CHAPTER 1


Ginny's third year, September
First entry in the diary

-Hi!

X-Hello.

-Great! I wasn't sure you'd be there yet.

X-Yet? I've been waiting forever! Thought you'd never write. What's your name?

-Gosh! I never even thought of that...

X-You've never thought of what your name is?

-LOL! Don't be silly! No, I've never thought what name I want to use for this. I know this might seem a little weird, but I don't want to reveal my identity just yet. I thought it would be more fun to use nicknames and guess at who we are.

X-Ah! Mon ami wants to play a game! By all means, I'm a master at these kind of games.

-You go to Beauxbatons!

X-I'm not denying, nor do I confirm.

-Gah! We've only been writing for a couple of minutes and you are already acting like an arse! ; ) At least now I know that the diaries are charmed not to write lies. I'm not telling you where I go then either!

X-Well, it was you who wanted to play the guessing game, wasn't it? Have you changed your mind?

-No. At least I know that you are more or less English, although you might know some French.

X-Or I might have just thrown the phrase in to confuse you.

-Right. Schaisse to you then! :P

X-Ha-ha. Somehow I think it's the only word you know in German.

-I'm not denying, nor do I confirm. :P

X-Making faces? You are a girl!

-I'm not denying, nor do I confirm, (:P) but I can tell you that I love Quidditch.

X-Hm... You wouldn't have said it like that if you were a boy, would you? I can only hope now that you're also smart and beautiful.

-Ha! You are a boy! Wait! Then you go to Durmstrang? Nooo! Please don't be from Durmstrang!

X-What's wrong with going to Durmstrang?

-It teaches Dark Arts and I've had it up to my neck with dark wizards! Please be a girl!

X-Sorry, no can do. And frankly, I'm a bit offended. Going to Durmstrang does not a dark wizard make!

-You go to Durmstrang. See me sighing.

X-Yes, I think we've established that. Something the matter?

…

You there?

-Yes. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. Our headmaster wouldn't have allowed us to write with Durmstrang boys if they were all dark, so... It's just that I’ve had a bad experience with diaries and dark magic.

X-That's all right. I'm not easily offended. What kind of bad experience? You wrote into a possessed diary or something?

…

You do know it's kind of impolite to just keep disappearing like that?

-Yes. Sorry. It's just I don't really want to talk about it.

X-Okay. I'm starting to feel weird. There's a lot you don't seem to want to talk about.

-Yeah. Sorry.

X-You keep apologising.

-Yep. I'm an apologising girl.

X-See? I'm always right – you're a girl!

-Oh, yes, give the man a prize.

X-Ooh! Sarcastic too! And likes Quidditch... I knew I'd get a wife out of this! (punches the air)

-What? Wife? Are you mad? I could be dead ugly and stupid to boot!

X-Nah! You aren't stupid. And we could glamour you if you really are hideous.

-What? You'd keep Glamouring your wife every quarter of an hour of your life?

X-I have a keen sense for aesthetics.

-Ah, an artistic soul! Do you wear a beret and a colourful scarf around your delicate neck?

X-Why delicate? I could have a perfectly masculine neck under that fluffy shawl!

-LOL! And a goatee!

X-No! No goatee! I draw the line before facial hair.

-That's because you don't have any yet, you berk!

X-Hey! Stop the name-calling! Only plebeians call each other names, you twit!

-Twit? Who's the plebeian now, huh?

X-You, obviously. You are being terribly impolite!

-As opposed to your perfect conduct of cordiality.

X-Ooh! Big words! You spelt your quill to write them or does this possessed diary write for you when you're out of ideas?

…

Ahaa! You are out of ideas, aren't you?

-Don't joke about the diary being possessed, please. It's not funny.

X-You serious?

-Yes.

X-Oh. Well. I know it isn't. I've seen a possessed diary once. Luckily my father told me not to touch it. I can only wonder what might have happened.

-Yeah...

X-Want to talk about it?

-I kind of wrote into a diary like that once.

X-You pulling my leg, right?

-I wish.

X-Oh.

…

And you still decided to participate in the Triwizard Pen Pal program? You nuts?

-Yeah, nuts, that's me. You're quick on the uptake.

X-Sorry. I didn't mean it like that.

…

-Look, I understand if you feel uncomfortable writing with me, but we'll both lose the credit marks if we stop writing now.

-I know. I don't want to stop either. It's kind of getting back on the broom after a fall, you know.

X-Okay. Look, we can just write rubbish once a week to each other if you want to keep it light. We don't even have to do it at the same time. We'll tell the teachers that we've decided to exchange letters to save time - it's not like they can read our diary. They only track how often we write. I can just write my most boring essay drafts in here and you can do the same if you like.

-LOL. No, I'm not really that wigged about this diary business. As long as you really exist and are not a part of this stupid book, It’s fine. Joke. Sorry. Forget I said anything. I'm such a brat for bringing that up in the first place. I'm sorry if I made you feel bad, but I'm really not into reading boring essays. At least make them interesting.

X- You're assuming I can. But you're right, my essays are generally thrilling.

-Such modesty!

X-Modesty's my middle name just as Brat is yours. Let’s say that you're forgiven for now.

-For now? :) What does that even mean?

X-Relax, my dear Brat, it just means that my forgiveness will be withheld until I manage to put my foot in my mouth. Then we'll be even.

-If you studied here, you'd be in Slytherin.

X-Slytherin? (insert a raised eyebrow)

-The students are divided into four houses here. Slytherins are considered the nastiest, sneakiest, most selfish-

X-Yes, feel free to insult me some more.

-Gah! Sorry, sorry, sorry! It was meant to be a joke.

X-LOL, you're incorrigible! You owe me two now.

-Yep – you're Slytherin all right.

X-Fine, you can call me Slytherin then and I'm going to call you Brat.

-And why should you be the one to make that decision for both of us?I think I want to choose my name for myself!

X-You going to argue me to death, aren't you? Hold your horses, we're not even married yet. All right, all right. If you let me call you Brat, you'll only owe me one.

-LOL. Deal. Just promise me to come to dinner on time every day and not forget the birthdays of our seven children. And the most important thing - promise me you're not a dark wizard.

X-Merlin, you're almost as paranoid as my father. You do remember that this diary makes me unable to lie, right? So there - I'm not.

-Your father's paranoid? HE sniffs his food too? And you'll have to spell it out for me. Just in case.

X-You're a nuisance, you know that? Fine! I'm not a dark wizard. And no, my father doesn't sniff, he has a sniffer elf for that. Joke. But my father does have the most intricate and nasty spells on half of his cupboards and cabinets at home. He even sends letters in secret codes, it's ridiculous!

-Or witch!

X-What?

-Write that you are not a dark witch.

X-For Grindelwald's sake! Durmstrang, remember? I'm not a witch, all right?

-And you can't be a Muggle girl, since you have this diary...

X-Oh, dear Merlin, I'm getting grey hair already. I'm filing for divorce before I turn bald! I'm your regular blood red male from Durmstrang, who is not a white hat, but not a pathetic Muggle-lover either. I play Quidditch, enjoy riding, Arithmancy, puzzles and reading. Your turn. Since you know my sex and school it's only fair you'll tell me yours.

-All right. I enjoy Charms, flying (and Quidditch, might try out for a team some day), I am a Muggle-lover, but I'm not pathetic and you are a stuck-up pureblood or half-blood! :P

X-Sticking tongue out again? I'm not even asking – you must be a Huffelpuff!

-I'm not denying, nor do I confirm. :P

X-No need. I already know you go to Hogwarts.

-Why Hogwarts? I could be from Beauxbatons.

X- You didn’t even ask me who Huffelpuffs are! And the Triwizard pen pal program doesn't allow students from the same school to interact, remember? Besides, you offered Beauxbatons as my school first.

-You win. I'm a Hogwarts gal. Which year are you?

X-Well, per program rules I'm somewhere between a year younger and a year older than you.

-Very funny.

X-You expected me to tell you?

-Not really. I guess it doesn't matter. I can just call you my young friend since your inferior intelligence clearly indicates that you must be younger.

X-Ha-ha! Which of us is the Brat I ask you?

-Ha-ha back, you git. So, you like Quidditch, you said? Do you play?

X-Can't tell you, that'd give too much away. You might want to use your girly charms and find out my identity. Scheming and intrigues are in your blood.

-Ha! So you do play! I guess you won't tell me which position?

X-Dream on, Brat! And you didn't deny having girly charms. That's comforting. You must be at least moderately pretty.

-Don't be such a boy! What difference does it make how I look? I might look a troll, but still be a wonderful person.

X-Rubbish. I know a couple of troll-like guys who are as mean as they are ugly.

-Well it doesn't work like that with girls. Average looking girls are often very nice. Shy, but nice.

X-You're not so shy, so I guess you aren't average. And I refuse to believe you are ugly.

-Such gallantry!

X-At your service, my fair maiden.

-What if I told you I was cock-eyed and had a crooked nose?

X-Nonsense. At least tell me if you have long hair.

-Dream on, Slytherin! I'm bald.

X-Why do I keep hearing an insult in that word every time you write it?

-Oh my pots and cauldrons! You are a seer! You must be! (Insert a major freak out with screaming and waving hands.)

X-(Pats you on your hideously short hair.) Relax Brat, I only see thoughts of hideous girls.

-It's not I'm not Grrr! You almost made me give it away, you git! You know what? That's what I'm going to call you from now on! If you get to call me Brat, then I get to call you Git!

X-No, it would make you twice my debtor. Better stick to Slytherin.

-In your dreams, Git!

X-You're hilarious, you know that? On that note however I must dash off. Practice.

-Quidditch?

X-Yep. Next week, same time?

-Deal, Git.

X-Love you too, Brat.



The next morning


“Hi, Hermione!”


Hermione smiled as she saw Ginny almost skipping into the Common Room.


“Good morning?”


“Fab. Yours?”


“Great. You coming to breakfast with me? The boys will probably be along later.”


Ginny nodded.


“Soo...” she said, having no idea how to approach the subject. “Have you already written to your pen pal?”


“You look giddy,” Hermione noted with a somewhat sly smile.


Ginny felt herself flush. “I'm not giddy! I'm not!” she exclaimed, but then after not so much probing she told her older friend all she knew about her new friend from Durmstrang.


Ginny's third year, October
Eighth entry


-What do you mean, you're not coming?

X-I know, you've no idea how disappointed I am!

-Why?

X-You tell me! My father won't let me! He thinks it's dangerous!

-What? Why?

X-Because he's just barmy, deranged, delirious, paranoid-

-Never mind that! What did he say? Why does he think it’s dangerous?

D-He didn't explain really, but I think he suspects some stupid secret society is planning on crashing the party.

-Death Eaters? Is your father one of them?

X-Do I sound like someone who'd have a Death Eater for a father?

-No-no, sorry, it's just the way you said it...

X-Yeah, forget it. I just don't want to go into that right now. My father, he's... it's difficult.

-All right. You don't have to tell me, I have a big family, so I know how it can be.

X-How big? You'll have to tell me, I've only got my mum and we see the rest of the family once a year or so.

-I've got a horde of siblings. Only mum? What about your father? Doesn't he live with you? Oh Gryffin's pants! Are they divorced?

X-No, no. Nothing so drastic. Purebloods don't do divorce, you know that. It's just that my father was more or less an absentee figure until I turned five. I don't think my mother saw him much more either. Anyway, once I reached the tutoring age, my esteemed father suddenly noticed that he had an heir to educate.

-He tutored you himself? My dad never had the time.

X-Mine didn't either. Or rather wouldn't. He got me the best teachers money could buy, but he also took it upon himself to explain to me how to think.

-How?

X-Like him. And that's all I'm going to say on the topic. Ah yes, I forgot! He also taught me genealogy. I can probably tell how any pureblood wizard or witch is related to me off the bat.

-Ah, general snob, aren't you? :D

X-I thought I was supposed to be a Git?

-And a Slytherin. They know their family trees by heart too.

X-Ah, my sort of people!

-Don't be a doofus, you don't know what they're like! Fortunately, Gryffindors are nothing like them!


Ginny's third year, June
Seventeenth entry


X-I want to keep up the correspondence after the diary's charm ends.

-Me too! I've been trying to research how to keep the connection charm alive after the project ends on 24th.

X-I don't think you can. I was more thinking of owling you.

-Owling? But...

X-Still not sure about revealing your name, my paranoid friend?

-It's not that I don't trust you... It's just this thing with-

X-Possessed diary. I know, I know. I wish you'd tell me about it in detail, so I could reassure you. All I can say now is that I really don't have any nefarious reasons for wanting to keep in touch.

-Yes. Me too. You know what? Let’s make a ceremony out of it!

X-A ceremony?

-Why do I hear a sardonic drawl in my head when you keep repeating my words? Yes, Git, a ceremony. We'll meet here in a week, on June 24th, an hour before midnight and reveal our names, all right?

X-An hour before midnight?

-You're doing it again, you Git!

X-LOL. Sorry, sorry. Why an hour before midnight?

-Because, my dear, simple friend, we'll then have an hour for building up the tension and puzzles and stuff. And then, at the end of it we tell each other the names with mere minutes before the connection charm wears off and it will be GREAT!

X-Like to live dangerously, do you?

-Well, Gryffindors are supposed to be brave.

X-Or stupid.

-Yes, yes, oh wise one. Now, do you agree? 24th, at eleven?

X-Deal, Brat.

-Great. Git!

X- Ha. Ha. Ha. Hear me laugh.

-Night, you sad old man. 

X-You too. Sleep well.

-:D

X-You just can't stop, can you?

-Neither can you!

X-I can go on all night if I want.

-Is that a challenge?

X-Oh, Merlin, no! Is everything a challenge for you?

