ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT
Chapter Two- Fight and Flight
In her shock, Ginny completely forgot where she was and what she was suppose to be doing. It was like her entire world had been flipped upside down. She was standing in the Slytherin dormitory in the middle of the night, watching Draco Malfoy, the cold-hearted, arrogant ferret, the boy who had been nothing but cruel, rude, unfeeling and downright evil since the day Ginny had met him, cry as though his heart was breaking. He was a total wreck, his face screwed up with misery and his pale cheeks flushed red. His normally icy gray eyes were softened by the tears that flowed down across his face.
A shocked gasp escaped Ginny, quite against her will. She clapped her hand over her mouth in horror, but the damage was done. He knew someone was there. He raised himself up on one elbow, his eyes narrowed suspiciously and his sobs stilled. Ginny backed slowly away from him, praying that he wouldn’t hear the rustle of her clothing. Unfortunately for her, Draco had grown up in a house were the invisible was much more dangerous than the visible and his senses had adjusted accordingly. With a lightening speed born from hours of Quidditch practice, he reached out and snatched the cloak off her head. In her haste to get away, Ginny tripped over the cloak, which was now dangling useless from her shoulders, and ended up in an undignified sprawl on the hard stone floor. She scrambled back up, but it was too late. Malfoy had slid from his bed, grabbed her arms and twisted them viciously behind her back, forcing her up on tiptoe to try to escape the pain.
“What are you doing here, you dirty little weasel?” he hissed coldly, but quietly in her ear, all trace of tears gone from his voice, though they still streaked his face.
“None of your business, Malfoy!” she spat at him, all but inaudibly. She had no more wish for his roommates to wake up than he did. The fact that they were still asleep at all was nothing short of amazing.
“Oh, but it is my business, Weasel,” he sneered. “You see, it’s my dormitory you’re trespassing in after curfew. I’m sure Professor Snape would be thrilled to issue you a punishment of some sort. Don’t you think, Weasel?” he asked, wrenching her arm painfully on the last word. “With any luck at all, there’ll be one less red haired piece of filth dirtying this school by the end of the night.”
Ginny sucked in through her teeth with pain, but now her fear had been replaced with anger. Growing up with six brothers had given her a lot of practice when it came to self-defense and escape. After all, Fred and George had always needed another test subject for their jokes, willing or not, and her mother hadn’t always been able to keep an eye on the rambunctious twins.
Drawing her leg away from the floor, she kicked backwards into Malfoy’s shin hard, ramming backwards into his stomach with her trapped fists at the same time. With a muffled cry of pain, Malfoy let her go. Ginny snatched her wand out of the sleeve of the t-shirt she had slipped on under her robes and pointed it directly at his face.
“Care for another Bat Bogey Hex, Malfoy?” she asked coldly, breathing hard from the pain that was still shooting through her arms. “And if you’re so eager to get me in trouble, I’ll be more than glad to tell the entire school that I caught you crying. They’ll believe me, Malfoy. You know they will. Everybody knows you’re nothing but a weak little ferret.”
Malfoy was doubled up clutching his stomach, his eyes watering again, but this time for a different reason. Her own Quidditch training as a Chaser had given Ginny the ability to throw (and punch) with both strength and accuracy.
“Stupid, dirty Mudblood lover,” he whispered, trying to get back his breath. “You’ll pay for this.”
Ginny gave him a sneer almost good enough to match his own.
“Like hell I will, ferret.” She picked up the Invisibility cloak from the floor and started to back out of the room, keeping her wand firmly trained on his face as she went. “Just remember, Malfoy. One word about this to Snape or anyone else to get me in trouble and I’ll tell the whole school about you. Even your own housemates would snicker behind your back. So watch what you say.” Draco stared after her with unadulterated hatred.
“Why are you here anyway, Weasley?” he hissed after her. “What are you up to?” Ginny grinned and closed the dormitory door in his face.
She darted through the common room, dodging around chairs and tables by the light of the dying fire, for the green lamps had long ago been extinguished. Faced with the blank stone wall, she whispered “Serpensortia.” and let out a sigh of intense relief when the door swum mistily into existence. Pulling the cloak over her head, Ginny started on the trek back to her own common room, her mind still in shock from the unexpected events of the night.
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“Whirling billywigs,” she whispered quietly to the Fat Lady, who (luckily) didn’t even bother to open her eyes, but merely swung open, revealing the familiar and homey Gryffindor common room. To Ginny, the red armchairs and warmly crackling fire could not have been more beautiful. She closed her eyes and slid tiredly into the nearest chair, yanking off the cloak as she did so.
