ILL MET BY MOONLIGHT
Chapter Three- A Dangerous Game
Ginny stared out across the lake, shivering slightly as the wind snaked around her and spread a chill down her back. She pulled her too-short sweater closer about her in vain. The sun had just set, leaving the Hogwarts grounds as frosty as midwinter, though the leaves had just begun to turn.
What the hell just happened? she asked herself for the hundredth time. Mentally, she knew that she had tried to comfort Draco Malfoy and he had pushed her away. At the same time, however, the last day seemed surreal and impossible. She had tried to comfort Draco Malfoy. She had tried to comfort Draco Malfoy. She had tried to comfort Draco Malfoy. No matter how many times she said it to herself, her mind couldn’t even begin to accept it. In her heart, however, the realization had already sunk in. She had felt sorry for him. And yet, it went deeper: she had tried to comfort Draco Malfoy as though she cared about him. She hadn’t thought about it. It had just been instinctive, as easy as breathing. Natural. Normal. Right.
No, no, no! her mind was wailing. He’s evil! He’s made life a living hell for my brother for 6 years! He’s insulted our family, our Mum, our house, our lives! He hates everything about us and we hate him! Remember the song he made up last year during the Quidditch match? I’d never seen Ron so hurt or scared in my life! He’s never done anything good! Him and his family are Death Eaters for god’s sake!
That, however, made her remember the words Malfoy had spat in her face before he fled: “It’s just one less Death Eater for you and your family to kill, isn’t it?” And it was true. His parents were servants of Voldemort: her father and brothers or any other member of the Order wouldn’t think twice about killing his parents in battle, or at least capturing them. Yet, at the same time, the memory of his words made her shake with shame. She told herself that they were evil, and that they deserved what they got, and that Draco was just as bad as they were, but it didn’t make any difference. With one parent dead and one in Azkaban, Draco was as good as an orphan. Just like Harry.
No, she thought harshly. Nothing like Harry. Remember what his father did to you? He’s the one who almost killed you! He’s the reason all of it happened, without him you’d never have had the diary, never written in it, never met... Tom. You’d still be innocent! You still be... pure.
Ginny trembled harder, feeling the darkness that lurked in her mind and heart rise up, stronger even than it had been during Potions. It devoured her, it consumed her, sucking at her like a vampire. She rocked back and forth on the grass, her arms tight around her knees, thoughts and feelings battling without end in her head.
“He’s just a boy,” she whispered.
He’s evil.
“Evil can’t care like that. He loved her!”
You thought Tom cared. He’s nothing but darkness. Just like Tom.
“No,” she whimpered. “No, he’s not.”
He’d kill you in a heartbeat. He’s a Death Eater.
“No, he wouldn’t, he’s not!” But she knew it was true.
She couldn’t go back and face them like this, not any of them. Not Ron, not Harry, not Hermione. Not Draco. Never Draco. So she sat beneath the willow tree as the moon rose and sent its shimmering beams across the lake. The light glittered off her tears.
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Malfoy had ended up, of all places, on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. He’d been sitting there for hours. Somehow the dark terrors concealed in the shadows of the trees under the rising moonlight and mist seemed exceedingly tame when compared with the horror that was his life.
Narcissa Malfoy had never been what one would call a doting mother. Her time and energy had always been directed elsewhere, namely in the service of the Dark Lord. Still, she was his mother. Although the great passion of her life lay in the Dark Arts, she had loved him, in her own cold way.
As the child of a rich pureblood family, Draco had never wanted for anything. His mother had made sure of that. Whether this was because she merely wanted to keep him out of her hair or because she was trying to make up for the love she was unable to give him, Draco couldn’t even venture a guess. And if there had been times in the almost unrecallable past when he wished for loving parents, he had long ago come to the conclusion that having everything in the wizarding world that money could buy instead was a fairly good trade.
She didn’t know how to raise a child. Nor did she care. Her and her sisters had grown up in an adult’s world, with no attempt to protect them from harsh realities. She’d seen her first dead body at the age of six, when a Muggle insulted her father on the street. Draco had received no more coddling than she had, for that made a person weak and the Dark Lord had no use for weaklings.
Once, she had told him she loved him. He was nine and an epidemic of dragonpox had been spreading through the the country. One of the house-elves brought it to the Manor and Draco was the first to fall ill. His father had left, unwilling to take the risk of becoming infected, but Narcissa stayed. When all of the house-elves were too sick to tend to Draco, she’d done it herself. She didn’t sing lullabies or tell him stories; the kind of stories Narcissa knew probably would have given him nightmares anyway. But she brought him water and held him when the fever rose too high for him to think and never left him alone, even when he was asleep. Then, one night, just before the fever finally broke, she leaned down to his flushed and sweating face and whispered:
“I love you.” He knew it for the truth. Although Narcissa had been many terrible things: murderer, torturer, and thief, she was not a liar.