-Yep!

X-Fine, in that case, Brat, I forfeit. Night.

-Night. (I win! :P)


Ginny's third year, June 24th


The night Cedric Diggory died most of the students went to bed early. By ten o'clock the Gryffindor Common Room was empty, but for the two girls hugging each other quietly on the plush scarlet couch in front of the fire. It was only in the morning, when Ginny extricated herself from her friend’s embrace, that she remembered the meeting with her pen pal last night.


In her desperate hope, she rushed up the stairs and dug the book out of her bottom drawer where she always locked it for the safekeeping. Ginny opened it with shaking hands in the middle to get to the correct page, but it was useless – all the pages were blank. It was too late. Now, Ginny cried.


Five weeks after the Death Eaters' Department of Mysteries fiasco
The Burrow


“I can't believe the bastard snuffed it!” Ron exclaimed for the third time since his father had showed them the article in the Daily Prophet.


“He got what was coming to him,” Mr Weasley agreed and this time even Mrs Weasley didn't admonish him about being glad about someone's death.


Ginny couldn't regret it either. Sitting next to her father at the breakfast table, she couldn't tear her eyes off the title,

PRISON MUTINY SUPPRESSED – Lucius Malfoy Dead
Auror Barton Lauded


Ginny's fifth year, 3rd week of September


“Hya, Harry!” Colin Creevy shouted from the door into the Common Room and made a straight dash towards his idol. Ginny saw Harry blush and Ron roll his eyes. Colin plopped down so close to Harry it was almost as embarrassing as his goofily admiring smile.


“Hey!” Ginny exclaimed when shoved aside on the couch, but Colin paid her no mind.


“Did you hear about the Junior Death Eater, Harry?”


Instantly all the eyes were on Colin, although most were annoyed that the younger student had once again usurped all their attention with yet another ridiculous statement.


“What?” Harry frowned and it was apparent that had Colin's statement been less intriguing he wouldn't have said anything at all.


“Lucius Malfoy's son! He's transferred from Durmstrang and arrived not twenty minutes ago!”


“Don't be an idiot! Malfoy didn't have a son!” Ron exploded.


“Yes, he did! I just saw him arrive! His name is Draconius or Scorpius or some other reptilian and Kenneth's cousin says that he's been reserve seeker for the last two years for Durmstrang's team!”


Suddenly Ginny felt sick. If it was true, she would have to see him every day in the same halls she was walking in, she would have to see him going to classes and sit down for meals in the same room. It was bad enough that such a man like Lucius Malfoy had a son at all, but to think that he would come here, to the same school with her...


“Kenneth Towler?” At Colin's nod Hermione continued, “How do you know he's telling the truth? Wasn't he the one who kept saying that Slytherin's heir was disguising himself as Filch's cat?”


“So he was wrong, could've happened to anyone!” It seemed that Colin's smile was as permanent as a birthmark.


“How would he know that Malfoy's son transferred here?” Harry asked.


“It's like I said: I saw him arrive just now! He's tall, thin, pale and blond like his father, and arrived just after Malfoy's death. Of course it's his son!”


“Surely there are more people with blond hair than the Malfoys, “ Hermione reasoned.


“Given my luck,” Harry grimaced, “he's not only Malfoy junior, but he's also just as evil as his dad.”


“Do you think he came here to get revenge on you, Harry?”


“Don't be silly, Colin!” Hermione's tone turned lecturing, “Harry had nothing to do with Lucius Malfoy's death!”


“But they did duel at the Department of Mysteries—“


“Lucius didn't die at the Department of Mysteries and I didn't kill him,” Harry said, annoyed. “But I guess we can't discount the idea that he came here to spy for Voldemort. If it is Malfoy's son, I mean.”


“You think he's a Death Eater?” Colin's voice was full of horrified reverence.


“If it's him, he dead sure is a Death Eater!” Ron interjected. “He even studied at Durmstrang!”


“Ron!” Hermione half-shouted exasperatedly. “How many times do I have to tell you that not everyone who studies there is not a Dark Wizard! Victor-”


“Yes, yes, yes!” Ron cut her off rudely. “Don't talk to me about him!”


“But he's right,” Ginny interjected. “Not everyone who goes there becomes a Death Eater.”


“Yes, yes, we know all about your friend, who three years ago was not a Death Eater.”


Ginny stood. “You are being an arse!”


“I'm just saying - you don't really know anything about this guy. He didn't even tell you his name, for Merlin's sake! Hermione, you tell her!”


“I didn't tell him mine either, so your paranoid and childish mind can be at rest, Ronnikins!”


“Guys, guys! You both have a point,” Harry interrupted what could have turned into a full Weasley shouting match. “Gin, I'm sorry to say so, but it's ancient history. So, Ron, please shut it.”


Ginny huffed and left for her dorm room. She didn't think she was going to breakfast the next morning. The idea of seeing a supposed Malfoy in the castle was entirely too much.


The next day


Although Ginny went to breakfast it was with trepidation. She went quite early and was now sitting facing the door, waiting. Her food was untouched. The moment she saw him stepping into the room, the picture started moving as if in slow motion, an age passed and then – whoosh – suddenly it was all over: he was already sitting at the Slytherin table and Ginny covertly stared at him from behind her long locks. Only those who knew her well would know that she was acting unlike herself. Thankfully Colin was chatting away at her, oblivious.


The conversations around her soon confirmed that yes, the new boy was called Draco Malfoy and was indeed Lucius Malfoy's son. He joined the sixth year and unsurprisingly the private sorting, which had taken place the evening before, gave him the green and silver emblem on his left breast pocket.

“Look at him, just like his father – even the nose is the same,” Ginny heard Annabel, a third year, telling her friend somewhere to the left of her. “The same cruel cold eyes too! Dee says that she overheard Flint telling his friends that he saw a Dark Mark on his arm in the showers!”


By the end of the breakfast the label of Junior Death Eater was carelessly thrown around by most students. Ginny however, secretly agreed with Hermione – nobody should be condemned by their relations alone. One couldn't trust rumours so explicitly after all. Ginny thought that if Draco Malfoy really had a Dark Mark, he wouldn't be so stupid as to just let it be seen by his schoolmates. It wouldn't have been safe even in Slytherin.


Ginny observed as a group of Slytherins was huddling around him and a couple of the fourth year girls were giggling like mad. Ginny didn't doubt that if the boy had allowed it, the Parkinson cow would be feeding him from her fork. He was probably used to being serviced left and right. Disgusting!


She couldn't help but agree that his hair wasn't the only thing that made him look like his father. He had the same slightly aquiline nose and pointy chin. He was too far for her to see the colour of his eyes, but his demeanour was snooty and if it was slightly friendlier than his father's, then Ginny supposed that in the immediate circle of his friends Lucius Malfoy might have looked quite similar. Draco Malfoy might not be evil, but he didn't seem particularly nice either. Too aloof and patronising for her taste. Ginny grimaced slightly.


Ginny's fifth year, 4th week of September


That day Ginny skipped dinner. Not because she didn't want to see Malfoy holding court yet again, but because she wasn't hungry.


When other students started returning from the Great Hall she realised instantly that something out of ordinary must have happened. First she saw Harry running up to his dorm and then rushing back towards the portrait only minutes later with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Older and younger students, filing into the Common Room, were whispering furiously.


“Natalie!” Ginny pulled the third-year towards the sofa she was sitting on and forced the girl on the sofa. “What are they all talking about?”


“Didn't you go to dinner? You didn't see?” At Ginny's shaking her head the younger girl explained, “Harry and Malfoy almost had a duel!”


“What happened?”


“I didn't see the beginning, but when I came in, Harry and Malfoy were standing in the middle of the Great Hall facing off.” She turned to other students, “Hey, Katie, Romilda, did you see what happened?”


“Shh! Harry might hear!” the others shushed her, but Ginny interjected, “No, he went out, seemed to be in a hurry too. Do you think they're having a duel outside?” She jumped up, worried.


“I don't think so, Malfoy was merrily chatting with his cronies the last I saw him, he wasn't in a hurry anywhere,” Katie replied.


Ginny relaxed and sat down. “Gonna tell me what happened?”


But Katie never had the chance to say anything because at that moment the portrait slid aside and a disgruntled Hermione came in. In the sudden quiet she blushed.


“What? Malfoy was just being a racist arse and nothing else. Nobody actually cares what he thinks, unless they are empty-headed Slytherins. Forget it, all right?”


With these words she marched into her room, but Ginny was too good of a friend (and too curious) to let Hermione stew alone. When she knocked, Hermione didn't answer, but Ginny opened the door anyway. The older girl was lying on the bed with her eyes closed.


“I knew you'd enter anyway.”


“You want me to leave?”


Hermione shook her head. “Nah, stay. But it really isn't such a big deal. Ron and Harry went hopping mad, but I don't really care.”


Ginny sat on the bed, next to the other girl. “You'll have to start from the beginning, Hermione. I have no idea what are you talking about.”


“Weren't you at dinner?” Hermione opened an eye to peek at Ginny. “I thought the whole school knew by now.”


“Well I would have heard everything had you not barged in at the most inopportune time.”


“Sorry.” Hermione grinned unrepentantly, but then turned solemn and started. “We were just having dinner and Malfoy was just telling his pack some story or other, but throughout the story neighbouring students and other tables hushed one by one and soon his voice carried over to us and... I didn't even hear most of it and frankly, I'm glad. It was the most tasteless racist story I've ever heard. It was about Muggle baiting. Absolutely nasty and completely untrue.” She paused as if to think about it. “I hope. Or if it's true, it has to be a reaaally old story, but I hope it’s an urban legend or something.”


“Ah. That kind of a story. I think I've heard a couple of them too. So what happened then?”


“And then suddenly Dean couldn't take it any more and he interrupted the storytelling. You know he's Muggleborn too, right? Anyway, after some heated words – insults really - were exchanged, Harry jumped up said something about Voldemort and Malfoy retaliated with something about him being the Saint Potter that will save us all, and before you know Ron is there and I'm being called a mudblood.”


“What?! I'll hex his ugly mug! Wait, what about the professors?”


“The dinner was almost over by that time and only Madame Pince was there and you know how she is – tries to stay invisible unless she's in a library. It's as if the books give her courage – honestly! And calm down, you know I don't care about these kind of things. Ron – well you know how he is – went berserk of course, Malfoy went on, explaining how it would smell better around here if some Muggleborns would just drop off and then suddenly Harry says, 'As far as I'm concerned, the air's clean enough now that your dad's snuffed it.”


Ginny gasped in surprise.


“Yes, rather thoughtless of him, wasn't it? That's where Professor Vector came in and after a brief tense silence Malfoy says, 'Just stay out of my business, Potter,' and Harry answers with something similar and that's it really.”


“But Natalie said they almost duelled.”


“Well, for a moment there, they went still as statues and I thought that any moment now one of them would be drawing a wand, but thankfully, no one did.”


Ginny lay down next to Hermione and groaned. “You know, he's barely been here a week and I already hate that obnoxious arse. I don't even know him really.”


But Hermione shook her head. “Don't worry, he's probably not worth knowing anyway, Gin. I suggest you not waste your energy on hating him either.”


“You're right. I'm just gonna ignore that pasty white cretin.”


Ginny's fifth year, 1st week of October


Ginny needed a book. She needed that book badly, but the only way to get it was to pass the Slytherin assembly presided by none other than Draco bloody Malfoy. They were standing exactly at the opening of the aisle she needed and naturally, it had to be one of those one-way-in aisles.


Ugh! Ginny thought, squared her shoulders, tightened her hold on her book bag and set for walking through the throng really casually. Malfoy was facing the other way, his cronies were avidly looking into his apparently gold spouting mouth, so there was no reason for them to even no-


“Why, you must be another Weasley!”


-tice her. Great. And now her cheeks were burning. Ginny had just opened her mouth to retaliate when she felt that she was stuck.


“Nice knickers, Weasley!” the cretin said.


The Slytherins roared with laughter and she turned back only to see that the hem of her skirt was glued to the desk corner. Angrily she tugged at it, but it didn't budge. At this point the Slytherins got hysterical. Ginny felt hot and for a moment she just stood there inhaling and exhaling, then she took out her wand and muttered a Finite to the Sticking Charm.


She knew that there was no way they actually saw her underwear, but it was still embarrassing enough for all her clever comebacks to have fled her head.


“Go to hell, Malfoy,” she hissed, and sent a Stinging Hex straight between his eyes. Fortunately, by the time she returned with the book, Madame Pince had already dispersed the gaggle of morons.


TBC

CHAPTER 2


Draco's fourth year, end of June


On the designated day Draco went to bed early and took out his diary. He had a date. Draco smiled. Today he would know the girl's name. He was fortunate to have his roommate gone home for the weekend, so he simply flopped down on the bed, not bothering with the usual privacy charms.


'I'm here,' he wrote and opened a textbook to study while he waited.


But he couldn't settle enough to actually read. Draco couldn't help but think she would be beautiful. He knew all the pureblood girls in Britain and once he had the name, he'd know everything about her in mere days. The thought that she might be half-blood bothered him, but he'd deal with it if he had to. The idea that she might be a Mudblood, he brushed aside. Even though she had never given anything particular away, the way she talked about them indicated that she couldn't be one. Besides, how could someone of filthy blood be as witty and passionate? Surely they couldn't.


“Come on!” he mumbled glancing at the diary for the umpteenth time. It was past eleven.


'Brat?' he wrote again a quarter of an hour later.


She was obviously having cold feet. Was probably sitting right there next to her diary, staring at it.


'It's quarter to twelve, Brat,' he added a while later, now angry at her stalling. At himself for feeling the way he did. But it was just a righteous anger.