I can’t believe I’ve nearly pulled this off! she thought. All I have to do is sneak the cloak back into Harry’s trunk and no one will ever be the...
The sound of a furiously slammed door made Ginny’s eyes fly open again, only to be confronted with a horrendous sight. Her brother, Hermione, and Harry were all standing in front of her. Ron was nothing short of livid, his ears bright red and his eyes practically flaming with rage, yet at the same time looking almost haunted. Hermione was on the verge of tears, her face positively frantic, while Harry was deathly pale, his hair sticking out even more wildly than usual as though he had run his fingers through it in desperation. He looked both frightened and worried.
Ginny let out a mental groan. Wasn’t this what you wanted? she mocked herself inwardly. For them to notice you? Another peek at Ron’s expression made her heart sink. He was about to start on a first class rant. She could just tell. I am not even up for this.
Ron drew a huge breath and then started to bellow in a manner Ginny thought only her mother was capable of.
“DO YOU HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST IDEA WHAT WE’VE BEEN GOING THROUGH FOR THE LAST FOUR HOURS?! WITH ALL THAT’S BEEN GOING ON YOU DECIDE TO GO MISSING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT FOR NO REASON?! FOR ALL WE KNEW YOU WERE DEAD! FOR ALL WE KNEW YOU WERE.....” Ron trailed off in the middle of his sentence. Ginny Weasley was completely and indisputably asleep.
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The next day was Saturday, which was lucky for Ginny. By the time she had actually woken up, gotten dressed, and stumbled down to the Great Hall, the other three were having lunch, talking quietly among themselves. Ginny knew their conference could not be good news for her. Probably discussing the best way to kill her. Maybe Hermione managed to calm him down, she thought hopefully. The look on Ron’s face when she sat gingerly down next to him said otherwise. She sighed. Or not.
However, as Ron started to open his mouth, Hermione cut in, throwing him a reproving look.
“Now, listen Ginny. And please don’t fall asleep this time, because it really is important. I don’t want it to seem like we’re trying to baby you, because all three of us,” here Hermione threw another look at Ron, “know that you’re very capable of taking care of yourself. We all respect you for that. Even so, there’s been a lot of really dangerous stuff going on, and we don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“We don’t want to lose you next,” added Harry quietly, and Ginny could see the pain of Sirius’ death clearly on his face, as well as concern for her.
“Ginny,” said Ron, “You’ve got to understand, the last time you went missing....” He trailed off and she saw the haunted look in his eyes again as the memory of that night came back to him. He took a deep breath. “The last time, you got really bloody close to not coming back at all. I don’t ever want to have to give my sister up for dead again. Alright?”
Ginny looked from one serious face to another, guilt and shame growing slowly in her stomach. “I...I’m so sorry. I didn’t...realize. I was just trying to....” Then she remembered what Hermione had said: “...you’re very capable of taking care of yourself. We all respect you for that.” I didn’t need to prove myself to them, she realized. They gave me credit all along.
At the same time, a treacherous little voice, the same voice that had gotten her into this mess to begin with, was whispering: You fool. She didn’t really mean it. She’s just trying to get you to agree to not do anything for yourself. She thinks you’re just a weak little baby. They all do.
Pushing the voice away almost as violently as she pushed away her memories, she smiled at Hermione, Harry, and her brother.
“I’m really sorry, you three. I didn’t understand how much it was going to bother you. I promise I won’t do it again.” They grinned back at her, all greatly relieved.
“Erm, by the way, Ginny," Hermione began hesitantly. "Harry couldn’t find you on the Marauder's Map last night, which is one of the reasons we were so worried...”
"So?"
Hermione frowned a bit, looking stern. “So, where were you?” Ginny smiled inwardly. Although the whole idea had been to impress the Trio, she suddenly felt that her little adventure in the Slytherin common room would be better kept a secret. Besides, if she told them about Malfoy, he was sure to find out and rat her out to Snape.
“That's something you three have absolutely no need to know." They looked slightly taken aback. "But rest assured that I was perfectly safe.” Well, mostly safe, she added mentally. Ron, however, suddenly looked suspicious.
“You weren’t with another one of those boys of yours, were you?” he asked. Ginny almost started laughing.
“No, Ron, I can say with complete honesty that I was not with my boyfriend last night.” He looked, if anything, more nervous.
“Your boyfriend? So, you’re saying you have one? Who is it? Not that bloke Corner again, I hope. He was really...”
Ginny groaned.
“Please, Ron! Just drop it!”