Now she was dead. His father was in prison, which Draco really couldn’t have cared less about, except for how it affected him. Any day now, the dreaded letter...
God damn it, I’m too young! he thought with fury. What use is a sixteen year old Death Eater going to be, anyway? It’s just for the ridiculous Oath.
The Dark Lord had made a vow when he first came to his full strength that all the pureblood families would support him and his cause, willing or not. The Imperius Curse made short work of the unwilling, in any case. During the past fourteen years, the lack of a Malfoy representative wouldn’t have made any difference, for the Death Eaters were scattered and disorganized. Now, however, the Dark Lord wanted to make up for lost time, and his stupid Oath was just one more thing that had to be obeyed and fulfilled.
And then there was the unfathomable Weasley girl. Draco would have been sure that her attempts at sympathy were nothing more than a plot to humiliate him, except for one thing: she hadn’t told Potter and his little gang when she found him crying in the dormitories. Maybe, he thought, she was just waiting to find out what I was crying about, so that she could look even better when she told them. Somehow this plan seemed a little too clever for a Gryffindor. If she was Slytherin, then he would have been sure that was what she was doing. As it was, he couldn’t even begin to guess what she was playing at.
A small, involuntary tremor went through him as he remembered the look in her eyes. It was almost like she was hurt, but not in the usual way. Not because of anything he’d said or done to her. Hurt because he was hurting.
No, he told himself harshly. Even a Weasel wouldn’t be that weak. She’s just a little more clever than I would have expected. Bloody bitch, tricking me like that. Probably going to spread it around the whole school. He felt like punching a tree with frustration. Any way he looked at it, his life was falling apart. His mother dead, his father in prison, himself about to join the Death Eaters, and as if all that weren’t enough, he was practically being held hostage by a Weasley, of all the humiliating people, and her sinister, backstabbing plans.
A twig cracked behind him. He whirled around, snatching his wand from his robes and pointing it directly at....
“What the bloody hell is it with you, Weasley? Some sort of magnetic attraction?” Ginny looked levelly back at him, her own wand pointed directly at his chest.
“Listen, Malfoy,” she said coolly. “You can think whatever you want, but I am sorry that your mother’s dead. I’m not sorry that there’s one less Death Eater to kill innocent people, but I am sorry that your mother’s dead.” He sneered.
“And what, may I ask, is the difference?” But Ginny had agonized over this for too many hours beside the lake, fighting her way through the darkness in her mind to come to this conclusion. She wasn’t about to be shaken by his derision.
“I’m not exactly sure. But I know there is one.”
“How typical of a Gryffindor. You don’t even know why you think or do things. You just blindly accept it.”
“How typical of a Slytherin. You can’t accept the truth without seeing, touching, and tasting it.” Oh, crap, she hissed inwardly. What is it about him that makes everything I say come out incredibly suggestive?
At the same time, however, her body was reminding her of how he felt pressed against her, as he had been in the dormitory, his breath against her cheek, his hands on her skin. She was suddenly very aware of her heartbeat throbbing in her chest, her breathing coming faster.
All right, that’s quite enough! she thought, and took a step back from him, rather shocked at her own reaction. Sympathy is one thing, but this is taking it a bit too far. He’s still Malfoy, dead mother or no.
“Scared, Weasel?” he asked her, his voice dangerously low, having obviously misinterpreted her gesture.
“Of what, you? In your dreams, Malfoy!” He arched an eyebrow. Oh bloody hell, I did it again!
“Perhaps, Weasley,” he answered, apparently amused. In fact, Draco was fighting to repress feelings of his own. It was a fact that he could probably have any girl in the school that he wanted... except, just maybe, the lanky redhead who was standing so fearlessly in front of him, friend and sister of his two greatest enemies. After all, something about forbidden fruit makes it the sweetest of all.
“Anyway,” said Ginny abruptly, her voice cracking slightly. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry. You don’t have to believe me. And I’m not going to betray you, so you can bloody well relax!”
“Language, Weasley,” he sneered. “So, you came all the way out here in the middle of the night to tell me you’re sorry my mother died.” His voice was mocking and full of disbelief.
“Yes, Malfoy, that is exactly why I came out here. I wanted to clear it up once and for all.” Then she smirked slightly. “By the way, I only knew where you were because, considering the direction you ran off, you were either heading toward the forest or you were going to Hagrid’s hut. Unless you and Hagrid have some sort of relationship that I’m not aware of....”
“Weasley, that is nothing short of disgusting!”
“So are you, Malfoy!” she said sweetly. His mouth twitched with... was that laughter?