Ten minutes.


Seven minutes.


He had every right to be angry. But he waited just the same.


And waited.


Five.


Three minutes.


Two.


Draco closed his eyes. Opened them. Fuck.


He had no idea how long after the pale yellow light had come and gone over the diary that he stared at the blank pages.


“Fuck you!” he yelled after a few long seconds and shoved the book against the opposite wall where it lay, unacknowledged, until his roommate was due back.


Three weeks after Draco's father's death


Draco's hands were shaking as he shovelled all the documents into leather duffel as quickly as he could. Someone was at the gates and whether they were Aurors or Death Eaters, he didn't care; he couldn't talk to either of them yet. Draco had known they would arrive at the door in less than ten minutes, but all too soon there was a soft pop.


“Mr Jugson and Mr Avery is waiting in the drawing room, Master.”


“Thank you, Trinky.” Cold sweat was gathering at his hair line. “Tell them I will be along shortly. Stall as long as you possibly can and let me know when they leave or start looking for me.”


Damn, it was too bloody soon, Draco thought as Trinky popped out.


Hopefully Mother was out of the country by now. Draco continued with the clean-up, mindful of taking the most recent materials first. All too soon the bag was full. He shrank the bag and pocketed it. Next he transfigured three empty drawers into leather bags and filled them with what documents he could. Fortunately, the most important documents were in a special safe which no one but a Malfoy could open (not that he knew where it actually was or how it opened exactly), but as father had died so unexpectedly, Draco couldn't be sure that there was nothing incriminating in Father's study.


There was a second pop. Draco startled.


“Master, the gentlemen uses a point-me spell to find Master.”


For a moment Draco experienced a surge of panic and closed his eyes.


“Thank you, Trinky,” he said, trying to swallow, but his throat was too dry. “Now I want you to do something very important for me. I'm going to Floo out of here very soon. If Jugson and Avery try to sniff around in here, set fire to these two bookcases before they can get their hands on anything. If they try to take anything else from here or anywhere else in the Manor, either stop them or destroy the thing before they can take it with them. You – any of our elves – are allowed to hurt them on my behalf. Put the fire out only after they've left or when the thing they want has been destroyed. When they are out, block the Floo network.”


The House Elf's eyes seemed to be even more bugged out as she assured her master of her understanding while nodding emphatically.


The door handle moved. Draco scrambled for Floo powder, threw it into the fire and jumped into the flames.


Draco's sixth year, 4th week of September


Dear Mr Malfoy,

Our merchandise is easy enough to replace, but your time and faith in us isn’t. We apologize for your recent experience with the Girard Fitzroy delivery last Friday and we’ll do our best to remedy the situation to your satisfaction.

We would be obliged to fulfil your every desire at any of our stores on the house the next time you decide to visit us or return the galleons you've spent, tripling the amount. We apologize for the inconvenience and hope that either of the solutions is satisfactory. The new items of the same articles you requested are being delivered as soon as possible.

Sincerely,
Girard Fitzroy Jr



Draco smiled. Mother was safely in Paris. Ignoring other students' covert curious glances, he pointed his wand to the letter and muttered, “Evanesco”.


Dinner was almost over, so the letter had drawn more than a few looks, but no one was bold enough to ask questions. Feeling magnanimous he turned to Pansy Parkinson who seemed to be the only girl in his year with half a brain. Draco tried to flirt with the girl and nearly got his ears boxed for his trouble.


“Hey!” he shouted, evading the girl’s book bag.


They were still laughing when he took his own book bag and briskly walked out of the Great Hall. He'd have to deal with Crabbe and Goyle very soon; they tended to follow him just about everywhere. Once he even had to wave them off to visit a lavatory in private.


After almost getting lost in the east wing, he finally found his quarry near the second floor landing. The bespectacled third year was standing under a large landscape with three lazy looking crups sniffing around a tree.


“Did you get it?” Draco barked without a greeting.


The boy flashed Draco a self-satisfied grin and held out a piece of parchment.


Draco glanced at the sheet. “Are you sure about this information?”


“No one's ever complained. I take pride in my research; ask anyone.”


Draco stared at the boy for three long seconds and nodded. He took out his money pouch and handed the guy several coins.


“It was a pleasure doing business with you,” the third year said and trudged away.


Draco pocketed the parchment and set off towards his own class.


By the end of Binns's class he had already added his own notes to the original list.


Year 7:

Katie Bell – HB, plays Quidditch – when did she start?
Sarah Owen– MB
Adria Belle D'Argenio – PB, exchange student, left home
Liz Kershaw – MB

Year 6:
Lavender Brown – PB, very pretty, but into Divination? - check for brains
Hermione Granger – MB
Parvati Patil – HB, exotic, Divination?

Year 5:
Chloe Bower – HB
Ginny Weasley – PB, plays Quidditch
Georgina StJohn – PB


That left six girls. Not too bad, but still too much. He'd have to do some reconnaissance.


Later in the week


It took him a couple of days to acquaint himself with all the girls on the list and it took only two short (separate) conversations in the library to eliminate Brown and StJohn due to the total lack of any common sense. Brat was smart. Next he eliminated Bell, who according to Flint had been on the Gryffindor Quidditch team since her second year. So now there was only three: Parvati Patil, Chloe Bower and Ginny Weasley.


He spotted Bower in the courtyard and as he had a free period, he sauntered out.


“Hey, you Bower?”


“Yeah?” the girl asked with thick Yorkshire accent.


“Brilliant,” he grinned. Bower's eyes opened wider in bewilderment. Draco continued, “I heard you'd be the prefect to ask about tutoring.”


“Oh, you want to be a tutor?” The girl's expression softened in understanding and she stepped away from the gaggle of her friends.


“Yeah, extra credit, right? Is it too late to put myself up?”


“No, not at all, most of the tutoring starts in spring semester. Just tell me for which classes, at which level and how often you're willing to tutor.” She sat down on the bench under the large oak tree and took her notebook and quill out.


“I can do sixth year potions and history easily,” he said looking at her notes over her shoulder, “but I'm also willing to do Arithmancy for a fifth year or below.”


“Arithmancy? That's good. How often?”


“Once or twice a week, so no more than two students I guess.”


“Great.” Bower smiled and closed her notebook. “I'll let you know if there are any takers. And there will be, I can promise you that.” She stood. “Anything else I can help you with?”


Draco shuffled with his feet as if embarrassed. “Well... I thought... You going to class now?”


“Yes, why?” The girl didn't seem to know if she should be excited or suspicious.


“Can I... Um... accompany you? To class I mean.”


“Um.. sure.” She blinked and turned away as if trying to hide her twitching lips.


They started towards the castle's back door, when Draco seemed to remember.


“I'm sorry, I didn't introduce myself properly.” He stuck his hand out to her. “I'm Draco Malfoy.”


“I know. I'm Chloe Bower.”


“I know.”


They smiled.


“So...” Draco had no problems with making small talk, but Chloe seemed to be the girl to go for bashful boys. He'd seen her flirt with some hapless Hufflepuff the day before. “You've got some great Quidditch facilities.”


He heard Chloe sigh. “Yes, so they say.”


“Not a fan?”


“Well I enjoy the house matches the same as anyone and I even thought of trying out for a chaser at one point, but no, not a fan any more.”


Hmm, not a fan, but used to be.


“Do you play?” she asked before Draco had a chance to think up a way to change the topic.


“Used to be a back-up seeker for Krum.”


“Really? You must be brilliant then!”


Draco grinned. “I do consider myself quite decent, yes. But with Krum flying I hardly had much playing time.”


“That sucks.”


Draco's lips quirked, but he shrugged.


“You gonna play for the Slytherin team?”


“I missed the try-outs this year, didn't I?”


“You did! But why? Everybody's wondering why you arrived three weeks late.”


“Are they now? I can only imagine what's the most imaginative theory.”


“I'm sure you can. So, what's the truth?”


“What, you want me to tell you all my secrets, just like that?”


“So it's a secret, is it?”


Draco smirked.


Unfortunately they reached their destination before he had a chance to bring up the diary, so Draco decided to bide his time and waved her goodbye. Draco had no idea what he'd do when he found out who his pen pal was, but there was no way he could leave his curiosity unsatisfied.


A part of him would be disappointed if Chloe turned out to be Brat. But then again, she was intelligent, fun and un-Gryffindorishly non-judgemental. Which was a point against her. Brat was anything but. But she might have changed since.


Most of his brain was still engaged in the Bower dilemma when he sat down for dinner. Blaise, Marcus and Daphne were talking about something inconsequential Draco wasn't listening to until he heard them mention hunting. Suddenly Draco remembered this lame horror story that was so popular to tell to youngsters on long dark winter nights in Durmstrang.


“Yeah, it's like that story about a hollow Muggle,” he said, thinking it a fairly well-known story.


“A hollow Muggle?” Blaise shook his head. “Never heard of it.”


It turned out none of them had and so he told them. Or rather tried to. It started funnily enough and very soon the Slytherins were listening to him avidly. Generally Draco relished being the centre of attention, but as more and more of the students started paying him attention, it gradually dawned on Draco that he was committing some kind of terrible faux pas.


When he got to the point where the Mudbloods were begging for their lives it had turned somewhat awkward, but to stop would've been even more awkward and his pride wouldn't let him. So, with a great flourish he continued to awe his house mates. It seemed that these kinds of stories were apparently not told at Hogwarts publicly. He should have known.


By the time the black Gryffindor stopped him, the tensions were running so high that a part of him was even grateful. And then Potter stepped in and said that. Not that Draco was very beat up about his father's death, but he would not let anyone say anything bad about his father. The Malfoy name would not be tarnished by some kind of local celebrity.


Brilliant, he thought as he walked back to the Slytherin Common Room. Bloody effing brilliant.


“That was brilliant, Malfoy!” was the first thing he heard upon reaching the Common Room.


A tall Slytherin patted Draco on his back and plopped down on the armchair.


“Yeah, that showed them!” was a second year's assessment.


“I knew old Lucius's son couldn't be a pussy!” said another student almost gleefully.


“If it hadn't sounded so rude, I'd thank you for the compliment,” Draco answered drily and everyone laughed.


Draco sat, joking and chatting with his housemates for a while, trying to sound out how much his reputation among other houses was actually damaged, but it wasn't until he saw the covert look Montague sent to Pucey that he really started worrying. Despite everything, though, the respect with which the Slytherins now regarded him was enjoyable.


When he went to bed that night, he cast several Muffliato spells on his bed curtains before starting a furious string of curses. Slowly and deliberately he called himself all the names he could remember until he noticed that he was repeating himself. He thumped his fist on the bed but that didn't help either.


He knew that the Montagues were Death Eaters and the Puceys were at least sympathizers. He knew that Crabbe and Goyle weren't following him out of having nothing better to do, and he also knew that if he wasn't careful, acquiring a shiny new tattoo straight after school would be unavoidable.


It was only his second week here and already he'd managed to define himself as a pureblood supremacist, which in this school was extremely stupid by any account.


Draco pulled his pillow over his face and groaned into it.


Draco's 6th year, 1tst week of October, Monday


Draco was on his way to the library when he heard it again.


“... Junior Death Eater...”


He turned and quickly found the boy that looked at him with the most glee. Draco concentrated his stare at the boy and looked on until the Gryffindor's gaze faltered. When all three students started turning away, Draco took out his wand and, quick as a lightening, sent three tongue enlarging hexes their way. It would be a very unpleasant twenty seconds for them.


The whisper seemed to accompany him constantly these days. He was hexing students right and left with mildly unpleasant spells, but it was no use. Unless he was prepared to do something really serious that would land him in trouble with the professors it wouldn't stop any time soon.


When he passed an ugly statue of an old crone, Draco noticed Chloe Bower among several other girls. His lips started to lift in a smile, but when the girl saw him she turned away as if she'd never known him. All of her friends did the same.


Suddenly it was too hot in the corridor and Draco stopped looking at the people he passed. He stared straight ahead, a low hum in his ears. When he arrived at his class he had to wipe his palm on his robes before taking hold of the door knob.



Friday


Draco woke up with a headache. He had gotten little sleep last night, because he had finally got down to examining the documents he'd brought with him from the manor. The first stack he’d looked at were the purchase orders, business propositions, notifications and simple memos, but the one he was planning to read today looked more promising.


Outwardly, it seemed that his father's business was not particularly dark, but already at a glance Draco had spotted some company names which he knew were set up for money laundering. He wouldn't know all of them, of course, but Father had started Draco's education in business after the fourth year and by now he was quite knowledgeable of the discipline. Draco thought he would be able to decide which companies were just names on the paper and which provided legal profit.


Malfoy Inc. was a large business and until Draco turned twenty-one it would be run by a board of directors. Originally he was meant to have started working for the company after passing NEWTs, but Draco wasn't sure that considering all the circumstances, it would be the best course of action. If Father hadn't died, he wouldn't have any other choice, but now, for the first time in his life, all roads seemed to be wide open.


Sunday


Draco clenched his jaw and opened the library door. He had just hexed a couple of Ravenclaws to stop their snickering. The boils under their collars would teach them! If the Slytherins were the only ones he'd befriend in this school, then so be it. He closed the door with a resounding thud.


“Ah, there you all are,” he said moving to the table his house mates had gathered around. Soon he was telling them another story and this time he didn't even resist – clearly these were the only people who would at least make an effort of cordiality. That it directly contradicted his initial plans he refused to acknowledge.


The anecdote he was telling now was just starting to bore him when he noticed Crabbe staring over his shoulder. Draco turned. It was the girl he'd seen looking at him several times over the past three weeks. Ginny Weasley from his list. Always too far away to see her expression and always turning away when caught. Nice figure.


