could feel herself blushing, and even though she knew he couldn’t see her face in the dark, she turned her head to the side, to avoid his shrewd eyes.

He reached up and gently tilted her head back so she was facing him.

“I am the one who was jealous. There I was, stuck dancing with someone I particularly hate, when I could see you, experiencing your first Halloween ball on the arm of my best friend. It was almost unbearable,” he said, his voice so serious and soft that she almost fidgeted with how it unsettled her.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, desperate to move the conversation away from that line of discussion. “I barely recognized my own reflection in the mirror.”

“Oh, little weasel, despite what they’ve done to you, dressing you up like a little peacock and sending you out to slaughter, you still look undeniably you,” he said with a smile. She digested his words, and as they sank in, she shoved him backwards.

“What do you mean, dressed up like a peacock? Do you have any idea the effort that went into just getting into this dress, Malfoy? Not to mention all the tearing and easing that went into this bloody hairstyle, and how uncomfortable this whole thing is! You should at least tell me I look pretty, even if you don’t mean it, out of courtesy for all the suffering I’m currently experiencing,” she exclaimed.

He pressed in close to her again, forcing her to look up at him.

“You certainly do make a pretty little red vixen, although I must say I would have preferred a butterfly. Or better still, a scrappy little weasel all covered in mud,” he said, taking her face in his hands.

“You and I both, I think,” she whispered before he kissed her softly. Knowing that she should push him away again quickly because it was too easy to get carried away as her pulse immediately began to throb in her throat, but it felt too good and her body told her common sense to be quiet as she reached her arms up around his neck, pulling him closer to her, becoming completely enthralled by the sensation as he deepened the kiss, obviously pleased by her uncharacteristic compliance.

“I know we aren’t supposed to do that anymore, being friends and all,” he said, after he’d broken away, burying his face into her neck as he kept his arms wrapped tightly around her.

“No, we aren’t. I forgot for a moment there, but now that you’ve reminded me, I’ll be sure to see that it never happens again,” she said, teasingly, smiling against his shoulder where she was resting her head.

“That is the last time I’m going to kiss you, Weasley, so I hope you enjoyed it,” he said, and she felt as if a shot of ice water had just entered her veins. She stiffened, shocked by the finality of his tone and how suddenly he’d said it, tearing her from the glowing warmth she felt as he held her tightly. “The next time you’re looking for a snog, you are going to have to be the one to make the first move, so I had to slip a good one in there, just in case that’s a long time away.”

“What’s brought this on?” she asked, finding her voice.

“Maybe if I stop chasing, you’ll stop running. Look, I know what it’s like to have decisions made for you and to be pressured into things you’re not ready for or that you don’t want, and to not know if you actually want something because you want it, or because it’s expected that you’ll want it. And I want you to truly want me.”

“So, you’re willing to just be friends?” she asked, incredulously. She suddenly felt awkward, as if she didn’t know how to be around him without fighting against him – either as his adversary or against his advances.

“I want you in my life – and for now, it doesn’t matter what capacity. I figure that you’ll eventually realize you’re madly in love with me and that we’re meant to be together, but you need to come to that conclusion yourself. Stubborn as you are, the more I push, the longer it’ll take. So, until then, we can be friends,” he explained.

“Seems rather risky, doesn’t it? I’ll be free to fall in love with someone else before I come to what you believe is an inevitable realization,” she said coyly.

“I get what I want, weasel,” he said, his eyes piercing hers in the dark. She felt an unbidden thrill run down her spine as he took her hands in his and stepped in closer. “And you are what I want.”

“And how I could possibly ever find someone who could compare to you?” she mocked, desperate to break the tension that hung in the air at his words. It was all just so… Malfoy of him to do this – to claim he was giving her time to figure out what she wanted, while stating with all assurances that there was no other option for her but to discover that she did want him.

“Now you’re thinking.”

“Well, you know, I could find someone where I wouldn’t have to crack a rib wearing a ridiculous ball just to spend Halloween with him and his friends… Or that isn’t a sworn enemy,” she said thoughtfully.

“No challenge in that, you’d be bored silly in three seconds. Now, enough of this – there is a party happening without us,” he said.

She groaned.

“You aren’t going to make me go out there and socialize with that lot, are you?” she asked, not looking forward to returning to the scrutinizing glances of his guests and the balancing act of avoiding meeting his mother.

