Author's Notes: Woohoo, new chapter! If you've gotten this far, I figure you're in this for the long haul. So you must like it, right? And if you have not submitted a reviewed yet, please take a few minutes to think about the chapter or part you liked best (or maybe hated or had a question about that hasn't been answered) and post one. While all authors love positive, glowing reviews :-D . . please help me make this story even better!! (Note Within a Note: I've even gotten a few ideas from some of your reviews, so sometimes feedback is good for the author and the story.) Thanks; you guys ROCK MY WORLD!
This chapter's title is from the Alanis Morrisette song from her Jagged Little Pill album. I call it that because someone learns a lot in this chapter.
CHAPTER 13 – You Learn
Several weeks after Blaise's funeral, Draco was still struggling to make it through a single Occlumency lesson without collapsing at least once. Not only were the sessions physically demanding, they nearly always gave him murderous headaches, in spite of Madame Pomfrey's latest remedy to combat them. The only positives were that Professor Snape proved to be an understanding, patient tutor and that the lessons were not very long. This was especially good tonight, as he still had a prefect meeting to attend and plans to see Ginny afterward.
"Again, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape said in his silky voice. “Legilimens!”
Draco concentrated fiercely on closing his mind from his instructor, but it was still to no avail. With each attempt, his will seemed to slip away from him, and every time, he would end up in a heap on the cool, dungeon floor, breathing rapidly and sweating like a kitchen house-elf. This time was no different.
As soon his teacher had broken through his resolve, the boy's thoughts flooding his mind, the man stopped and sighed softly. "Draco, you have to concentrate."
“I'm trying,” he insisted. "It's just so very difficult—"
The professor interrupted, "And it must be, in order to train you properly. Now let's try again."
Draco was feeling frustrated. He wasn't used to being completely unable to grasp a concept. No matter what his parents believed, he was clever, and he did want to be the best. And regardless of what his enemies thought, not everything just fell in his lap. Sure, one can buy his way onto a school Quidditch team, but gold can't buy a victory; that takes practice and skill.
I had to train hard in order to kick Cho Chang's arse like I did a few weeks back. He mused with satisfaction, Shortest match at Hogwarts in over 50 years. Even Ginny's oaf of a brother said so; between his Quidditch obsession and that know-it-all girlfriend of his, I'm sure he would know.
Before he could stop it, his mind turned to Ginny. He thought about the last time they'd been together. The steamy memories threatened to distract him, but he caught himself just in time. Not now -- later. He drew a deep breath as he gathered his strength for the next exercise. Control, he reminded himself sternly. If he were not fully focused on his task, not only could Professor Snape waltz right into his most secret thoughts, he would know straight away that he wasn't really trying.
"Legilimens!" Snape said once more. He rummaged around Draco's mind for a few seconds, when he suddenly felt himself being violently cast out. The impetus of it knocked the man over, and he very nearly laughed with pride. "Well done, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a faint grin.
"Sir?" his pupil asked, a mildly stunned look on his face. All the while, he was thinking, I don't think I did anything different that time. Could it be I'm finally getting the hang of this . . ? Is that all there is to it?
"Well, you only managed to knock me on my backside, that's all," Professor Snape said admiringly, practically chuckling with amusement. Rising to his feet, he patted Draco's shoulder and remarked proudly, "Now we're making some progress."
Pressing a bit further, he asked, "Tell me, were you able to see into my mind? Were there any random thoughts you were not sure where they came from? Anything at all you didn't recognize as a memory of yours?" he pressed.
Draco considered the question then replied, "No, sir. Sorry -- I didn't know I was supposed to."
"Do you feel as if you could try it one last time?" Professor Snape suggested hopefully. He was excited about the boy's breakthrough. "If you're not too tired, that is?"
Although he was feeling fatigued, Draco closed his eyes momentarily then lied, "No, no -- I can manage. I'm fine."
In the last attempt of the evening, he was once again moderately successful in blocking his instructor. Then, quite suddenly, he saw a small group of students hanging about in the library. It looked somehow different, with a few chairs in odd places and some of the books appearing to be slightly less worn. At one table, there was a quiet, young boy, sitting alone and working diligently, his hook nose mere centimeters from his parchment. His greasy, black hair hung down in his eyes, and he was being laughed at by four other boys. Draco thought one of the boy's tormenters looked remarkably like . . Potter?