Here I am, joking with my brother’s greatest enemy on the edge of the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night, and yet somehow, when compared to the bizarreness of the past few days, this feels almost normal.
Suddenly she realized that the distance she had put between them had inexplicably disappeared. She was looking straight into Draco’s face, not even two inches from her own. All traces of amusement were gone and his eyes were harder than ever. She felt herself blush brilliantly under his steady look.
No, no, no! This can’t be happening!
“Well, I guess I’ll just... erm, be going, then!” she said, squeakily, backing hastily away again.
“You do that, Weasley,” he said, turning away from her, trying to ignore the moonlight running along her hair like water. She couldn’t see his face and his voice gave nothing away. “I’ll see you later.”
Ginny whirled around as though released from a spell, almost sprinting away from him, up toward the school. Shivers shook her body.
Was that a threat, she wondered, Or a promise?
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Ginny breathed a sigh of relief as she entered the common room to see her brother and the rest of the trio chatting once again in their favorite spot in front of the fire. A glance at the clock on the wall next to the bulletin board told her that is was in fact only seven, although the darkness and moonrise outside the castle had made her feel it was much later.
Thank the lord I didn’t miss dinner, she thought wryly. Ron might have had a heart attack! All same, she wasn’t really sure she was hungry: her breakdown by the lake and the encounter with Malfoy in the forest had left her weak and feeling rather ill. She knew the feeling better than she might’ve wished, for she’d spent much of her first year in a similar state. Wonder why it’s been so severe lately, though. She’d gotten caught up in flashbacks and depression more in the past week than she had for nearly a year previously.
Catching sight of the calendar on which Quidditch games and whatnot were posted, Ginny suddenly realized. Today was October 30th. Tomorrow was Halloween. It would be the fourth anniversary of her first possession and attack.
Relieved to know that there was some sort of logical explanation for most of her odd behavior lately, she wove her way through the crowded room to sit next to the trio. Ron and Hermione were absorbed in yet another one of their famous arguments, but Harry looked up from his book and smiled when she came in.
“Whatcha reading, Harry?” she asked, dropping her broomstick on the hearth rug and flopping down beside him, still marveling at her lack of reaction to his presence. It was much nicer to be able to act normal around him.
“Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More),” he answered, reading off the cover. “Ron got it for me for my birthday. He’s knows I’ve always wanted to read it, even though it’s a bit out of date.” Ginny laughed.
“I love that book! Where did you think I got my famous Bat Bogey Hex from?” Harry grinned back at her, but it looked a bit more strained than usual.
“You all right, Harry?” He stared into the fire, looking as though he saw something miles and years away.
“Well, you know. Halloween tomorrow and all.”
The night his parents died, Ginny realized with a shock.
“Sirius told me once that they used to have Halloween parties, back before they had to go into hiding,” Harry said, the words catching slightly. “Them and all of the Marauders, all their old friends from school.” He cleared his throat and Ginny realized he was fighting back tears. “Anyway, maybe you should help Ron and Hermione over there,” he said, obviously trying to turn their discussion toward a more cheerful subject.
Ginny arched a doubtful eyebrow. No one in their right mind interfered once Ron and Hermione had gotten going on a dispute.
“Can’t decide which curse to use on Malfoy,” he explained. “Hermione thinks we should use Hair Loss, it’s sure drive the vain little git up the wall. Ron’s more in favor of Tongue-Tying.”
“See him spread his nasty lies then!” Ron was saying enthusiastically. “Harder to smirk with his dirty forked tongue in a big old knot, wouldn’t it be?”
“NO!” Ginny yelled. A deafening silence filled the common room, in which every single person turned around and stared as though she’d grown an extra nose. More in fact, since Fred and George had recently released a line of sweets that make you sprout eyeballs out of the back of your head and so on. Ginny wished someone would do her a favor and turn her into a toad, or failing that, announce that dragons were attacking the school.
Got to say something, she thought numbly. Got to say something.
“Erm, I.... rather agree with Hermione,” she faltered out wretchedly.
At this, one of the girls in the corner giggled hesitantly. As though they were released from a trance, the rest of the common room slowly came back to life, their chatter rising up again like a tide. All except for Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
“Did you just... stand up... for Malfoy?” Harry choked out, having apparently gone into shock. Ron and Hermione both looked as though someone had come along and casually bashed them in the face with a sack of Galleons. “Did you just stand up... for Malfoy?”
The image of Draco, standing in front of her, his eyes fixed on the ground, his entire body tensed, overwhelmed her. “My mother killed herself.” The hardness and suspicion in his eyes as she faced him in the forest, the feeling of his hands hard around her wrists in the dormitory. All thoughts of denial and apology fled from her mind, replaced with a wild and reckless defiance.