“Of course not. It’s time for the after-party. Zabini and the other will be waiting for us,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her along with him.

Feeling almost euphoric, she followed along behind him happily, heedless of her gown as she brushed past others in the now-crowded hallway. The two of them were so caught up in the silliness of their attempt to make a stealthy exit, that they didn’t realize the stately woman standing at the entrance to the courtyard, watching them with narrowed eyes and pursed lips as they jostled past, laughing together.

Narcissa Malfoy was not impressed with that she saw. But she was barely concerned. She’d been able to squash a similar case with her niece, she was certain she’d be able to make history repeat itself.

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His friends were all smiling knowingly at each other when they stumbled into the private study, laughing at each other’s stupidity. High spirits were all around, it seemed, now that they were away from the crowds competing with each other to prove how impressive they were. For the first time, walking into that room as Malfoy’s friends stood up to greet her, exclaiming in surprise at how she looked, it actually felt like a proper Halloween celebration.

“Well well well, look at our little Weasley, all dressed up like a lady,” Crabbe exclaimed in surprise. “It’s a good thing Tonks shooed us away before you were ready – we’d never have let you leave without forcing you to put on a very large, very concealing sweater!”

Ginny was initially outraged by the comment, particularly as she was already rather self-conscious about the amount of décolletage she was displaying and now they were all staring freely at her breasts, but the brotherly sentiment that underpinned his words assuaged her temper. She settled with jabbing Malfoy with her elbow, catching him staring down at her in a decidedly un-brotherly-like way.

“You certainly do clean up nicely, Weasley. And would you look at that cleavage! I haven’t been able to stop staring at it since you walked in there tonight,” Goyle commented coyly. She felt her face flame with embarrassment as she glanced down at her chest, trying to reassure herself that they were just teasing, glancing up only when she realized that the boys had completely erupted into laughter as soon as she had. “I knew you’d look!”

“Oh, leave the girl alone. She’s had to put up with you lot ogling her this whole time. Surely someone should offer her a drink before you continue torturing her,” Tonks said, elbowing her way through the boys, handing Ginny a champagne flute. Ginny saw Malfoy about to protest, no doubt about to make some snarky comment about her low tolerance for alcohol, so she glared at him playfully and took a large gulp.

“Trying experience, these things are,” Tonks commented wryly.

“Stop hiding from your horrible husband up here,” Malfoy stated, glowering at her with his arms crossed. “My mother will be up here shortly, looking for you.”

“Or, worse still, the horrible husband might,” she answered back, rolling her eyes. “And you’re welcome, by the way, for all the assistance I gave your girl in getting here tonight.”

“She would have found a way. Cunning little vixen that she is,” he said, with a half smile. Ginny saw a look pass between the cousins and felt that something unsaid was passing between them.

“Well, off I go – I’ll try to save your party by making my presence known at theirs,” she said, with a long-suffering sigh. Ginny followed her towards the door.

“Tonks, again, thank you for everything tonight. Even though, by all rights, I should hate you for how ridiculous and uncomfortable I feel right now… But, I think, in the end, it was all worth it,” Ginny said.

“You look wonderful and I was very happy to see you in there,” Tonks said. A shadow of sadness, that Ginny could see even through the sparkling silver mask she was wearing, fell over her face and Tonks suddenly reached out, brushing Ginny’s face fondly. “It was nice to see that mask being worn again. Wore it on one of the best nights of my life. Enjoy yourself tonight, Ginny.”

With that, she sashayed out the door in a cloud of magenta couture. Ginny turned back around to see three of favorite Slytherins settling down to a game of wizarding chess. She took another sip of her champagne, and wandered over to sit with them. Malfoy was standing near the window, staring out at it rather sulkily.

“What’s that all about?” she asked Blaise Zabini under her breath, gesturing over to him.

“He’s always like this on Halloween,” he answered back.

“I thought it was his favorite holiday.”

“It is. You should see him at Christmas,” he answered. She frowned. Blaise patted her leg, trying to comfort her. “It’ll take a few minutes, but he’ll snap out of it.”

“I can’t believe Tonks lent you her mask. Well, I believe it, but with all that it means to her…” Crabbe commented as Goyle’s Queen smashed his rook.

“It was from her first ball?” Ginny asked.

“The first one that mattered. You see, Tonks and Draco’s mum have a few major differences – namely, Narcissa feels she’s completely inappropriate, says scandalous things and is therefore completely embarrassing to the family. It took a long time before Tonks was invited to family events. After she started Hogwarts, they had no choice, and she was allowed to attend,” Crabbe explained.