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Peering past several ugly Hufflepuffs, Draco Malfoy caught sight of two heads of bright red hair at the Gryffindor table. Leaning slightly to the side, he could see their faces. Both of them were grinning like idiots, as were Granger and Potter. Draco’s stomach dropped, though his face remained as cold and impassive as ever. The little piece of filth had gone back on her word. No doubt they were over there laughing at his supposed weakness. But of course, he thought. She was raised that way. To squirm her way out of trouble and then do whatever she wants. Just like her brother, and the Mudblood, and Potter. Draco almost spat. Potter. Friend to all sorts of scum. He had no idea what real honor or duty was. He just did whatever suited his own needs, and others applauded his “bravery”. All because of something he hadn’t even done. All because of a stupid cut. He’d never have to make a real sacrifice. Others would always do it for him, because he was saintly, special little Potter. Potter had no idea. Potter would never know loyalty. Potter would never know pain.
As these bitter thoughts ran through his head, the four Gryffindors got up and started to walk out of the Hall, past his table. Draco tensed himself, ready to take their mockery, ready to deny whatever the little weasel had told them. They drew closer, closer, closer... they walked past. They kept walking. They didn’t even stop to throw him a look of scorn or derision back at him. Draco was nothing short of shocked. Only the red-haired girl looked at him as she passed and her glance was full of some strange emotion, not quite anger and not quite scorn. Then she sneered and brushed insolently past him. Draco almost gaped after them, but pulled himself together quickly. Was it possible she hadn’t told them after all? Was she actually going to keep her word? He shook his head, more out of confusion than denial. No matter. He had more important things to think about just now. Far more important. Feeling suddenly ill, he shoved his plate away and strode quickly from the hall.
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Ginny followed the Trio back up to the dormitory, her mind in a whirl again. Now that the trouble with her brother was cleared up, all the questions of the previous night came back to her with even more urgency.
What on earth or off of it was terrible enough to make Draco Malfoy cry? The idea of Malfoy actually being sad about something, or being capable of showing any sort of caring emotion at all, was downright ludicrous. All this had filled her mind as she walked by the Slytherin table and saw him sitting there, his face totally composed, his gray eyes icy and hard. Yet somehow, even his look of cold detachment as she passed him couldn’t quite erase the memory of his impassioned and desperate tears the night before.
Curiosity killed the cat, her mother had always told her. Ginny’s insatiable urge to know and discover had landed her in hot water more times than she could count. Her quest as a child had been to explore, everything from what the inside of a gnome’s burrow looked like to what would happen if you put Floo Powder in a Fizzing Wizbee and gave it to your older brother (Charlie had been angry for weeks). As she had gotten older, her pranks grew less frequent, for she recognized Fred and George as the untouchable masters of the craft, but her inquisitive nature had persisted. Her brothers, especially Percy and Ron, had often called her nosy or interfering. However, the twins and Charlie, and Bill, though he wasn’t often home, understood her better. There was no exterior motive to Ginny’s curiosity and it wasn’t spiteful or mean: she just had to know!
All of her catlike nature was nagging at her now. What, what, what was bad enough in spoiled, pampered, filthy rich Malfoy’s life to make him cry like that? It’s really not my business, I suppose, Ginny thought reluctantly. Then, quite suddenly, another emotion besides curiosity stirred within her: concern. If there was really something wrong, maybe she’d be able to help...
Are you listening to yourself! she shrieked mentally. Help Malfoy? HELP MALFOY? The stupid arrogant berk is nothing but pure evil!
But was pure evil capable of grief that deep or emotion that strong?
This is really, completely, and totally not my problem, she told herself firmly, climbing through the portrait hole behind Hermione.
But then why was the memory of tears running down Draco’s face haunting her as strongly as the memory of Harry’s smile ever had?
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Sitting at one of the library table, Ginny stared blankly at her parchment, trying to form some sort of cohesive thought about the use of yarrow in Mending Medicinals that she could put in her Potions essay. All of her work in class the day before still hadn’t finished it, in part because Snape wanted two rolls of parchment and in part because she had....
Feeling the blackness pressing in on her mind again, she pushed her quill away quickly and stuffed her books and notes back into her bag.
“I’m going to go, um, do a little Quidditch practice. Get some fresh air,” she informed Ron and Harry, who were absorbed in a game Exploding Snap. Madam Pince was throwing death looks at them every couple seconds.
“Okay,” said Ron vaguely. He carefully placed a card on the growing stack in front of them, which blew up spectacularly. Ginny grabbed her bag and practically sprinted from the library, Madam Pince’s furious screech echoing down the hall behind her.