“Yes!” she spat at them viciously. “I did! Does that pose some sort of a problem for you three?” A small part of her mind was horrified at the spite and venom that filled her harsh words toward her friends, but Ginny crushed it ruthlessly. “The last thing he needs is for one of you to pull some damn cruel prank on him!” With that, she strode angrily from the common room, slamming the door savagely behind her. The three looked at each other, stunned.
“Um, got an explanation for that one, Hermione?” The older girl stared back at them, looking dazed by Ginny’s wrath.
“That time of the month?” she ventured. The three fell back into bewildered silence.
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As she pounded down stairways and echoing stone corridors, Ginny’s anger only grew, though it changed target.
He did some sort of spell on me, she thought furiously. That’s the only explanation! I’m going to worm it out of him if it takes all night! She paused for a moment. Damn it, did it again! Bloody innuendo!
Having stormed her way down to the Great Hall, Ginny paused in the entrance hall. The odds of Malfoy still being in there were extremely good, because on the weekends dinner was served any time between six and seven thirty. However, as tempting as it was to run up to the Slytherin table and start interrogating him, the rumors it would start would be so horrific, she didn’t even want to think about it. Instead, Ginny positioned herself carefully behind a boar statue to one side of the stairway. That way she could see everyone who walked by, but they couldn’t see her from the Hall. Ignoring her furiously grumbling stomach, Ginny crouched, waiting like a spider in the shadows.
Then, after no more than five minutes, she heard footsteps nearing her hiding place. Only one person. She crossed her fingers, waiting, waiting, waiting.... Blond hair! Green and silver badge! Pale pointy face! Ginny pounced, grabbing him roughly by the back of his robes and dragging him a couple feet down the hall to an empty classroom. As quick as Draco could be, he never stood a chance against Ginny’s stealth attack.
“Well, so much for the whole sympathy thing!” Draco said, rather irritated, throwing an almost nervous glance at Ginny’s wand. She looked about ready to impale him with it. “What the hell’s your problem now, Weasley?”
“None of your crap, Malfoy,” she snarled. “Take it off! Now!”
He looked slightly taken aback, but his instinctive sarcasm took over immediately.
“Weasley, as flattering as your demand is....”
“You MORON!” she yelled. “Not your clothes, you arrogant prat! The spell!” The utter blankness of his look was amazing. If her previous comment had taken him by surprise, this one quite simply left him dumbfounded.
“What spell?”
“What spell? WHAT SPELL!” she shrieked. “The spell that you put on me to make me....” She trailed off. The look on Draco’s face left no doubt: he hadn’t the slightest idea what she was talking about.
“Listen, Malfoy,” she said, much more calmly, almost desperately. “Just now in the common room, Harry and Ron and Hermione were trying to decide which hex to use on you.”
“Thanks for the warning, but that’s nothing new,” he muttered bitterly.
She glared at him, then continued.
“The point is, when they told me what they were talking about, I... I...” She gulped hard. “I stood up for you. I told them not to.”
Wide gray eyes met equally wide brown ones in profound astonishment.
“And you think I put a spell on you to make you do it?” asked Draco. “Like I need or even want a Gryffindor standing up for me?”
“I, um, I just couldn’t think of a better explanation,” Ginny muttered, embarrassed beyond belief. Draco heaved a long suffering sigh.
“That’s right. Anything goes wrong for a Gryffindor, blame Malfoy and the Slytherins!” Ginny felt a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Mind you, it is your fault most of the time,” she pointed out.
“That,” he retorted grandly, “Is beside the point.”
Ginny started to giggle, then repressed her mirth hastily. Remember where trusting evil got you last time, she reminded herself sternly.
And yet, the wild recklessness that had brought her down here in the first place was still churning within her. It had felt so good to tell off the Trio. Too good, she thought uneasily. It had reawakened something in her, something fierce and hungry, something that she had kept trapped deep within for too long. The adventure in the Slytherin common room had just been an excuse to let it out, she realized now. Ever since then, she’d spent all of her time trying to restrain it again, but it was so tempting, this spirit of rebellion.... too tempting.
Feeling a sense of inevitable doom, like she was taking the first step on a path from which there was no turning back, she took a slow step towards Malfoy, looking steadily into his icy gray eyes.
After one moment, in which the entire world seemed to freeze, he lifted his hand and brushed one finger, oh so slowly, across her cheek and over her mouth. Ginny let out her breath in a small gasp. Somehow, she had expected his hand to be cold, like a snake, but that one touch had more heat than anything she had ever felt in her life.
“You, Miss Weasley,” he whispered in her ear, leaning so close she could feel the warmth of his body against hers, “Are playing a very dangerous game, indeed.”
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