“Not that she stayed very long,” Goyle said. “Didn’t she sneak out after about an hour?”

“And that’s when she met him,” Crabbe said.

“Met who?” Ginny asked, intrigued. Tonks had mentioned she’d been wearing the mask the first time she met the first boy she’d fall in love with, and considering who she was married to, Ginny was curious to learn the history behind it.

“Don’t know you know the story? I didn’t think there were many who hadn’t heard it – much to Narcissa’s chagrin,” Blaise said.

“She met a guy from the village. He’d been a scholarship student and was working at the bookstore, from a little known and entirely powerless family. One of his best friends from school was at the ball and had asked him to meet up with him here, as he was planning on skipping out of the party early. Tonks had the same idea, and as she was scaling down the side of the wall – instead of Flooing or using a broomstick like any normal person, she slipped and he broke her fall – and his arm,” Crabbe explained.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me about Tonks,” Ginny said, fondly. “But that’s not the man she married?”

“Well, no, of course not. He wasn’t from the right family, and Tonks was already considered a disgrace to the family,” Goyle said with a scoff. Ginny frowned at him, wondering if he’d forgotten who he was talking to. She was the exact definition of someone who “wasn’t from the right family” even if Malfoy seemed rather convinced they were suited to each other.

“You’re forgetting that he disappeared. Left town without at word to her or anyone else. Remember when that happened? She’s a tough girl – was always a bit of a bully to us when we were younger – but she was inconsolable after that. She barely protested when Narcissa decided she should marry Rookwood,” Blaise said quietly. They all sat in relative silence for a few minutes.

“Don’t know if things didn’t out for the better for Tonks,” Crabbe commented. “Yeah, she’s married to a man she detests, but she’s fabulously wealthy and he mostly doesn’t bother with what she does with her time.”

“How can you say that?” Ginny snapped, jumping out of her seat. “It may be hard for all of you to understand because of the way that you live your lives, but there are so many more important things than money or power or getting invited to fancy parties!”

She met Malfoy’s eyes; he was staring at her from across the room. She understood now, the look he’d exchanged with Tonks – he remembered, just as much as she must be, what had happened on this night so many years ago, and he’d been worried. It was just another piece of the puzzle that was Malfoy falling into place. She started to walk towards him, not quite sure why, but the look in his eyes was pulling at her.

But Blaise had also jumped out of his seat, grabbing her hand, pulling her around to look up at him.

“Come, now, Weasley. Challenge me to a game of Exploding Snap. I’m undefeated, you know,” Blaise said, pulling her away from Malfoy. She glanced back over her shoulder, but Malfoy had turned back around to glare pensively out the window.

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He was waiting for her, a few days later, after Quidditch practice. She was happily exhausted, sweaty and covered in mud due to a miscalculated Wronski Feint when she came walking off the field, dragging her broom behind her. Tired as she was, she felt exhilarated by the thrill of flying and the chill in the cold air felt pleasant against her warm cheeks. When he called out her name, she bounded over to him, full of details of the practice she wanted to relate.

“Looked like practice went quite well,” Blaise said, laughing as he reached out, wiping a smear of mud off of her face, then grimacing. “You’re filthy!”

“That’s how you know it was a good practice. I tumbled a bit when I went into a Wronski Feint and didn’t pull out in time. I’m getting better at them, but I still overdo it about one in every three times I try it,” she babbled, trying to quell the nervous butterflies that erupted when Blaise touched her face. It was a whole new realm of their friendship that she wasn’t quite prepared for.

“I was watching. You’re quite magnificent,” he said, as they started walking back towards the school. “What you lack in grace and coordination, you make up for in speed and determination.”

“I am a bit all over the place when I fly, aren’t I?” she said thoughtfully, feeling slightly stung by how he’d phrased his compliment. “What brought you down to the pitch?”

“I came to talk to you,” he said, and she started slightly in surprise.

There’d been an awkward moment after the Halloween ball, when they’d been sneaking her out. Blaise had gone ahead to ensure that Malfoy’s mother wasn’t lurking around any corners, while Malfoy had walked her outside, sneaking her out the back entrance and out into the garden.

“Ever wonder if we’ll be able to do this without you having to sneak me out the back door?” Ginny had sighed as Malfoy motioned for her to stand back as he glanced down the hall.