Just then, a girl with green eyes and flowing red hair marched up to the practical jokers. She was clearly outraged, and she spoke harshly to them. The boy who could have passed for Potter's twin tried to calm her, saying, "Yes, but Lily, who on Earth would care about him, anyway?" She glowered at him and slapped him hard across the cheek. She turned to the black-haired lad, and, smiling gingerly at him, apologized for her housemates' rude behavior.
Draco very nearly felt sorry for the boy that the man before him had once been. He was right. Potter's dad was bloody arrogant -- just like his son, he thought.
The next thing Draco knew, he was the one being tossed out, and quite roughly. "Professor," he began, "who was that girl? The one who took up for you?"
"That," he replied coolly, "was Lily Evans. Nice girl. Don't know what she ever saw in that creep."
"Who? Potter?" Draco asked.
Professor Snape smirked at the name. "Recognized him, did you? Yes, that was the famous James Potter, arsehole extraordinaire. Along with his partners in crime, Lupin, Pettigrew, and your cousin, the late Sirius Black. Did you know they tried to kill me once -- just as a prank?" He looked as though the memories still chafed him, and Draco thought he heard him grinding his teeth.
The man broke into a tight smile and said, "Enough of all that. The important thing is we are getting somewhere. Your lessons seem to be paying off. Same time, day after tomorrow, right?"
"Yes, sir," Draco concurred. "Good night."
Although he ran nearly all the way there, he arrived at the prefect meeting a few minutes late, receiving glares from around the table. He glared back with contempt; inside, however, he was groaning irritably. Bugger! Those damned sessions with Snape are consuming the little bit that was left of my life. On top of that, his head was absolutely throbbing.
Once he was seated, he snuck a small swig of Madame Pomfrey's latest headache potion. He brought the bottle with him to every Occlumency lesson. While it helped to dull the pain somewhat, it also tended to make him lose focus and feel a bit groggy, especially if he was tired already. He took another swallow of the foul drink, pondering whether the woman was even capable of making a potion that didn't taste utterly repulsive.
A tedious, nondescript prefect meeting followed; to fight off boredom, he daydreamed about his first Quidditch victory of the season and what had followed. After his team had thoroughly trounced Ravenclaw, he and Ginny had spent some time together in the changing rooms. They had also done a fair bit of kissing and touching, but they'd mostly talked. It was one of the best visits they had ever had; it seemed like their meetings had been so sporadic and all too brief that snogging was often all they ever had time for -- that, an occasional bit of fluff. And since she was so obliging, who was he to complain? His reasoning had been, What's the point of really getting to know one another? I'm sure to get tired of her eventually, and it would all have been a waste of time. May as well spend it getting my jollies.
Yet the other day as they sat together in the changing rooms, it dawned on him that aside from their physical relationship, he was actually starting to like the girl. Her personality, her sense of humor, and even though it sounded so disgustingly Gryffindor -- her spirit, or rather, her spark. Could she be my new best friend? he wondered vaguely. Snorting to himself, he thought, That's just crazy. Besides, if I don't have a best friend, it's because I don't need one. Thinking he heard someone calling his surname, he remembered where he was and refocused on the meeting.
The seventh-year Hufflepuff prefect (I can never remember that girl's name) was looking at him expectantly. As if he were stupid, she repeated slowly, "Malfoy, I asked would you be able to take Michael's place?"
"Corner?" he asked, then he ruminated wittily, I thought I already had.
"Yes, who else?" she snapped. When that got no response from him, she groaned then clarified, "For the late-shift hall check next Tuesday and Thursday. Can you do it?"
Corner interrupted, offering generously, "I'll take your turn next weekend: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday."
Without really thinking about it, Draco accepted by nodding his head. Giving up two nights and gaining three looked good -- at first. But when he realized how tight that would make his schedule on those two days (Hell, those are the same nights as my Occlumency lessons!), he sighed in frustration.
These private classes with Snape, the intense homework schedule sixth-years endured, and regular Quidditch practices made it very difficult to find time to spend with Ginny. He found he couldn't get her off his mind. Unable to focus, he deliberately tuned out the rest of the meeting. He absently rubbed his knee as he thought, We have got to find a room with a couch or something. Cushioning Charms only make the floor feel softer; I still get those annoying bruises on both knees.
When the meeting finally adjourned, Granger magically changed the hall check schedule at the Head Girl's request then conjured copies for all who were present. She then reproduced minutes from the meeting, complete with who had made a particular motion, who had seconded it, and who had voted which way. Gods, she's anal. Weasley, you're a nutter for putting up with her; for your sake, I hope she's a really good lay.