Now though, her eyes were fixed firmly to the floor as she purposefully strode towards them. Or their aisle, most likely. He couldn't have that – he wouldn't be ignored!


“Why, you must be another Weasley!” he said, grinning at the sudden flush in her cheeks.


She was blushing so enticingly that Draco was really looking forward to what she'd say, but then Goyle glued the hem of her skirt to their desk.


“Nice knickers, Weasley!” Draco said, unable to hold himself back.


Everybody laughed as the redhead ineffectually tugged at her skirt. Even the red-faced fury in her countenance was fetching, so when she only cast Finite, he was a bit disappointed. Only for a second, before she hit him with an extra painful Stinging Hex. The unfairness of it hit him rather less than the physical pain.


Second week of October, Wednesday


After the skirt incident there was no hope of Weasley ever looking at him with anything other than disgust. As he'd had a chance to ascertain. It was just after Transfiguration the day before that he saw her standing opposite the door he was exiting from. She was chatting with her friends when she noticed him. Their eyes met, held for a moment in surprise and then her chestnut eyes narrowed with such an intense hatred that Draco startled. This time the unfairness. Of. It. All. Really hit him.


What the hell did he do? So he told a couple of stupid stories, hexed some students and laughed at a glued skirt, so what? Draco didn't think it was worse than other teenage wizards did all the time and it's not like his hexes did any lasting damage, nor was he distributing illegal potions or anything like that. He thought he was a decent-looking guy from a rather good family. Why was everybody acting like he used an unforgivable on his own granny?


Now, suddenly all his carefully laid plans to find out who Brat was were useless. Trying to talk to Weasley was pointless. In Arithmancy he tried to smile at the Patil girl, but she also ignored him. He tried a couple of times more, once even going as far as picking up a book she'd dropped, but nothing seemed to change the girl's suspicious, narrowed-eye slits. Although Draco wasn't very hopeful, the next day he again hunted down Bower. Frankly, she would've been the best of the three, he realised now. She was quiet, confident and pretty. She didn't smile back, but neither did she glower which was an improvement even if she was a half-blood.


After a week of fruitless attempts to make contacts outside his own house, Draco decided that he hated it at Hogwarts. The local girls near Durmstrang were always easy to charm and the ones he'd flirted with in France during summer holidays had been fun. Here, most of the school was looking at him as if he were some kind of a disease. Slowly it dawned on him that it had something to do with his father. But it couldn't be, could it? So far his entire life experience had shown that being a Malfoy was an asset, not a burden. Although maybe it was just him, a voice whispered quietly in his head.


Shut up.


Telling the story in the great hall had been a mistake. A misjudgement on his part, nothing serious. Only that silly little story seemed to have ruined everything. Draco had no idea how to fix it, but he just had to fix it somehow!


Third week of October, Monday


This was intolerable! Draco stepped into the Common Room and turned back towards the opening, crossing his arms on his chest. He knew that the gesture was considered defensive, but experience told him that if he looked down his nose, people tended to find it rather intimidating.


He levelled his stare on entering Crabbe and Goyle, who stepped into the room only a few moments later.


“Well?” Draco said.


“What?” Crabbe asked back in confusion.


“I know you're following me. Care to explain?”


For a second or two there was silence, where the oafs stood, just blinking at each other, but then Draco more sensed than saw a presence behind his back. He turned round to see Adrian Pucey looking at him.


“Call off your goons,” Draco said calmly.


For a beat Pucey seemed to be mulling over what to say. “You don't know what you're asking, Malfoy.”


"Is that so?" Draco purposefully relaxed his stance. This was the conversation that would be the unavoidable Step Number Three in his plan. “So, let's hear it then.”


TBC

CHAPTER 3


First week of December, Monday


“What? Why didn’t you tell me anything earlier?”


Hermione looked bewildered. “Why? Usually you can’t wait for me to shut up about the new exciting spells I’ve just learned.”


“Yes, but this is important! Hermione, you found a way to reanimate my diary!”


“Oh, Ginny!” Hermione’s face fell for a moment but the next second it was filled with compassion. “But there’s almost no chance that your friend even kept his diary.”


Momentarily, Ginny felt deflated.


“I know,” she said then. “But I can’t simply not try!”


Hermione only nodded, but Ginny could see that she was concerned.


“When can you teach me?”


The older girl seemed to be thinking for a moment. “Mm… Thursday? But you don’t have to learn the spell. Unless you plan on using it a lot I can just cast it for you.”


“And be right there when I collapse from devastation?” Ginny smiled. “Relax, Hermione, I know that the chances of Git having the diary are slim to none.”


Hermione laughed in relief. “Git? You wrote to a guy who calls himself Git?”


“Noo! It’s just a…” Ginny sighed and smiled. “You’ve got a point, but it was all in good fun. I called him Git and he called me Brat.”


“You sure you want to be friends with someone who calls you a brat?”


The girls laughed.


First week of December, Thursday


It hadn't worked. Not that he’d thought that it would in the first place, Brat was sure to have thrown her diary away long ago, but he still felt cheated. Somewhat listlessly, Draco sat on his bed, curtains tightly closed, and stared at the reanimated diary. Although it seemed to be active itself, it lacked the output receiver.


Just then, as he was ready to dump the thing back onto the bottom of his trunk, there was a faint momentary glow around the book. Draco’s eyelids fluttered in several panicked blinks. He stared at the book for three long seconds, but nothing more happened.


“Shite!”


He grabbed the diary and opened it in the middle. It seemed empty, but it would, wouldn’t it; all the old communication was lost for good. Quickly, Draco leafed back to the fist page and there it was – ink in meaningful scribbles. The text was just appearing.


-Hello, my friend! I know you are most likely not even there, so I feel quite silly writing into the magick space, bu… Well, just be there, alright?

X-Brat!


Draco finally managed to make his shaking fingers grab a quill.

X- Is that really you, Brat? he wrote.

- Yes, it’s me! Git! I can't believe it! You are really here? How? You used the spell too, didn't you!

X-Eons ago! What took you so long?

-I just learned the spell! How long have you been waiting?

X-Almost a week. Merlin, it feels longer!

In fact, it had been longer, since Draco applied the spell the same day he learned it, but he wasn't going to admit it.

-I can imagine. You really wanted to write me again? After all this time?

X-And just like that you made things awkward.

-Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to.

X-Chill, Brat. I’m having you on.

-LOL. I know! :D Idiot!

X-That's why you love me.

-Dream on! You know, my grin is a mile wide right now! I'm sorry I bailed on you that time – in the third year - but I just forgot. I mean, not that it was so unimportant-

X-I know. You don't have to explain. Your schoolmate was killed that night. I heard about it later. Although a part of me wondered if you’d just chickened out after all. But mostly I knew.

-No chickening, it's just that we were all so shocked and we just... I don't think I even slept that night.

X-I understand. It shocked people even in Durmstrang. How had he put it exactly? “Kill the spare”?

-How do you-? Oh, the Quibbler!

X-Yes, I suppose everybody knows about that by now. Anyway, it's not something you imagine you'd hear the Dark Lord say when murdering a pureblood, so… Yeah.

-I don't think he makes excuses when he kills. And why do you call him the Dark Lord?

That gave Draco a pause. What did she mean, why? Everybody called him... But, of course, they didn't. Only most of the Slytherins did and never outside of their own circle. Draco had grown too comfortable with the girl.

X-Force of habit.

There was a pause again and Draco started to think up ways to diminish the damage when Brat wrote again.

-You're in with them, aren't you?

X-No, I’m not. Draco thought of how much he could safely reveal. But my family is. Was, he wrote in the end.

-Your father?

X-Yes. He's dead. And don't tell me you're sorry. You wouldn't be if you knew him.

-Alright. Am I supposed to tactfully change the topic now?

X-Very subtle, Brat. Really sensitive of you.

- :) That's why you love me.

X-You bet.

There was no answer and Draco panicked – what if she had thought he really meant it?

X-Brat?

-Sorry, gtg. Brb.

He must have overdone it and now she probably thought that he was in love with her. Dammit.

X-Listen, about the... you know the L-word comment? I'm sorry if my joke made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean it like that, all right?

-Back. Wait, what? Noo! That's not why I left. H someone wanted my... something I’m not talking about with you.

X-You're fishing for excuses, aren't you? ;)

-So not true! My friend just needed something. Really. Female stuff. BTW, how about telling each other our names now? We were supposed to do that two years ago!

Blindsided. 'Totally wrecked' was the phrase to describe Draco's feelings at that moment. For a long, excruciating second all he could do was to imagine how quickly she’d close the diary and how far she’d throw it after she read who he really was. Draco could recall all the dirty looks he was receiving on daily basis from most of the school, especially Gryffindor, in graphic detail. No, Brat couldn't know about his identity just yet.

X-Are you sure? You used to have a reason for wanting to remain anonymous, has that changed?

-Yes! It has. :) So, who goes first?

X-Er... Hold your broom a moment there.

He had no idea how to continue without making her feel bad.

-Why? Have you reconsidered?

X-No. No, I haven't. It’s just that… Well, we have the diaries again, so we don’t need to owl any more, do we?

-Yes, but-

X-And you were the one who actually proposed the secrecy. It’s not like we really need to know the names, so there’s no rush.


Draco knew he was acting like a total arse, but the quill was moving faster than his thoughts and now that it was all out there, it was a bit difficult to take it back. The silence that stretched between them after that was ominous.


-You know what the reason I proposed the secrecy in the first place was, right?

X-Because of the possessed diary?

-Because I didn’t trust you. And even in the spring, when we agreed to finally reveal our names, I still wasn’t ready to trust you completely. But you always sounded like you trusted me. What changed?


For a moment Draco wasn’t sure what to write. The diary wouldn’t let him lie outright, but there were ways… In the end, he couldn’t think of any reason to not to tell her the truth.


X-It’s difficult to explain. But first of all - I’m not saying that I don’t trust you. I just need more time. It has nothing to do with you; it’s me. I'm simply not ready to reveal my identity just yet.

-Why not?

X-I don’t know how to explain it, except to say that I can’t explain yet. I’m sorry. Everything in my life has changed, Brat. It turned out that my father had a lot more influence on my life than I had ever known, and now that he’s dead, everything’s different – where I live, my future… I have a chance at choosing my future now, Brat! I never thought that it would be a possibility until this summer. Anyway, just please, trust me, alright?

- You don't trust me.

X-No, I told you-

-Don't. I know it's true. And don’t apologise. I understand, alright? We haven't talked a while, so of course you wouldn't-

X-No, Brat! Listen and don't interrupt. It's not that! I don't think that you’d do something terrible if you knew my name. I can't even imagine how you could. But… But I do think that you wouldn't want to be my friend if you knew who I was. So I want to have a chance to show you that I'm a decent person first.

-What? Don't be ridiculous! Unless you're He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or... or, I don't know Professor Snape or Draco Malfoy, or… someone equally dreadful, you have nothing to worry about! Just tell me that you are not a dark wizard and wish me no harm and I'll believe you.

…

Git? Did you go away?

X-No, I’m here. Just thinking.

-I meant what I said. It doesn’t matter who you are. I understand about families, you can’t choose your father. So he was a Death Eater, so what? You aren’t one, are you? And you’re not planning on becoming one, right?

X-No. I’m not a Death Eater and I’ll do my best not to become one. (Remember that the diary can’t lie?) And I'm not the Dark Lord either, in case you were wondering, but I'm not sure what to tell you about the other names you've listed.

-Oh! Well, Professor Snape is this really nasty Potions teacher we have and he's ugly as sin. Greasy and... Generally, an epitome of eww. And you should know Malfoy, right? At least by reputation. He went to your school, after all.

X-Yes, can't really deny that.

-Well, you know what he’s like then.

X-No. No, I don't. Explain it to me. How did a poor transfer student make it to your eww list next to the ugly teacher and Snake Face?

-Snake Face? LOL. You call him that?

X-Never mind what I call him. Why do you hate Malfoy so much?

-You’re joking, right? You said you knew him?

X-Yes, and I know quite a few people in Durmstrang who are a lot nastier.

-I can only imagine. (Insert shivers of horror.) Well, what do I hate about Draco Death Eater Malfoy? First of all, Death, secondly Eater, thirdly, he's simply repulsive! The way he talks, the things he talks about. Then, the way he walks in the hall, not looking at anybody as if we were all beneath him, not worthy of his notice, and the way he eats, of all things!

X-The way he eats?! What's wrong with the way he eats?

-As if the broomstick in his arse reaches his skull. Does the guy ever relax? … Git? You there?

X-Yes.

-Something happening there? You busy?

X-Yes. I'm sorry, I have to go. Forgot I have a tutoring session.

-You tutor? Or...?

X-Later, okay?

-Yes, sorry. Bye.


Draco sat on his bed for quite a while before venturing out from behind the curtains. Needless to say, he never made it to dinner, lest he offended anyone with his table manners. Draco scowled. And who the hell did the chit think she was? No doubt she had atrocious manners herself, and how the hell would she walk in the halls if everyone either stared at her or ignored her? Bestow her benign smile on them?


Now Draco did throw the diary to the bottom of his trunk.


“And don’t think you’re coming out any time soon either!” he muttered darkly toward the only representation of his ire’s subject he had.


After the first anger had abated, Draco suddenly felt utterly humiliated. He was a failure, not only to his father, but in his own eyes, too. He hadn’t made it in Durmstrang and now he was a pariah at Hogwarts. He didn’t fit in anywhere – there he had been too soft, here he was too hard.