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Having dropped off her stuff in the common room and changed from her school robes to a beaten up pair of Muggle jeans and one of the infamous Weasley sweaters (she didn’t want to get her Quidditch robes dirty, and besides, the pink sweater wasn’t that bad), Ginny walked across the grounds towards the Quidditch pitch, her broom over her shoulder. She tugged absentmindedly at the sleeve of her sweater as she went, for she’d almost outgrown it. Her jeans were also an inch or two too short for her. Weasley children came in two builds: short and stocky like their mother, or tall and gangly like their father. Charlie, Fred, and George all fell into the first category, while Percy, Ron, Bill, and now Ginny were part of the latter.
She had been quite relieved when she hit a growth spurt at the end of her fourth year: Ginny’d never fancied ending up short and plump like her mum. Moreover, the clumsy streak that afflicted Ron so badly seemed to have passed her by. She didn’t trip over her own feet, for example.
Ginny rather suspected that all of the clumsy accidents she was supposed to have in her entire life had instead occurred in a much shorter time period: the month that Harry had first stayed at the Burrow, to be precise. During that month she had used up all the awkwardness and discoordination that she was allotted for her lifetime. Thus, she now walked with a sort of lanky grace, less like Ron and her dad, and more like her oldest brother, Bill. Furthermore, her hands and feet were far more in proportion to her body than Ron’s. In fact, she was actually beginning to look almost... not quite pretty, she thought, but not hideous, either.
She sighed a bit. Her jeans were still disgracefully short, though. Not that she was going to ask her parents for a new pair. Buying Ron his new Cleansweep 11 last summer had cost them more money than they were willing to admit, and she didn’t even wear her jeans that often during the school year.
Speaking of brooms.... Ginny looked at her own broom, a more than slightly battered Cleansweep 7 that had previously belonged to her wildly talented brother Charlie. If only she’d been made a prefect... but no, she knew that Jessica Dorny had deserved the badge much more than she did. Besides, even a new broomstick wouldn’t have been worth the teasing from the twins. She grinned to herself, kicking off hard from the ground, and feeling a fierce joy at the clean wind whipping through her hair. Who knows, with all that money from the joke shop, maybe they’ll give me a broom as a congratulations for not making prefect. I’m sure they’re awfully proud of me for helping them break “the curse”. “The curse” was how the twins referred to the tendency of members of the Weasley family to be made prefects, and/or Head Boy.
The easy, familiar exhilaration of being on a broom all but chased away the darkness in her mind. Ginny felt happier than she had in weeks, or maybe even months as the sharp air and bright blue autumn sky lulled her into a sort of waking dream. Then, on the ground, a flash of bright blond hair and black robes jerked Ginny sharply out of her reverie. Draco Malfoy was standing on the field below her, watching.
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After he had fled from the Hall, Draco had gone to the only place he really felt at ease in: the Quidditch field. At school, often the only time he was happy was when he was flying. Even his many losses to the Gryffindor Quidditch team couldn’t take away from the thrill that he got while flying on his Nimbus 2001. After an hour or so of soaring around the pitch, he was windswept and tired, but happy. His discontent of the morning was all but gone. Pulling his broom into a sharp dive, he plummeted down, brushed his toes against the grass, then landed neatly. Out of the corner of his eye he suddenly saw bright red hair and an equally bright pink sweater. Damn! he cursed to himself, sliding behind the stands that he had landed next to, blocking himself from her sight. Is there no way to escape these cursed Weasleys? There’s so many of them, they’re everywhere! They're like bloody cockroaches. And they're about as smart as lice.
Then he had to stand and watch while Weasley, thinking she was alone, mounted her ratty old broomstick and skimmed easily around the field, a look of pure joy on her face. After awhile, Malfoy turned away. Normally, spying on girls was something he took great pleasure in. But somehow, watching Weasley fly when she obviously thought no one was looking made him feel, not guilty so much as embarrassed. People shouldn’t show that much emotion on their face, he thought savagely. It’s weak. But then again, she is a Weasley. He sneered.
All of his own happiness had fled and he suddenly felt anger rising in his veins. Who was she to come out here and ruin his day like this? Stupid rodent, sitting there on her broom. Balancing his own across his shoulder, he strode out into the middle of the field and stood there, staring at her insolently, daring her to come down with his mocking gaze.
Unfinished business, Weasley, he thought. Come out and play.