The group disbanded, and he slowly rose from the table. He glanced over the minutes casually, not really having a clue what they had discussed or what else he had agreed to. When he began to study them, he gasped, Interhouse Cooperation Week; what the hell is that? He scoffed, thinking, Aww, fuck me! I've got to tutor younger students in Potions, and I'm working with -- Granger?! I've really got to stop thinking about Ginny during these bloody meetings and pay attention!
He read on, wondering, What else did I agree to? Escorting Ron Weasley to the Yule Ball? But when he saw that no other horrible fates awaited him, he put the minutes away and set off in search of his little fire sprite. At least the potions-tutoring shift was only one afternoon; of course, all Quidditch practices had been cancelled for the week, as well as any other group activities.
Clearing his mind of difficult lessons, boring meetings, and Granger's annoyingly fastidious habits, he focused on finding Ginny. He had looked forward to being with her all day and sincerely hoped that she was feeling as randy as he was. The note she had owled to him earlier today seemed to indicate that tonight would be very special indeed.
Driven by desire, he moved down the faintly-lit corridor, looking for the room she had asked him to meet her in. It was he who normally chose the time and place for their meetings, but her note was insistent and very specific. At first, he was a little surprised by her direct approach; although she was unafraid and definitely assertive, this was one area that she usually left to his discretion. But having had the entire day to mull over the idea, he decided he was flattered that she had asked to see him. Maybe, he hoped, she ached for his touch just as much as he did for hers. Filled with anticipation, his heartbeat quickened, as did his footsteps.
He soon recognized the various landmarks she had mentioned in her note and found himself gravitating toward one door. It was said to be a Charms classroom that had been abandoned decades ago. It was even rumored to have a couch of dark, velvety green; he sincerely hoped that it did, as her hair would look marvelous on it. He wondered briefly if it had been Granger who told Ginny about this particular room . . but then he decided that he didn't really want to know.
As seemed to be the case with so many doors throughout the castle, this one was locked. No matter, he thought, and pointing his wand at the doorknob, whispered, "Alohamora." Predictably, the latch turned, and the door eased open. He entered cautiously and said softly, "Ginny?"
He heard a voice shout, "Stupify!" and promptly fell to the floor.
His first thought on being revived was how badly he wanted to hex the wanker who had just Stunned him. But when he reached for his wand, he realized that he was in a full body bind. He blinked his eyes in the low torchlight, trying to ascertain who was there and what was going on. Still feeling a bit sluggish, he wondered, "Ginny?", realizing too late that he had made one fatal error: her name had actually slipped out. Did I just say her name? he thought, cringing, waiting for whatever came. Shite, I hope it's not Father.
When someone kicked him sharply in the side, he thought it might actually be his father. He cried out in pain and gasped for air. Longing to curl up in a ball and just to be able to breathe again, he thought bitterly, No, it couldn't be Father; he wouldn't have stopped at one. His eyes slowly adjusted to the near darkness, and when they did, he discovered it was not one of his relatives, but one of Ginny's. Or rather, two of them.
It was those obnoxious twins, the ugly, freckled, orange-haired prats who were unfortunate enough to look just like each other. One of them placed his foot directly on Draco's throat. Standing over him, he threatened him by applying slight pressure with the sole of his boot. With hatred in his eyes, he snarled, "Looks like we caught the bastard, Fred."
"So Hagrid's suspicions were right; he is seeing her. Or rather, he was seeing her; believe me, they are through."
The first one said with familial pride, "Excellent work, brothers."
Brothers? Draco started to feel panicked, his mind racing to recollect exactly how many she said she had. Are any of her brothers not here? But before he could recall whether she had six, seven, or nine, one of the twins had unbound him and stood him up forcibly. He turned to a third redhead, a slightly older, stockier man whom Draco didn't recognize, and prompted with exaggerated deference, "Charlie, if you would please do the honors?" Looking around, Draco saw that aside from the twins, this third one -- this Charlie -- appeared to be the only other Weasley there. He swallowed nervously as the man approached him.
"I'd love to," he muttered. He walked up to Draco with a look of utter loathing on his spotted face and roughly grabbed the collar of his robes, giving no thought to how expensive they were. Hey, these cost more Galleons than you make in two months, so hands off! Draco thought with superiority -- but he wisely held his tongue. After all, there were three of them, and he wasn't stupid.