Nothing Brat told him had been that surprising, so why was he so upset? He’d known before how most of Hogwarts viewed him. Except that he’d imagined that he’d be more feared than ridiculed. It was entirely foolish to be upset, and it didn't change any of his plans, so-


Wait! What did Brat say about the reanimation spell? She said she'd just learned it. She learned it and it was Thursday and Gryffs had the lesson right before Slytherins on Wednesday. Was it possible that they were a week behind with program? Of course it was, but what really bothered Draco was the obvious conclusion that Brat must be in his year.


He opened his trunk. After a minute of feverish digging he found his list. Draco remembered what was on it, he just wanted to make sure. And yes, there it was, his personal nightmare:


Year 6:
Lavender Brown – PB, very pretty, but into divination? - check for brains
Hermione Granger – MB
Parvati Patil – HB, exotic, divination?


He'd seen enough of all the three girls to know that it couldn't be Brown or Patil. The chits were entirely too brain-dead. Draco crushed the list and threw it back into the trunk.


He'd eliminated Granger on her blood status alone, but now it suddenly seemed overly optimistic. There were only two possibilities – either he'd misread something Brat wrote him two years ago and she was indeed a Mudblood, or he was heavily underestimating Patil's intelligence. –But it must be the latter. It must be.


Or maybe it's one of the fifth years who got the spell from an upper student or a seventh year who's extremely slow and is retaking the subject.


And all this speculation was utterly useless. Abso-effin-lutely useless.


Second week of December, Friday


Draco didn't buy that crap about people being beautiful when angry. Even if you loved them very much anger only made people ugly. In the case of Ginny Weasley, however, he didn't mind her being angry that much; even red in the face, she was still somewhat fetching. What he did mind though, was her being angry with him especially when she was being unfair.


“You're such a nasty pig, Malfoy! He's a third year, Malfoy. A third year! What the hell did he even do to you, huh?”


Draco smirked. “I just happen to get off on hurting ickle little children, Weasley. Didn’t you know?” He knew that trying to explain things was showing weakness and he had no intention of giving an inch. “Did you see their pretty purple faces as they choked? All six and a half seconds of it?”


For a moment, the girl just gaped at him as if she had no idea what to say, but then she brandished her wand so quickly that it was only a fragment of a second that saved Draco from being hexed. Thankfully, the redhead didn't want to duel. Abruptly, she turned around and stormed off.


What possessed Draco to do what he did then remained a mystery to him even later, but without any conscious thought, he grabbed the girl's wrist and said quietly to her back, “Just one more thing, Weasley. Been playing around with any diaries lately?”


Very slowly, she turned back to him and her chestnut-coloured eyes were glazed with shock.


“You...” was all she choked out before the shock cleared only to be replaced with a livid sheen. Her tiny fist landed in the middle of his face out of nowhere.


“Bingo!” was all Draco had time to think before his brain registered that his head must have exploded.


“You okay?” he heard Pansy ask, as she handed him her handkerchief.


Don’t be an idiot, Draco thought, but he might have said it out loud, because she didn’t ask anything else.


The bubbling pain, however, took a background noise in his head, which was overexcited from finding his Brat. Chances that the Weasley girl wasn’t her were extremely low.


First week of school, January


“Mr Malfoy?”


“Pardon?”


“Pay attention, Mr Malfoy. What am I, a meaningless apparition? I asked you to name runes that have healing properties brought forth only by moonlight during solstice.”


With difficulty, Draco recalled the chapter and recited the answer.


The first weekend after realising who Brat was had been a century-long agony. Brat (Ginny!) wrote him a short note that night after smashing his nose but unsurprisingly it failed to lift his spirits.


Hey Git! Can you write tonight? I really need to unwind. I had a fight with a local non-entity and I want to forget all about it. You always make me laugh. Come? Please?


Needless to say, he answered the note with his own failing to write anything back. Instead, Draco had immediately stashed the diary under his mattress and for a whole seventeen seconds he had managed to pretend that it didn’t burn his back through a foot of bedding.


After that, however, it had been so difficult not to reach for his diary that through the evening Draco frequently had to go downstairs into the Common Room to get away. And when all the hustle and bustle there annoyed the crap out of him, he had even resorted to studying in the library. Or pretended to.


Thankfully, the remainder of autumn term was filled with manoeuvring between Montague, Pucey, and Parkinson’s sieges, executing pre-planned defence strategies and working out impromptu counter-attacks. In short – Draco Malfoy was having the time of his life. Slowly, he got used to the low ache of awareness of his untouched book under the mattress. It was only in the evenings, when everyone retired to their beds, that his hand really started itching for it.


In the end, he hadn't managed to throw it out as he vowed to do every evening, but neither had he taken it out to write in it either. Then very soon it was Christmas, and to stop torturing himself, he decided to leave the book at school. Draco regretted it as soon as he saw the train on the platform, but by then it was already too late. Fine. It was just how he’d wanted it. And perhaps she'd grow fonder of him while missing him.


Right.


The first thing Draco did when he got back was grab the book and sit on his bed recalling each and every look filled with hatred Ginny Weasley had ever directed at him. How could anyone hate him just because of who his father was was beyond him, but what really bothered him was that it went in direct conflict with what he knew about Brat.


So why did he even want her to like him if she was so intolerably ignorant? She was self-righteous and snotty and, as it now turned out, was a hypocrite. Draco realised, of course, that everybody was bound to be different in their writings than in real life, but in her case it was more than disappointing.


However, now that the lessons had started, Draco fully expected it to be easier, but for some unfathomable reason the masochistic part of his brain had decided it would be a wonderful idea to pack the blasted diary into his book bag this morning. He'd managed to resist it until the third lesson, but Merlin help him, Binns was boooring!


Brat? I'm sorry, I've been MIA all this time. I blame my moronic brain. I don't even know how exactly it happened, but when packing for the trip home, I managed to leave my diary at school.


Telling half-truths came easily to Draco and the little twinge of guilt he felt was promptly squashed. Technically, he'd not lied and he couldn't very well tell her that he'd been contemplating burning the diary because he'd found out who she was. Draco wasn’t even sure why he was contacting her again; he certainly wasn’t ready to introduce himself just to be scowled or laughed at.


You've got time this evening? he continued nonetheless, I'll be around at ten. If you can't come, drop me a line? Unless you're so livid with me that you'd rather stand me up. Because I'd totally understand. I'm willing to grovel.

Humbly at your mercy,
Git


However, this time his acting up to his self-deprecating persona backfired. Draco had been idiot enough to be surprised when there was no message or the girl herself even after eleven. He'd fully expected her to let him wait for half an hour and then allow herself to be coaxed into granting him forgiveness after a thorough begging. But neither that night nor the next brought any response. Then days went by and still nothing. Perhaps he’d been deluding himself after all – there really was no more to the girl than what he saw in the halls – all reckless arrogance and ignorance.


But, of course, the Weasley girl was proud; he’d seen that in Brat too. Not at all like most of the girls he knew and certainly unlike any of the girls his parents would have over for tea. She probably didn't know any better than to be so vindictively rude. But then again the answer might’ve been neglected simply because she'd finally thrown the diary out during the holidays. Or maybe...


Whatever the reason might be, by the time Draco went down for breakfast four days later, he was livid. Of course she hadn't thrown the diary out! Girls just didn't do things like that! Any normal girl would be keeping it at hand and peeking into it every half an hour to make sure she knew when to start her silent treatment. When a girl thought she had a chance with a guy she pretended not to care about you, but in truth she'd put a tracking spell on you if she could get away with it.


“Out of the way,” he growled at a random firstie, shouldered through a throng of Hufflepuffs, and scowled at anything that got between him and the Great Hall.


Girls were clingy by nature; he knew that for a fact. Except it was a Weasley girl he was talking about and there was nothing remotely clingy about her. Perhaps she'd really never thought about him like that and... And then Draco remembered one of the Hogwarts rumour mill items that was so stale it was regarded as a fact. That fact said that Ginny Weasley had been in love with Harry Potter all her life and was even now just waiting for him to acknowledge her as his true love.


Which was ridiculous, of course; he'd never seen anything that would suggest her being in love with the four-eye. But did it mean that she would be prone to get swept away by some random pen-pal? Unlikely.


A week later he didn’t think it mattered one way or another. She never wrote back.


Second week of March, Tuesday


“You know I should give you two a prize, what do you think?” Draco drawled.


He was lounging in an armchair facing the door, so he saw the heroes of the hour the moment they entered the Common Room.


“A prize?” Crabbe’s little eyes lit up with suspicious interest.


“What prize?” Goyle echoed his friend’s interest.


“A first prize,” Draco continued, “for the lamest joke ever.” Several Slytherins in the room snickered. “Littering the hall with paper penises? Really? What are you, twelve?”


The fat duo scowled, huffed and stomped up the stairs to their dorm.


“You do better then,” one of them grumbled.


“Anything I’ve ever done is better than anything those two will ever do,” Montague remarked.


“Really? I thought them hiding Weasley’s schoolbag was pretty funny,” Pansy offered.


“They hid Weasel’s bag?” Draco raised his eyebrow lazily. “Must have been ages ago if I haven’t heard about it?”


“Not really.” Pansy shrugged. “At the beginning of this term, I think. And it wasn’t the Weasel. It was the little Weasley, Potter’s shadow. They hid her schoolbag in one of the empty cupboards in the second floor corridor. Filch found it by mistake almost two weeks later.”


“Really?” Draco said, but he never heard an answer; his mind was too busy calculating.


A wild hope surged through him and it was all he could do to not jump up and storm into his dorm room right away. Thankfully it was only ten minutes later that he managed to slip away unnoticed.


His hands shaking, Draco dug out his diary once more and opened it before he managed to talk himself down from the feverish hope. And there it was – an entry only part of him believed would be there.


Git! Hey, sorry for disappearing on you, but I guess it’s only fair since you disappeared on me during the hols too. And of course, I’m not angry with you for leaving your diary at school! And before you ask, I wouldn’t have been even if I hadn’t lost mine.

Anyway, I’m really, really sorry, but it wasn’t my fault! You won’t believe what happened! Or actually I’m hoping you will! In short, a local moronic duo pinched my schoolbag two weeks ago and the diary was in it! I’ve only got it back just now and you have no idea how happy I am to see that you’ve not ditched our friendship! Or at least you hadn’t before…

I just hope you’re still around. I’ll be here tonight at ten and well, other nights too if you’re no longer checking back.

Hope you’ll write back!
Brat


It’s been four days and I’ve yet to have an answer. Well, I’ll be checking every now and then anyway, alright? Hope to hear from you soon,
B


Okay, here’s what I’ve decided. I’ll be checking here every Saturday at 10pm, just so you know. And if I you’ve burned your diary and I’m just making a total fool out of myself, I’m gonna hunt you down and feed you my diary page by page. You’ve been warned. Git.
B


Draco sat on his bed staring at the three last entries, waves of elation and shame taking their turns. Of course she hadn’t thrown the diary out! Of course, she hadn’t given up! And, of course, she hadn’t been playing games with him! That was not her way. This, he reread the last entries, was how he’d expected Ginny Weasley to act! But the last entry had been written weeks before; did she still check the diary every Saturday? Only one way to find out.



TBC

CHAPTER 4



End of March, Thursday



“Good afternoon, Ginny.”


“What do you want?” Ginny barked as she almost jumped up from her crouching position, her shoelace still untied.


“Don’t be rude, Ginny. I’m just trying to have a conversation.” Malfoy’s neutrally polite tone and calling her by her actual name were downright shocking.


“With me?” Wind was turning her wisps of her hair around her head in the most annoying manner. She tried to brush it behind her ear, but it was back in her face the next second.


Malfoy stood up from the low wall he’d been leaning on and looked around. “As it seems that we are the only two people here, I’d say yes.”


“Phew!” Ginny swept over her forehead as if wiping off sweat. “Good, you’re turning mildly insulting again, I was getting worried.”


“Would you have helped my poor sickly self to the infirmary?”


The honest amusement on his face looked so foreign that for a second Ginny had no response.


“Not even if you were dying,” she said then, wholly realizing how predictable her answer was.


“Good to know that the Earth’s still turning,” he answered back and smiled.


Ginny’s eyes widened. Suddenly, Draco Malfoy seemed almost human and what’s worse – it made him look handsome! The bastard’s utilizing his charm, is he? she thought, but she couldn’t help but be a bit charmed nonetheless. Especially since there was some weird, unfathomable tension to his demeanour, almost as if he were anxious. Why that would be though, she had no idea, but it made her testy.


“What exactly do you want, Malfoy? Trying to annoy me to death? I was having a good morning up until now.”


Slowly the traces of amusement evaporated from his face and the usual biting tone was back in his voice. “Is the concept of small talk so difficult for you to grasp? Should I draw diagrams?”


“You know what?” Ginny said after a short pause. “This conversation isn’t even interesting anymore.” She shrugged and turned back towards the castle. “Novelty’s worn off.” Her morning jog was over anyway. It was time to hit the showers.


“Be careful with your shoelaces there,” she heard him call mockingly just a moment before tripping and landing painfully on all fours.


“You shitbag!” Ginny shouted as she jumped up, her cheeks burning.


To her surprise instead of smirking with glee, Malfoy was staring at her angrily, his upturned face full of challenge.


“You tripped me,” she said, sounding less certain than she wished.


Malfoy’s lips formed a customary scowl. “Yes, because how could untied shoe laces possibly be at fault when an idle Slytherin is anywhere in the vicinity, right?”


He didn’t have a wand in his hand.


“Stupid frozen mud,” she muttered and leaned on the stone wall.


She raised her foot to tie the laces at last. Her palms hurt and her left ankle ached a bit. There was no way she was going to squat down in front of that bastard. The silence stretched into awkwardness, as she tied her trainer with stiff fingers. She saw Malfoy from the corner of her eye. Still there; not moving, not saying anything. Carefully, Ginny put her foot down and stood on it. Thankfully, it didn’t hurt much.