“And what exactly have we been doing?” he’d asked silkily, arching an eyebrow at her from over his shoulder. She had felt herself blush at his insinuating tone.

“You understand what I mean. Will we be able to act like friends without you having to sneak out the back way lest your family discover, to their horror, that you’re spending time with a girl of such ill-repute,” she’d said while jabbing him with her elbow.

“I should imagine that this mild inconvenience would be worth the risk in order to spend time with me,” he’d said, pulling her along. They’d very nearly reached the entrance to the street, and Ginny hadn’t brought a wrap with her, and the late October weather had started to make her shiver. Malfoy had stopped, turning to face her suddenly.

“What is it?”

“We can go through the main ballroom. Everyone will see you, everyone will know who you are and that you’re here with me. If you want to, we can go through that way,” he’d said, his eyes intense. Ginny hadn’t known what to make of this. Didn’t he know that this was exactly what she didn’t want?

“Of course not. Why should I subject myself to their scrutiny just because you have to?” she’d said, brushing off his offer. After a moment where he continued to stare at her, searching her face for something, he’d started to lead her onwards again, towards the street where Blaise was waiting with the carriage to take her home.

“Happy Halloween, Malfoy,” she’d said when they’d reached the street. Feeling spontaneous, she’d stood on her tiptoes and brushed his cheek with her lips. As she moved away, he caught her hand, his fingers stroking her skin for a lingering moment before he’d raised it to his lips. She’d barely been able to breath, the way he’d looked at her.

“Thank you for coming, weasel,” he had whispered. After she’d stumbled away from him, slightly bewitched by the moment that had just passed, she’d walked towards the waiting carriage, where Blaise had been standing. As she had passed by Blaise to get into the carriage, she’d noticed a strange look on his face. He’d followed after she’d climbed in, and even though she’d thanked him for all his help that night, he hadn’t said anything the rest of the night.

It had been weird and awkward the entire ten minute ride to her flat, as she’d struggled to make conversation. And after that, he’d been avoiding her in the hallways at school, refusing to say hello or really make eye contact. So, now that he was here, meeting her after Quidditch practice and wiping mud off her face, she was very confused about what she’d done, and why it was all suddenly better now.

“What did you want to talk about?” she asked, deftly avoiding a large patch of slush as they trudged through the snow. “Seems rather formal, coming all the way down here and waiting in the cold through practice.”

“It’s about the story we told you the other night, about Tonks. I didn’t tell you everything, because I know Draco wouldn’t have liked it,” he said. “He was already pretty angry that we brought it up, but… you should know about it.”

“What could you have possible left out? It was quite a terrible tale as it was!” Ginny exclaimed, remembering the story with a shudder.

“He didn’t leave her. He disappeared and nobody knows what happened to him,” he said quietly. Ginny stopped in her tracks, looking up at him in surprise. “They met when she was sixteen, and Narcissa didn’t find out about their relationship for years. But after she did find out, she did everything she could to separate them.”

“And how did she do that?” she said, feeling his words slam into her stomach as if she’d been physically struck.

“Remember, this was during the Dark Lord’s rise to power, so it was fairly easy to stamp out anyone who was thought to be resisting,” Blaise said, his voice low. “Unfortunately for Tonks, she fell in love with someone who was actually resisting, and who was best friends with a member of her family who defected to the other side. It was quite easy for her to do horrible things to convince the two of them to stay away from each other.”

“And they fought,” Ginny said, knowing with certainty. She’d seen it in Tonks’ eyes that night, the way she’d looked so sadly at Ginny, wearing her ball mask.

“She moved out, went to stay with him, determined that they would stay together no matter what Narcissa threw at them. He kept trying to convince her to go back, to forget about him, that it was just too dangerous, but Tonks… well, she believed that they were strong enough. Even when their friends and his family members started to disappear,” Blaise said. “But then she came home one day to find the Dark Mark over their flat, and never saw him again.”

Ginny stopped walking, turning away from Blaise, needing a moment to gather that information together. Shuddering with the memory of seeing the Dark Mark over her own house and worrying desperately for those she loved, she struggled to collect herself.

“Ginny,” Blaise said, and she distantly thought that it was strange to hear him call her by her first name, “I didn’t want to tell you this, and I know that Malfoy will be furious when he finds out, but you need to know. If things carry on with you and Malfoy, there are the risks you’ll be taking.”