Not even bothering to conceal his anger, Charlie growled, "Look here, you son of a bitch. We have it on good authority that you've been seeing our sister Ginny. You are pond scum, and you are not to go anywhere near her. Do you get that?!" Draco eyed him warily. "And if I ever find out that you've been in her knickers," Charlie warned in a deadly serious tone, "I'll cut off your stones, grind them to dust, and put them in a jar above the Weasley fireplace, right next to the Floo Powder. We'll label it 'Essence of Ferret." The boy said nothing to this, as he tried to disguise his fear as hatred.
"Oh, and by the way, Draco." Charlie said his name with an amused sneer on his face then added menacingly, "I am a dragon-handler by trade -- the real ones that breathe actual fire -- I'm sure that you will be no problem whatsoever." The Slytherin gulped nervously, and the man asked him slowly, "So do we have an understanding . . Malfoy?"
He knew he was in serious trouble. These guys were older, taller, bigger . . and not to mention, fully trained wizards. What were they going to do to him? What should he say to appease them?
Denial. It nearly worked with Mother, and surely these Weasleys are not nearly as bright as her.
And hopefully, they’re much more forgiving.
He said gruffly, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about! Me, date someone from your vile family? My mother would kill me!"
Attempting to bolster his case, he scoffed, "I wouldn't sleep with her if she were the last girl in this school. In fact, I'd shag Potter before I'd touch your disgusting little sister!" He asked himself, Was that good enough? He hoped so, but just for good measure, he added with finality, "And if I ever do start liking her, then ship me off to Saint Mungo's, because I've obviously gone completely around the bend!"
This wasn't exactly the reaction they had anticipated. They had rather expected him to confess -- no, to brag -- and then to defend his God-given right to deflower the only Weasley daughter. Pointing out a minute flaw in the boy's logic, Charlie stated, "But you're here, aren't you? You got the owl and came to meet . . her, didn't you?"
Fred prodded him, "Come on, Malfoy. Cough up. Why are you here if you're not boinking our sister? Or hoping to, anyway?"
Draco knew he'd been had. Bugger! The owl wasn't from her -- it was from them! Masking his surprise as he mustered his courage, he got right back in Fred's face, poking a finger in his chest and responding in the most authoritative voice he could manage. "I don't know what owl you're talking about! Anyway, that's not why I'm here, you imbecile! I am a prefect, and I was just checking up on a tip that some students had brought some harmful, not to mention illegal, substances into this school." Just then, Draco had a flash of inspiration; raising his eyebrows, he said snidely, "Funny that you're here. Some of them were reportedly from your little shop of horrors."
The twins were aghast. "What? You think that we would -- market contraband?" George asked in mild shock.
Charlie crossed his arms as he considered Draco's denial. The Slytherin's icy glare was unswerving, hoping that one, if not all three, of them might actually believe him. Fortunately for him, the Weasleys tended to hold to that rather foolish muggle notion that people are basically -- good and that everyone deserves a second chance.
"Well," the oldest one replied, "let's hope, for your sake, that you were just being a good little prefect. But if I ever find out otherwise, believe me, you are dead. We have a big back yard and shovels; I doubt anybody would miss you." He turned to the twins and motioned toward the door, all three of them staring at him coldly. As the last one walked out, he drew Draco's wand out of his robes and deliberately tossed it in the opposite direction.
Draco retrieved his wand and clenched it tightly, but on considering Charlie's parting words, he decided it would probably be a bit risky to hex any of them now. Sighing in relief that they were finally gone, he muttered, "Shit." He breathed deeply and left the room nervously, closing the door behind him. The moment he was in the hallway, he was attacked by another redhead, this one with a smaller frame. His lovely vixen ran and leapt into his arms. Wrapping herself around him, she kissed him soundly.
"Oh, thank the gods, you're all right! I was so worried," Ginny said, fear and concern apparent in her voice. Lowering herself to the floor, she took a step back and studied him intently. "What did they do to you? I know you think Fred and George are just brainless, harmless pranksters, but they can do some serious damage when they want to."
How . . how did she know what had just happened? "Who?" he asked in annoyance, pretending that nothing had.
Equally disgusted, she scoffed, "My older brothers, you ninny! I know they were with you, I saw them on the—" she started but then stopped herself.
He urged, "Saw them on what?"
"Ohhh," she hesitated, her worried tone one of a child who had just been caught with one hand in the cookie jar.
"Ginny, what is it? How did you know they were here?"
Closing her eyes, she looked down at her robes and stated flatly, "I can't tell you. It isn't mine. I just -- borrowed it."
"Tell me," he insisted.
Fidgeting, she confessed all that she could. "It's something of Harry's. His dad invented it. And if I tell you what it is, and anyone ever finds out that you know -- I probably won't be able to see you again."