“You okay?”


If she hadn’t known better, she’d think that Malfoy sounded concerned.


“Yeah, fine,” she answered without any heat, looking at her grazed palms.


Suddenly Malfoy was next to her. “Here, let me,” he said and grabbed her wrists. “Should get them cleaned first.” He took his wand out and uttered a cleaning charm. “Sorry, can’t do any healing charms. Let’s get you to the infirmary.”


As he released her hands she raised her eyes to Malfoy‘s. His gaze held apprehension and uncertainty, but there was also challenge, which must have been why she stood up straighter and nodded. They headed off towards the closest side-door.


“So, what’s really going on?” Ginny asked almost conversationally, walking beside him towards the castle.


“What do you mean?”


The words were cold, but suddenly Ginny was hit with a realisation that this was how Draco Malfoy sounded when he was nervous.


“You being nice. And to me of all people. Is it a bet? Decided to make me fall in love with you?”


Ginny wasn’t trying to shock him, but to her great amusement, the boy tripped.


“Don’t be ridiculous!” He had finally turned to look at her and his gaze clearly said that she was crazy.


Ginny shrugged, feeling slightly foolish. “Well you must admit that it’s a bit suspicious – first, you talking politely, and now helping me. Although that last I could write it off as some glitch in your thoroughly evil character, if you like. You know, you saw a girl fall and felt compelled to help her. Totally uncharacteristic for you, of course, but understandable. Though it doesn’t explain you trying to have a conversation with me before that.”


“Trying? I did talk to you; it’s not my fault you’ve not been raised to react properly to a simple cordiality.”


“You’re not going to tell me then, are you?”


“Is it really so unlikely that I’d just want to talk to you? I was walking, you were jogging. I was bored, the sun was shining and I made small talk. To you. You’re neither ugly nor stupid, why wouldn’t I want to talk to you?”


“But apparently I look stupid enough for you to try and pull one on me.”


Draco sighed. “Fine, you look slightly stupider than you think you are. And since you regard yourself as pretty damn genius…”


Ginny lost her fight to a smile and she knew it would be heard in her voice. “Was that a compliment I just heard?”


“I don’t know, was it?” Thankfully, there was an answering smile in his voice too, although it might be triumphant. Ginny didn’t have the courage to check.


“Alright, here we are.” Ginny stopped just inside the Hogwarts doors. “I’ll be off to see Madam Pomfrey then.... Unless you wanna tell me the truth.“


Malfoy shook his head. “Not today.” His smile turned somewhat crooked with uncertainty. “See you around?”


“Alright?” She had no idea why it had sounded like a question. Blasted Merlin! Ginny frowned, turned around and almost ran towards the infirmary.



End of March, Monday



It had been near impossible to see Ginny during the weekend, unless he wished to go out into the bitingly cold Scottish wind whistling its fury outside. The crazy bint went jogging every morning almost without fail. Wisely Draco stayed inside and refused to even ogle her route from the Astronomy tower as he had done almost every morning since reading her entry about Saturdays.


The thing was that in the end, he didn’t have the guts to find out if she still checked the diary. Because if she still did, then what would he have said, sorry I gave up on you? Sorry I didn’t have the patience to wait for more than two weeks? These things were better explained in person.


Besides, Draco had decided that he wasn’t interested in an anonymous relationship via quill and ink anymore. If he ever wanted to have a chance to be friends with this girl then he doubted that faking to still be at Durmstrang (or undertaking any other vague fibbing) would be the way to persuade her. And admitting to being here… The idea didn’t bear thinking.


So now the plan was to introduce himself into her life by small doses. The first planned (positive!) contact had taken place the previous Thursday, then the current weekend apart was designed to let her forget about all the weirdness, and then the second contact was supposed to happen this Tuesday or Wednesday. Draco’s head was full of different scenarios of when and how to approach the girl, but knowing his luck, none would pan out.



End of March, Tuesday



“I said hello,” Malfoy repeated with a widening grin.


“I heard you. What do you want?”


“The same thing I wanted the last time.”


“Just to talk? Do I really look like an idiot?” Despite herself Ginny was starting to enjoy the conversation, but for some reason it also made her angry.


“Only when you are pissed off.”


“Shut up, you arse!” She punched his arm.


“Ow! It’s a public hallway; you shouldn’t hit people in places with a lot of witnesses.”


“You gonna tell on me? Run to Professor Snape sobbing about a big mean Weasley girl hitting you?”


Malfoy’s smile widened again. “More like hitting on me.”


“What?” That threw Ginny again. “Are you flirting with me? It is a bet isn’t it?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.


“Yes to one of your questions. You want to hazard a guess which one?”


“Push off, Malfoy! People are starting to notice,” she half whispered. “Wait! That’s it, isn’t it? You want to ruin my reputation!”


“What reputation? Ow!” He cringed. “Mind your fists, Weasley! Ouch! Where did you learn to punch like that anyway?”


“I’ve got six brothers, you moron!”


“You can count to six? And how do you even tell them apa- OW!”



Thursday



“Hello, my dear, dear Ms Weasley.”


Ginny jumped from surprise. “Don’t smile like that, you look like an idiot.”


“You were a lot friendlier the other day. Something happen?”


“I got to beat you up last time.”


“Ah, so it is physical activity that excites you, is it?” he leered, obviously hinting again at her having a bad reputation.


Although ridiculous, the dig still incensed her to a degree of her not knowing how to respond at first. Anything she came up with sounded defensive. In the end she just said harshly, “You know, Malfoy, making faces won’t make you look any smarter.”


“My, my, you are in a snit today, aren’t you?”


The Slytherin was still smiling but she could see that she’d managed to dent his patronisingly superior calm.


“What the hell do you want from me, again? More fodder for your nasty rumours?”


Her apparent anger had finally penetrated - the smile vanished and a tiny crease appeared between his eyebrows.


“Fine. It was a stupid joke.” He shrugged. “But I haven’t started any rumours.”


“Right. Because you’re such a nice person.” Ginny nodded.


“You don’t even know me.” The boy said, looking at her as if it was she in the wrong. The berk had arrogance to play hurt.


“Nor do I want to.”


For a moment he looked as if would either hex her or turn around and leave, but then he took a deep breath, released it and asked slowly, “What the hell have I ever done to you?”


“You mean besides breathing?” she shot back quickly, lifting her chin.


Why was she even here still? Ginny cursed her bad luck that made her stay later for her detention overseeing duties. Quickly she turned to her things and stuffed her books back into the bag. Malfoy observed her jerky movements only for a beat before coming to a decision.


“Look-“ he started, but she cut him off as she suddenly realised that Malfoy coming into this secluded area of the castle by chance was highly unlikely.


“How the hell did you know that I would be here alone so late? You are not a prefect.”


She capped her inkbottle and closed the rucksack.


“I have my ways.”


Huffing at his none-answer she wanted to move past him but the Slytherin stepped in front of her.


“Look,” he stopped, looking at her intently. “I’d really appreciate it if you told me the truth now, Weasley. Your hot and cold routine is getting old really fast. What is it exactly that makes me so disagreeable to you? Is it because of that skirt incident in the library? Because although I don’t deny acting less than gentlemanly that time, it was actually Goyle who used the Sticking Charm.”


Ginny adopted a surprised mien. “What? You telling on your friends now?”


“You’re just going to turn anything I say against me, aren’t you?”


“I don’t have to. Anything you say already works against you.”


“I see.”


There was a long pause during which Ginny had really no idea what to do, so she opted for meaningless and as she already knew pointless, “Get out of my way.”


“I know you’ve hated me from the moment you laid your eyes on me, Weasley. Care to tell me why?”


“Long before that actually.” Ginny shrugged. “Are you going to let me leave now?”


“Not before you tell me why.”


“What does it even matter, Malfoy? Frankly, I find it quite difficult to believe that you actually care about what I think.”


“Humour me, Weasley. Imagine I’m the sort of person to care about what others think of me. Tell me why.”


“What for? So you can revise your half-cocked plan?”


“Yes.”


Ginny’s eyebrows rose. “So you admit to having an ulterior motive here?”


Malfoy smiled slightly. “I’ve never denied having one. Alright, let’s make a deal then. You tell me why you hate me – and I want a real reason now not the latest Hogwarts rumour of me drowning cute little puppies – and I will reveal my ‘ulterior motive’.”


“You will? You’ll tell me the real reason you’re stalking me?”


“Yes. The real reason.”


Ginny blinked. “You’re not going to deny stalking me?”


“Would you believe me if I did?”


“The bet’s still on then?”


“There is no bet, Weasley!” Malfoy exploded. “Merlin! Is it because I’m a Malfoy? Or because you believe I’m a Death Eater? Because I can prove that I am not. Or is it something else? What?”


The Slytherin’s frustration was so genuine, so… so honest, that it snapped all of Ginny’s self-control.


“It’s that you’re a lying bastard! You’re a stalking, vile Death Eater from the pit of dark wizardry! From the moment you stepped into this castle you’ve been telling nasty stories, spouting your pureblood rubbish and terrorising younger kids! You act snotty even to the teachers, you don’t respect anyone and you act like everyone else is beneath you! You are just like your father—“


“I am nothing like my father! You have no idea what you’re talking about! Yes, he was a Death Eater, yes, he wasn’t a particularly nice person, but you know absolutely nothing about me. Or. My. Life—“


“I know enough! You’re a Malfoy and that’s more than I’ve ever wished to know!”


“You arrogant self-righteous-“


“What the hell do you want-“


“-ignorant, selfish and stubborn girl!”


“-from me? Can’t you just leave-“


“That is not the girl I got to know! Go back to your-”


“-me alone, you bastard!”


”-little ignorant friends, I don’t bloody-”


“Are you deaf, blind, challenged or just a moron?”


“-want to have anything to do with you!”


“ Then leave me alone, I said!”


“Fine!”


“Fine!”


Neither moved.


“You don’t know anything about me either,” Ginny said then. It was as much a concession as he was going to get.


“You’re wrong, I know a little about you and you know a little about me too.”


Ginny sighed exhaustedly. “What the hell are you talking about now?”


“The diary. I didn’t want to tell you like this, but you have left me no choice.”


“The diary? What about it? It’s ancient history, isn’t it?”


Malfoy looked taken aback. “Ancient history? Is that what it is to you then? It that why you stopped writing in it?”


“It was a stupid book and I was stupid to even take it up. Of course it’s ancient history! I don’t even have it any more!”


For a moment it seemed that Malfoy was struck dumb and relishing in her apparent triumph, Ginny added, “I was a fool to write into some silly old book just because it talked back. I have real friends now.”


With that she shouldered past the boy and out the door.


Second week of April


It was only after several hours of hurt raving later that Draco wizened up to the unfortunate fact that he truly was a moron. Of course Ginny must have been talking about her first diary experience, not their pen pal books, because how could she have known he was referring to the Pen-Pal Project? The things she had said about his father seemed to be out of proportion too, so finally he decided to ignore the security measures and write to his mother.


Almost two weeks later Draco finally decided to approach Ginny again. During one of the Gryffindor Quidditch practices he sneaked into the girls’ dressing room and pinched her broom maintenance kit. The main glitch in his plan was that in his experience girls usually stuck together and it was quite possible that he’d have to just send a ransom note later to get her alone, but this time, he got lucky.


Either she hadn’t noticed her loss yet or the others were in a hurry so Ginny had sent them on to search for the thing alone, but whatever the case, after about twenty minutes the last of her team mates had gone.


Draco stepped up to the front door and knocked.


“You can come in, I’m decent.”


Draco did and was gratified to see Ginny’s hands freeze in her still damp hair and her eyes narrow into slits.


“What do you want? You bastard! You took my kit, didn't you?”


Draco leaned one shoulder into the locker and shrugged with the other. “I needed to talk to you.”


“And that justifies stealing how?”


“You’re going to get it back, I promise. Just hear me out first, okay?”


“Anyone ever tell you that girls don’t actually fall for boys who don’t know when to leave off?”


Malfoy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I already told you, there's no bet, alright? Just shut up and listen. It’s about that blasted diary.”


“That again? I already told you, I don’t care about-”


Draco raised his palm and to his surprise she did shut up. “No. Not that diary. Until recently I didn’t even know more about it than what you told me yourself.”


“I’ve told you nothing! But I didn’t need to, did I? Of course you know everything about it! You even taunted me about it once.”


“I wasn’t taunting. I was merely asking… you. About…” Draco suddenly felt his mouth dry up. He swallowed. “It’s about… Well, the Triwizard Pen-Pal Program. I took a part in it and I think. I’ve been writing to you. Brat.”


For a moment Ginny just stood there, fingering the strap of her backpack on the bench.


“What?”


“You heard me.” Draco felt himself grow even tenser and involuntarily his lips arranged themselves into an arrogant smirk.


“You're a liar,” the girl said quietly.


“No. Just Git,” he said, watching as Ginny's acute disappointment melted into fury.


“You bastard! You planned it that way, didn't you?”


“Right.” Draco let out a bark of laughter. “Of course I did,” he said bitterly and left.



Next week, Saturday


Draco Malfoy’s ogling was turning into a thing. It was bad because given how it was going, someone was bound to notice soon, and that would be bad, but what was even worse was that it was entirely mutual. To Ginny, the Slytherin’s gaze looked intense but unreadable. She on her end felt confused, but even more than that Ginny felt hurt. Betrayed. To be fair though, was there anything to be hurt over, really?


What did the Slytherin actually do to her? So he wrote to her. Had he known who she was all this time? She supposed not. And when he found out… When did he find out anyway? And how? And the most important question – why hadn’t he written about that the first thing he found out about it? That would’ve been an honourable thing to do, wouldn’t it?