“What happened to all that dragon nonsense you told me about, trying to convince me to come to the ball despite the risk?” she challenged, surprised by his sudden about-face. He stepped toward her, staring down at her as he reached out, placing his hand on her shoulder as he leaned in.

“Other students, even most of the Death Eaters out there, Malfoy can handle without any trouble. They’re uncreative – they’d go after you, and you alone, and there’s no way they’d get close enough to you to even do any harm. But Narcissa… she’d strike where it would hurt the most and not a hair on your head would even be mussed. I want you to have all the facts before anything serious happens with Malfoy,” he said softly.

“And you think that this would scare me away from him?” she asked furiously, shrugging off his hand. “You’ve obviously missed all the events of the past couple months, living there in your head as you always seem to be doing. He’s turned an entire school population loose on me, he’s practically had me killed via the Whomping Willow, the sister of someone he nearly killed nearly killed me as some sort of twisted revenge, and you think I’m going to be scared away by his nasty mum? Have you met me before?”

“You’re honestly not concerned that she’ll do the same thing to you?” Blaise demanded.

“She might; but Malfoy and I are just friends.”

“I just want you to be careful.”

“You have nothing to worry about! I can take care of myself – well, for the most part,” she said, gripping her broomstick tightly, trying to steel herself. Blaise sighed, shaking his head. He reached out, again trying to wipe off the mud from her face.

“I would hate to see anything happen to you because of Malfoy,” he said softly, leaning down to look her directly in the eye. She drew back slightly, her pulse racing suddenly. “You’re really quite a surprising girl, Weasley. I wonder why I never saw it sooner.”

“All the mud I’m usually covered in tends to hide it, I guess… or there was the time with the Bubotubber pus,” she said wryly, trying not to remember that embarrassing incident. There was a look in Blaise’s eyes that was incredibly unsettling though, and it seemed as if he wanted to say something else, but he was interrupted before he could.

“Zabini! There you are!” a voice called out. She turned to see Malfoy marching towards them. “Oh, and you found the weasel! Perfect!”

“What’s the plan for tonight, Malfoy?” Blaise asked, as the group joined them. Malfoy walked up to Ginny, throwing a friendly arm around her shoulder.

“Well, first, we’re going to get this one a shower,” he said with a pointed look at Ginny. “Pulled out too late on your Wronski Feint again, didn’t you? And after that, we’re heading to the Three Broomsticks for a drink. Coming Weasley?”

“Well, yes, as I have a shift tonight. I’ll see you there – and you’d better be on your best behavior, because I won’t hesitate to throw out any unruly patrons,” she said, shrugging his arm off her shoulder. She risked a glance at Blaise, but he was avoiding her eyes. “I’ll see you lot there.”


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It was late when she reached her flat, and she was deliciously exhausted. She kicked off her boots, threw off her cloak and tossed her books aside. As she lit a candle, Ginny considered her homework, but then decided that it was far too much effort for that moment – she’d just wake up early the next morning to take care of the most important assignments.

She was about to stumble into the washroom to brush her teeth when she noticed a something strange in the reflection in the mirror hanging over her dresser. Heart pounding in her chest, she slowly turned, her eyes scanning her sparsely furnished flat before she spotted a strange woman sitting at her desk.

“You’ve kept me waiting, Miss Weasley. My son has been keeping you out rather late,” a cool voice said. Meeting the icy grey eyes, Ginny was fairly certain this it was Narcissa Malfoy who had broken into her flat.


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A/N: Whew, it's been far too long! Believe or not, I had the worst case of writers' block which centered entirely on the fact that I couldn't decide what type of ballgown I wanted Ginny to wear (thank a Google image search for providing proper inspiration).

From HYD:

- While I don't believe that this masquerade ball or 99 of the events that occur at it were entirely my own invention - it's been awhile since I've seen HYD, so it's possible that pieces of it came from that, but it all happens so differently in my story. We're on a bit of a tangent away from HYD plot, and will be intersecting it again, shortly. In any case, if there is something from HYD in that line, it wasn't done consciously.

- Tonks' backstory is based on her HYD counterpart's, in that she was in love with someone thought unsuitable for the family, and was "convinced" to give him up and marry the family-approved guy (who is horrible).

- You've met Angelique Aristide once before, and she's also been mentioned a few times, here and there.

Next chapter sooner than last time, I hope. Thanks for reading.