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Ginny could feel herself flushing as he fixed her with a piercing stare. This had the unfortunate side effect of making her even angrier, for she could sense his challenge, even without being able to see his face properly. She jerked her broom down toward the ground hard, going into a dive so steep she wondered for a second if she’d be able to pull out again before she hit the ground. Of course I can, she fumed, irritated. I’ve seen Harry manage dives twice this steep. Sure enough, she leveled out her broom at exactly the right moment and stepped from the air to the ground in one smooth movement, matching Malfoy stare for stare. He blinked slightly as she landed, for she was looking him straight in the eye: he doubted there was as much as a centimeter difference between their heights. In the dormitory he’d been too distracted to notice. Well, what do you know, he thought. Little Weasel’s all grown up. His smirk widened as his eyes swept the rest of her body. In more ways then one.
Ginny, who was taken entirely by surprise at his look, felt her anger growing even stronger. How dare he? She took a step forward and spat on the ground at his feet.
“What do you want, ferret?” She flushed momentarily, hearing how that question must sound to Malfoy, but stood her ground. Let him be a nasty little perv if he wants.
Malfoy, however, went dead serious. The scare at breakfast had made him realize exactly how much he cared about whether or not the whole school found out he’d been crying, even in the light of... everything else.
“I want a guarantee that you aren’t going to sell me out to any of your little friends. What if you decide that it’s worth a massive loss of points to ruin my... reputation?” Ginny almost laughed.
“Well, first of all, maybe you aren’t aware of this, Malfoy, but you don’t have much of a standing as a tough guy around school anyway. More of a wimpy little “Crabbe-and-Goyle-will-beat-you-up-for-me” kind of guy. Second, I gave you my word that I won’t rat you out if you don’t rat me out. I meant it.” Draco gave her a distrustful look.
“The word of a Gryffindor?” Ginny’s mouth twitched at the doubt in his voice.
“Well, you know, it’s not my House that’s known for selling people out. It’ll just have to do. I’m certainly not going to give you another secret to hold me hostage with!”
Draco arched an eyebrow at her, then heaved a sigh.
“Well, I suppose it’d be awfully easy to get you expelled anyway.”
“Exactly.”
“Fine. Just watch it, Weasley. I’ll have my eye on you.” Ginny shivered a bit at the thought of Malfoy watching her for another whole year. It was... disturbing.
“Well, you know, no need, really," she squeaked. "I definitely don’t want to get expelled.” But he was already walking away. Her anger quelled by his uncertainty, Ginny’s curiosity returned with a vengeance. She hesitated for a moment, then called after him.
“Hey, Draco!” Good lord, did I just call him by his first name? Oh well, too late now. He turned and faced her, none of the surprise that he felt showing in his face.
“Er...what were you, you know, um, crying about?” He looked at her with cool disdain.
“What were you doing in our dormitory? I assume you weren’t just there to spy on me,” he countered smoothly.
“Well, I, uh, that is, I was....” she stuttered.
“That’s what I thought.” He turned on his heel and started to stride away again.
“Draco?” she called softly after him, not really expecting him to hear. Much to her shock, he whipped around sharply, the look on his face hovering somewhere between total boredom and violent anger. She gulped.
“Are you... all right?” The concern in both her usually venomous voice and her usually sharp eyes shook him to the core. Here was one of his worst enemies, someone who he could have sworn wouldn’t have thought twice about shoving him into the lake and feeding him to the giant squid, standing in front of him and asking if he was all right. It was like the world had turned on its head. He wouldn’t have blinked if Professors Snape and McGonagall had tapped danced past them, painted blue and singing the national anthem.
His shock was such that he did something he had rarely done in his life. He trusted her.
“My mother killed herself,” he whispered, staring intensely at the ground. “They sent me the owl yesterday. She slit her wrists with a Severing Charm.” He felt the treacherous tears filling his eyes again. Why the bloody hell did I just tell her that? Stupid weasel bitch.
She closed the distance between them, not quite daring to touch him, but not willing to just stand and stare at him.
“Oh god, Draco. I’m so sorry.” He looked suddenly up at her, his eyes glittering with unshed tears... or was it malice?
“No, you aren’t, you filthy lying Mudblood lover. It’s just one less Death Eater for you and your family to kill, isn’t it?” He shoved her away from him hard, so hard she knew she would have bruises on her arms in the morning, and ran, blindly, not quite sure where he was going, just fleeing to escape her and her bloody lies and her false sympathy. He almost laughed. He hadn’t even told her the worst of it: with his father in jail and his mother dead, the Death Eaters had no one to represent the Malfoys in their ranks. The Dark Lord insists that all the pureblood families be represented, his father had told him once. Your day will come. Draco knew that any morning now another owl would come for him during breakfast:
Draco Malfoy, the time has come to serve your true Master and receive the Mark of his favor.
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