Her musings were interrupted.


“Montague and Pucey are definitely up to something!” Harry exclaimed.


Ginny blinked. She’d been so immersed in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed she was no longer alone in this particular corner of the Common Room. Thankfully the large armchair had its back to her brother and his two friends. They usually didn't involve her in their secrets, and she was a curious girl.


“Something happened between dinner and now that I'm not aware of?” Ron asked, undoubtedly having probably heard about the supposed evil plans several times that day already.


“You saw them whispering all through dinner, didn't you?” Harry answered. “And during the group work in Herbology too. Parkinson and Malfoy are probably in on it.”


“Isn't them keeping to themselves kind of the norm?” Hermione asked in a tone that told Ginny she was actually doing something else. Probably homework.


“Yes, but not like that.”


“Like what?” Hermione asked again, absently.


“You mean the old document they were studying between them?” Ron’s voice. “It could have been anything.”


“It looked like a map!”


“Yeah? When Pucey showed it to Malfoy during Herbology I thought I saw some kind of coat of arms actually. Or a watermark they put on the top of letters sometimes.”


“Could be a letter then, but a very old one. And from whom?”


“Pucey’s dad? Looked too old to be addressed to any of them, but not ancient enough to be to their grands’,” Ron offered.


“Except for the coat of arms or whatever there was. You know what? It could really have been anything,” Hermione dismissed the whole world worth of conspiracies, most probably flailing with her quill. “So they had some kind of letter. Maybe Pucey's uncle finally kicked it and he was showing off the will.”


Or he was showing off even before the uncle kicked it! Ginny enthused mentally.


“How do you know Pucey's uncle’s dying?” She could hear a frown in Ron's voice.


“Oh, that was just an example, Ronald!” Hermione said impatiently.


Hermione had been on her holier-than-thou-horse for the past three days and Ginny supposed that she and Ron still hadn't completely recovered from their latest tiff.


“I need to see that letter!” Harry said and Ginny heard some kind of rustling as if he was rummaging in his school bag.


“Harry!” Hermione said in half a whisper, “Put that away, somebody will see!”


Ginny's interest peaked, but the next sentence already told her what the thing was.


“Here they are, coming up from the dungeons,” Harry whispered. “I wonder what they are planning?”


“They are not Death Eaters, Harry,” Hermione pointed out.


“But their fathers are,” Ron interjected. “What if they got an assignment from You-Know-Who that has something to do with Hogwarts? Or Harry?”


The debate went on, but in the end it seemed that Ron was arguing for the sake of arguing and Harry didn't care what anyone else thought just like always. In the end it wound down simply because the three Slytherins sitting around the table in the library didn’t seem all-together very sinister.


Second week of May, Monday


After the eavesdropped conversation she started paying even more attention to Draco Malfoy. She didn't shy away from making eye contact with him either and with astonishment she realised that her confusion was shared. It was disconcerting – to experience the busy corridors with their hustle and bustle fade away from around them, falling deep, deep into the grey with specks of gold. Like now…


And suddenly it was gone, the bubble of grey and wonderful, the world whooshed back and Draco – Malfoy was plastered to the wall, blinking dazedly. The next second though he was up on his feet, his wand firing into the gaggle of fifth year Ravenclaws and Jeffers was on his knees, holding on to his ears and moaning pitifully. His mates, staring daggers at the Slytherin, helped their mate up and half-carried him away; presumably to the Infirmary.


“Makes you wonder, huh?” someone said to her left.


“What?” Ginny turned to Natalie.


“I said,” she repeated louder. “Makes you wonder who to feel sorry for Malfoy or Jeffers.”


“Jeffers started it.”


“Yes, but it’s Malfoy!”


“Yes, but Jeffers is one nasty little bugger,” she answered, using her brother’s words to describe the known bully before she even realised what she was doing.


Suddenly, Ginny was amazed at herself for not noticing it earlier. It was true that Malfoy hexed younger students on occasion, but mostly it was older trouble-makers. She could clearly see now how his proud conduct invited nasty remarks and covert hexes from all over the school. Undoubtedly, Malfoy’s notoriety alone was enough for some, and his arrogance, racist stories and such only added to the temptation.


Ginny groaned softly.


“Did you say something?” Natalie asked.


“No. But I think… I need to talk to Hermione.”


The same evening


“So you think that you can’t fool the diary?” she asked again, shifting on Hermione’s bed.


“Ginny, you’ve asked me three times already! I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but I suppose no, I don’t think you can unless you’re Dumbledore or someone of equal might. What did he write now that’s tied you into such knots? You’ve not been yourself lately.”


Ginny snorted.


That was of course the wrong reaction, since instantly, Hermione turned to her, concerned.


“What happened? Are you alright?”


Ginny sighed and told her. She didn’t tell Hermione Git’s name, but she did say that she found out that he was from a very conventional pureblood background and quite possibly a total git in real life. In the end she even showed Hermione some of the Git’s entries to ask the older girl’s opinion.


“So you think I should give him a chance?” she asked, yawning after a longwinded discussion.


Hermione sighed. “I believe that everyone deserves a chance.”


“You say that now,” Ginny grumbled to herself. “Fine. But I’m gonna blame it on you if it goes terribly wrong.”


The girls smiled and went to bed.

CHAPTER 5


Second week of May, Thursday


It was one thing to find Malfoy alone somewhere, but to find him alone and approach him publicly was another ball of wax entirely. Still. She braced herself.


“Malfoy,” she said to his back before she could chicken out.


The boy’s shoulders stiffened and for a moment Ginny felt guilty. Did he really care that much about her opinion of him? Or was it that he didn’t want to have anything to do with her any more? Because Draco didn’t strike her as someone who’d care what others thought of him, let alone a Weasley.


Slowly, the boy turned around. He had a book in his hand and a backpack over the shoulder – standard apparel for a short visit to the library. Carefully, he gave her a once over (no book) but said nothing. In a moment, he pointed to the library exit.


“What?”


“Not here,” he pressed through his teeth almost voicelessly, grabber her elbow and tried to steer her toward the library doors.


“Hey! I don’t appreciate being manhandled, thank you very much,” she exclaimed in a hushed - for some reason - voice.


“Sh,” he started to say just as Madam Pince’s high-pitched voice stopped them.


“Just where are you going with that book, Mr Malfoy? You haven’t checked it out!”


Draco groaned.


“Meet you at the Byzantium mural,” he whispered to her and stepped quickly away from her. “I’m sorry, Madam Pince, I’m not going anywhere, here’s the book I’m taking.”


Ginny was just going to demand to know what mural he was talking about when she spotted Parkinson’s and someone else’s heads peeking out from behind a shelf. It was just for a moment, Ginny doubted Malfoy or the librarian had even noticed them.


Busying herself at another shelf, she saw Malfoy checking the book out and purposefully striding out of the room. Ginny tried to look engrossed in a book, but thankfully, Malfoy passed without acknowledging her, looking somewhat angry.


As she’d anticipated (and half-hoped) Parkinson and Pucey (as she now saw the other was) slid quietly out from behind the shelf and followed Draco. Ginny let them pass and calmly put the book back on the shelf, smiled at Madam Pince and steadily walked out of the library.


Just outside the doors, she took an educated guess and ran left. She spotted the two Slytherins round the corner, walking quickly past various groups of students waiting for their class or just going about their business. Ginny could only hope that the pair was still following Draco, because she couldn’t see him anywhere.


She followed them only for one length of a corridor before she saw Draco’s blond head straight ahead disappearing behind another corner. The next moment Pucey and Parkinson were running and Ginny cursed silently as she increased her speed. She had no idea if Malfoy was an idiot trying to lure his enemies into a rarely used area of the castle, or if he was just an idiot with no idea he was being followed. She cast a Muffliato on her feet and hoped they couldn’t hear her clothes rustling, because she didn’t dare spend too much of her magical ability in too narrow a time frame. Who knew; she might need to defend herself soon.


This part of the castle was a maze. The corridors were narrow and curvy; they took two turns left and three right and then left again and Ginny had only a very vague idea of her whereabouts now. She was pretty sure now that Draco was leading the other Slytherins into a trap, because she couldn’t imagine him wandering in this part of the castle for some recreational sightseeing.


At one point, Ginny had started to get a feeling that she was the twat getting herself lost, but then just before turning the next corner, she suddenly heard indistinct voices. Abruptly she stopped, cast (very quietly) a disillusioning charm on herself and reapplied the Muffliato on her feet.


“Your plan’s crap, Parkinson!” she heard Draco’s voice after creeping closer to the corner.


“Yeah? You got a better one?”


“As a matter of fact I do. You go to your dorm and forget about the whole scheme.”


Ginny heard a huff and Pucey drawled, “Yes, exactly, that’s what I’ll tell Bell the next time I see him in Hogsmeade.”


Bell?


“Bell?” Draco sounded shocked. “Bell’s here?”


“What, you think we’re risking our necks for fun here?”


There was a brief silence.


“Alright then,” Draco said after a minute. “I’m in.”



The third week of May, Wednesday


“They are executing their plan – look. Montague, Pucey and Parkinson running somewhere,” Harry’s voice said.


Once more Ginny’s musings were interrupted by secretive whispering, but to be fair – this time it wasn’t an annoyance to her. Ginny had been purposefully sitting under the Transparency Charm evening after evening to be there when Ron and Harry would finally act (whatever it meant this time). She knew them; it was only a matter of time.


Once again the two were hovering over Harry’s precious map, but this time Hermione wasn’t there. She was most probably fed up with all the conspiracy theories.


“Where’s Malfoy?”


“Let me see…” Harry said and Ginny heard the map rustling. “There! What’s he doing at the library again? I really doubt he’s not in with them.”


“Yeah... Come to think of it, he’s spending surprisingly little time with them on the whole.”


“Maybe he’s the brains of the operation.”


“Yeah, like Montague needs a second brain to think up trouble.”


“Yeah, but if it’s an assignment from Voldemort-”


“Shh! Yell his name for everyone to hear, why don’t you? Hey!” Ron suddenly interrupted himself. “Where the hell are they going? If they want to use the Room of Requirement then why head that way?”


“Maybe it’s taken?”


“How would they know that?”


“Maybe they are meeting up with someone?”


“Malfoy?”


“No, they’d have met him in their Common Room, wouldn’t they? Anyway, he’s not even in the vicinity and not moving.”


“Right. They are early?”


“Could be. They are just standing there, looks like.”


“Or sitting.” Ginny could almost hear Ron shrug indifferently.


“Don’t be an- hey!” Harry suddenly whispered urgently. “What if that’s it? What if they are sitting, or squatting or something?”


“You mean like in an ambush?” her brother whispered back equally excited.


“Yeah, but for who?”


“What about-“


“Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed. “Look! What’s he-!”


“Shit!”


“Let’s go!”


Ginny heard a desperate paper rustling and imagined the map twice as crumpled as before. She quickly cancelled her charm and jumped up.


“I’m coming too!”


“Ginny?!” Harry exclaimed just as Ron said rather angrily, “You’ve been spying on us?”


“No! Well, not on purpose!” she lied. “And anyway, what difference does it make? Let’s go!”


She rushed past them, grabbing Harry by his robe sleeve. Unsurprisingly, the boys followed quickly.


“You have been spying on purpose!” Ron whispered half-angrily.


“Prove it!” She would have stuck her tongue out, but running on her tip-toes as quietly as possible she was just too preoccupied to bother. “Where are we going?”


“Gin, you can’t come!” Harry took over the argument. “You know the three of us won’t fit under the cloak!”


“You know I cast a mean Transparency Charm,” she whispered back in a matter of fact tone. “Now tell me what’s happening!”


“But it only works when you’re still!”


“It’ll be fine,” Ron, to Ginny’s surprise, assured his mate.


“I don’t like it,” Harry said, but it was an observation, not an objection. They were too close to their objective to argue any more. “We’re intercepting Malfoy,” he explained. “The git was standing next to Hermione outside the library, and when she started moving he followed her.”


“If I’m right,” Ron interjected, “we’ll catch them somewhere between the umbrella landscapes and the three dog picture.”


“Deer,” Harry grunted.


“What?”


“They’re deer, not dogs.”


Ginny rolled her eyes. “And if you’re wrong?”


“Sh! Keep quiet now,” Harry whispered.


They only ran for a short while more before slowing down into a quiet walk. Then the boys chucked the cloak over themselves and Ginny let them move ahead. One junction before the umbrella-picture, she cast the Transparency Charm on herself.


Soon she heard a barely audible “Where are they?” from Ron, a “Sh!” from Harry and then the incantation for the map.


“Crap!” Ron swore.


“What?” Ginny whispered trying to find the boys by the noise and waving around with her arms like a blind person.


“They are not here,” she heard Harry’s frantic voice.


“No shit,” Ginny muttered, finally felt the fabric under her fingers and got under the cloak.


“There! He’s alone! Where’s…” Harry trailed off as they searched for Hermione.


“Look!” Ron pointed. “She’s returning to the dorms.”


“Thank Merlin!” Harry said. “Gin, go back and check if everything’s all right.”


“Why? She’s obviously fine-“


“Just in case. Besides, there’s no need for us all to spy after the Slytherins.”


“Yes, but-“


“Fine!” Ron cut her off. “Just stay behind us and be quiet, for Circe’s sake!“


Ginny blinked. Then jerkily she almost tore herself out of the cloak and cast a Muffliato on her own feet and theirs.


“Gin!” Ron hissed.


“Sh!” she retaliated half-angrily and cast the spell on their cloak too. Then they ran.


Ginny was very worried. She knew without a doubt that the Slytherins had a nefarious plan of some sort, she just had no idea what it was exactly. The other thing was (and yes, fine, maybe she was feeling a bit guilty about that), she hadn’t told her friends about the overheard conversation nor about the involvement of someone named Bell. She wasn’t sure why exactly, but she was sure it wasn’t about some misguided feeling of loyalty to Draco Malfoy. Their friendship was over. Irrevocably. Right. She almost nodded to herself.


Very soon, Ginny bumped into a transparent wall and heard Ron swearing under his breath. Although Ginny couldn’t see the boys at all, Ron’s hand quickly gestured her to the left wall before disappearing under the cloak, so she knew that they were sneaking along it and scurried over to the right one knowing full well that her brother had meant for her to stay behind them.


As they crept she started hearing indistinct voices and, after only a couple of steps, the words became understandable. At hearing Draco’s voice, her heart clenched.


“What the hell are you trying to do?” He seemed to be angry, but still trying to moderate his voice. “Have you lost all your marbles? We were supposed to do it next week! What’s the rush?”


“Shut up, you moron! Somebody will hear,” one of the Slytherin boys hissed. Probably Montague. “I wouldn’t have told you anything at all if I’d known Lucius Malfoy’s son was a bloody coward! Now go scurry back to bed before you ruin it for us.”


“Ruin it?” Malfoy continued in a normal voice. “Are you a total lackwit? Keep to the plan! Do you..."


“Screw the plan! Bell said to move it along, so we’re moving it along!”


“Well good luck to you then, because Granger’s not coming,” Draco – no, Malfoy – went on lazily, his voice full of contempt. “And you should have told me about the change of plans, because thanks to your poor communication skills or lack of trust, your new and improved plan’s down the toilet.”


Being sure that the boys under the cloak had enough time to move out of her way into the open, Ginny stuck her head out from around the corner and froze there. Pucey, Montague and Parkinson were hovering behind a monstrous sculpture while Draco stood boldly in the middle of the corridor. By the tension in his straight posture, though, it was clear that he too was ready for anything.


“What the hell do you mean by that?” Parkinson asked in a half-whisper as if unsure there was a point in keeping quiet any more.


“What I said. She’s not coming because I told her about the plan to capture her.”


“You what?!” cried Pucey straightening himself.


All three moved out from behind the statue and rounded on the blond.


“Why. The hell. Would you do that,” Pucey said very slowly, his voice full of dark menace. Montague and Parkinson stood quietly, the boy’s face thunderous and the girl gaping in shock.


“I didn’t know about the latest instructions, now did I?” the blond said in a tone one would use with an unreasonable toddler. “It’s your own bloody fault! Had you told me about the change it wouldn’t have happened. How the hell was I supposed to know about it?”


“About what? About how to keep your big gob shut?” Pucey countered, barely moving his lips in his rage.


“Obviously I thought that I had some time before the execution of our plan.”


“What difference does it make?” Pucey demanded. “You still blabbed where you had no place to.”


“What difference?” Malfoy sounded surprised. “What difference does it make, you ask me? Well, obviously, I thought that I had time to charm her.”


The three Slytherins were staring at him their faces in various stages of disbelief mixed with incredulity and for a change, Ginny completely shared their feelings.


Malfoy sighed impatiently. “I was going to make her trust me so I could have lured her outside of the castle. Alone. Don’t you think it would have minimised the risks considerably?”


There was a pause, but then even the unflappable Montague exploded. “You were going to make her trust you? In a week?”


Ginny could hear the smirk in Malfoy’s tone. “I know how to handle girls, Montague. I’ve done it before.”


Ginny felt sick.


“Granger?” Disbelief was still tingling Montague’s voice.


“She’s a girl, isn’t she? Perhaps I couldn’t make her sleep with me that quickly, assuming she’s really in love with her boyfriend, but I could probably sway her self-assured opinion about me enough for her to come with me into the woods if I played it right.”


“But she’s a Mudblood!” Pucey said in a tone which implied that he felt a bit sick too.


“Yes, but a female Mudblood,” the blond calmly stated. There was an uncomfortable silence. “Relax, I didn’t name anyone, just told her there was a rumour I’d heard of her being kidnapped. I’m not even sure she bought it entirely, but I don’t think she will be coming through here tonight in any case.” He shook his head. “What did you think would happen, anyway, you'd curse her, roll her into a carpet and carry her out of the castle?”


“Bell would have helped,” Parkinson started, but Montague grabbed her arm and hissed, “Shut up!”


“What?” The girl tore her arm away from his grasp.


“I don’t think we should tell him anything,” Montague continued calmly ignoring the girl.


For a beat, Malfoy didn’t say anything. “I’m one of you, aren’t I? You really think I would betray you?”


“I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt even after what I heard about you from my folks.”


“Oh? And what did you hear? That I ran away to France to escape taking the Dark Mark? That my mother is still there in hiding?”


“Close enough,” Montague agreed. “Care to explain, Malfoy?”


“Not really, but we can take it to the Common Room, if you insist.”


For a moment the group stood still and Pucey indicated towards the dungeons. “After you.”


Malfoy didn’t move. “What about Bell?”


The other Slytherin boys exchanged a glance.


Finally, Montague nodded to Pucey and Parkinson. “He needs to be notified. I’ll go.”


“I’m coming with you,” the girl said impulsively.


“Don’t be stupid. We can’t all go tramping about the grounds at this hour. We’ll get caught. You'd better escort Malfoy to the Common Room and wait for me there.”


“Excuse me?” Ginny heard the blond’s fake amused drawl, though his shoulders had gone even more rigid.


“You heard me. Do as I said, Malfoy. You have some explaining to do.”


“Right. Because, you know, once you tell me to go to the Common Room like a good boy and wait for Montague, the Judge, I’ll just roll over and do it.” He nodded. “That makes sense.”


“So let me get this straight,” Montague said, still as a statue. “You refuse the honour of the Dark Mark and joining the Dark Lord, opting to come here, to play in a kiddie league instead. Then you help us to develop a plan to capture a Mudblood for Him and then blow it. And now you refuse to even explain yourself? Why the hell should I trust you?”


“Don’t misunderstand me,” Malfoy said in a flat tone. “I’m willing to discuss the situation at the first opportunity. Just not right at this moment. I’ve got things to do and so do you it seems.”


“Don’t patronize me. And you can postpone your date. This is important!”


“So’s my date. I will be in the Common Room no earlier than at one. You can wait up if you deem it necessary.”


“Fine,” Montague said then. “But this isn’t over, Malfoy. And I’m reporting you to Bell.”


“Be my guest,” Draco answered and in a measured pace turned and started walking away.


For several seconds, Ginny thought that his house mates wouldn’t let him just leave, but they did. Montague didn’t even bat an eye at the turned back and set off – presumably – for the castle’s western rear exit. For a moment, the other two looked lost but then Pucey took the girl by her shoulders and led her towards the dungeons.


Sure that Harry and Ron would follow Montague, she stealthily tiptoed after Malfoy.


Although Malfoy had already disappeared, she more or less knew the way he must have gone. Just in case though, she stopped to listen to his fading steps before every fork. It was the third time she had stopped that for several long seconds she heard absolutely nothing. Where could he have disappeared? Her heart rate took up.


Ginny breathed out, in, out, in, out again, trying to calm herself. For almost four agonising seconds, it was the only sound she heard. Then – a distant clank to her left. It could have been anything, but she was so relieved to hear at least something that impulsively she took the next corner at speed and bumped straight into the blond.


She jumped back and froze.


Malfoy whirled around and jumped backwards, brandishing his wand. “Who’s there?”


He was standing only a few feet from her, his gaze jumping wildly in all directions.


“Look, I know you’ve been following me. If you prefer, I can start casting random stunners.” His voice was steady but his body language screamed extreme tension.


Ginny took a deep breath. “Fine,” she said. “Finite Incantatem.”


Malfoy whirled to face her. “Weasley?”


“Yes.” It took her only a second to come to a decision and develop a plan. Then she took his hand and turned left towards the Great Hall. “Let’s go!”


“What? Where?”


Despite being more than little bewildered, he let himself be led.


“No time for explanations. Just move!”


They ran. Between puffs he tried to pry the truth from her once more, but she thought it best not to waste her breath. Fortunately he soon came to the same conclusion.


They were half way through the main hall, when he grounded to a halt.


“I’m not going to the Headmaster.”


“It’s going to be fine,” Ginny tried to assure him. “Just let me do the talking.”


“Depends on what you’re planning to tell.”


Ginny exhaled. Nothing for it then. “I’m going to tell him about Bell.”


Draco blinked and his voice was flat with tension. “Who’s Bell?”


“You know who. Now, Draco Malfoy, not a completely evil wizard, you have two choices here. Either you come with me and tell Professor Dumbledore what a clever plan you have to save Hermione from being kidnapped and catch Montague consorting with a Death Eater, or you can run away and try and explain your involvement to Aurors later.”


“Or I can hex you unconscious and take you to Bell instead of Granger. I’m sure he won’t mind torturing a blood traitor.”


“No good. Harry and Ron heard everything too. They are tailing Montague as we speak.”


Draco narrowed his eyes. “You’re lying.”


“Sorry, but no. You know up until this moment I was almost sure that you had no real intention to help Montague, but you make it really hard to believe in you. So are you coming to see the Headmaster or not?”


He stared Ginny in the eyes for a moment more and nodded, his expression thunderous. ”Fine. Lead the way.”


The half a minute they spent coming up to the gargoyles, Ginny actually started to doubt her certainty. She had been so sure Draco was going to be happy to have the relatively easy way out of the situation, but judging by his sour, almost angry, expression, he actually might have wanted to join the Death Eaters after all.


“Well, I’m going to save you from yourself kicking and screaming then. Or just looking grumpy,” she mumbled casting a glance at him.


Malfoy took no notice.


They were only at the Headmaster’s for twenty minutes or so, and all the while the Slytherin had acted as if Ginny was somehow forcing him to give his pals up. (Which in a way, she was, but he was supposed to be grateful, not angry.)


“Fine,” Ginny muttered after they stepped out of the gargoyle stairwell. “Fine,” she repeated and turned towards her dorms not even looking at Malfoy.


“Ginny!”


She stopped.


“Look. I just wanted to have a little more time here, okay? I understand why it turned out impossible with Potty and the Weasel on the prowl, but-”


“Time for what?” She turned to him. “Charm the Mudblood? Play both sides?” She shook her head. “I just don’t understand you, Malfoy!”


“Yes, I can see that,” he said with obvious frustration. “The thing is, I have to be clever about it. There is no taking sides for a Malfoy really. I take one side, my mother and I are blood-traitors, I take the other and I get us killed because I simply can’t fill my father’s bloody shoes.” He shook his head, his lips set in a bitter line. “We are dead one way or the other; I just wanted to have a bit more time, okay?” he stopped quietly.


“But we can protect you. Let your mother come to Hogwarts too-“


“There’re too many spies here, even a first-year could ruin us. No, I’d have liked to take my chances in the muddy waters of the middle ground for as long as possible. And for that I need your help. And...” He sighed. “Your friends too, I reckon. Do you think they would? If we can isolate Montague, the Slytherins won’t know we were over-heard.”


Ginny thought only a minute. “Yes, okay. I think we can do that if we talk to the Order. As long as you really are with us, we can play make-believe for a little longer.”


Draco exhaled. “Thank you.”



The last week of May, Friday afternoon



“Are you following me?”


Draco was standing a few feet from her near the castle’s southern wall. He was tense, unmoving, probably anxious. It made Ginny feel really good. He’d been giving her these looks that up until recently she had no idea how to interpret. But now it was time to stop guessing.


Ginny shrugged and smiled. “Busted.”


“Why?”


His tone was cautious and for a second, Ginny had no idea what to tell him. It was more than a week since the confession in the Headmaster’s office and the capture of Bell and Montague.


“I wanted to make sure you weren’t going to try and kidnap anyone tonight,” she said cheekily.


Draco’s posture relaxed. “Or worse still, I might try and charm somebody.”


He raised his eyebrow challengingly and Ginny couldn’t help the goofy grin on her face. The best part was that neither could Draco.


“Right. That’s your real area of expertise if I remember correctly, isn’t it?”


“Quite.” A cautious smirk.


“And how’s it going for you?” A small smile back.


“Well, I can definitely see signs of progress right here.”


“Uhuh. So what’s your next big step?”


A head shake. “No more steps for now, sorry.”


His half-apologetic shrug was a silent 'your turn' if she ever saw one.


Ginny put on her best mask of utter incredulity. “What? Wasn’t it you that proclaimed himself an expert on charming girls?”


Draco sighed. “You’re never going to let me live it down?”


“Nope.”


“Okay,” Draco almost sing-songed grinning, “you asked for it. But that’s my last effort, after that I fully expect you to swoon at my feet.”


Ginny laughed as he stepped closer. She bolted and ran.



Next Monday


Ginny turned around, trying to look angry. It had taken her almost half an hour to find an abandoned corridor mid-week. “Are you following me, you git?”


“Oh, come on, Weasley, you prat!” Draco exclaimed with mock annoyance. “You were supposed to be a big wet pile of swoon at my feet by now! What’s the problem? Flowers not to your liking?”


“They were made of paper! Come on, Malfoy, is that the best you can do? And please, do explain, how the hell could you think that putting anything under my pillow would be appropriate?”


Draco smirked. “I had an inkling you’d like it.”


“I didn’t say I liked it!”


“What are you smiling about like an awe-struck bint then?”


“I’m laughing at your puppy-eyed mug, you nitwit.”


Draco laughed. “All right, you prat. Enough. Are you going to go out with me or not?”


Ginny grinned, Draco grinned back and they ran. It wasn't the last time.