Mildly insulted, he sniffed, "Very well, then. That's a bit . . melodramatic, but I guess lovers should have some secrets they keep from each other."
Utterly relieved, she said, "Thank you for understanding." He didn't really, but he didn't see how his need to know could possibly outweigh his need to be with her. "Really, it's better this way."
They walked along, hand in hand, discussing each of their days, talking comfortably about nothing, and occasionally bantering back and forth. They pointedly avoided his impromptu meeting with her brothers; they had both been expecting something like that to happen. She was only too glad that she hadn't received a howler yet from her mum. And given the odds, he managed to fare pretty well.
Arriving in the hallway where they had shared tea laced with Veritaserum over a month ago, Draco suggested casually, "Fancy a snack? We're right by the kitchens, near our favorite spot," he added, pointing to the small, partially secluded space they had sat in the last time they were here. He added with amused sarcasm, "Looks like our table is available, too."
"Yes, I'm starving," she consented. "Luna and I had to finish a joint project this evening, so I had a very early dinner."
He sighed. "Yes, I didn't see you down at the Great Hall. I had hoped you were getting ready for our late-night rendezvous . . . which apparently you knew nothing about," he sulked.
Ginny tutted, "Now, don't be too upset with my brothers. They mean well, and at least you still have all your body parts -- don't you?" She suddenly reached inside his robes, apparently to check for damages; she knew the twins and their warped sense of humor far too well to trust her eyes. She dipped her hand lower, the brazen act eliciting a moan from him, then she declared with assurity, "Well, everything seems to be in order." She stepped away then sidled into their semi-private nook and looked back, silently beckoning him to follow her. He did. Closing the distance between them, he leaned in and kissed her. He pulled away slightly then immersed his fingers into her magnificent hair, wrapping it around his face, inhaling its scent deeply, and relishing the silky feel of it.
Draco had always made fun of the Weasley hair because his parents had taught him it signified poverty. But hers was different; its texture, shade, and thickness were so very rich. He had adored it since the first time he laid eyes on her, even though he would never admit it to anyone, not even her. Still, she knew -- it was pretty obvious, since nearly every time he kissed her while weaving his hands through it, he ended up with a boner.
He thought back to that day at Flourish and Blott's years ago, and how even then, his fingers had itched to touch her exquisite coppery locks. Knowing that he would never be permitted to lay a hand on them and that Potter would -- it was so unfair. The very thought that Potter could get everything he wanted, even things he didn't want . . it made Draco sick, nearly as much as the idea that he himself actually craved to touch a Weasley's hair. So, in the book shop, and then again on Valentine's Day the following February, he did the only thing he could to justify it in his own mind: He used her admiration of The Boy Who Lived to belittle and embarrass her.
Since she was a Weasley, he'd always believed that the only emotion she had ever instilled in him was pure and intense hatred. Now he wondered if he had actually been feeling something else and was trying desperately to suppress it. If only he had known what feelings he would later stir in her heart, things might have been different in the ensuing years.
He soon put all that behind him and refocused on the present. She was here. She was real. She was his.
"I . . I . . . don't—" she stammered, as if his ministrations were all of a sudden bothering her.
Draco was puzzled. She seemed to be game for this a moment ago. Desperately wishing for her to carry this one step -- or perhaps two steps -- further, he said romantically, "What is it, darling? Is anything wrong?"
Looking past him, she withdrew her hand and pointed, whispering, "What's he doing here?"
"Who?" he asked, mildly irritated at whoever was interrupting what was bound to end up as something wonderful. Turning around to see who she was looking at, he asked, "That repulsive house-elf? The repugnant little bugger with the huge nose?"
"Yeah. It's Kreacher," Ginny said without thinking.
He replied slowly, "I think he was one of the Black family's house-elves. I wondered where their servants were now, with the entire family gone, in prison, or in hiding."
She rolled her eyes and laughed, "It's got to be part of Hermione's plan to improve the lives of house-elves everywhere. She calls it 'Second Chance for Displaced House-Elves.' Hogwarts got several over the summer when wizards were arrested for following You-Know-Who." The second the words were out of her mouth, she regretted it, thinking, Oh dear, that includes your father . . ! She murmured, "Sorry. I didn't mean—"
But he seemed not to notice her minor social faux pas or her apology, still focusing on the creepy-looking little fellow that was hanging about the door to the kitchens. "So how do you know Kreacher?" he asked Ginny, still confused. "Have you seen him around here?"
She nodded in reply, clarifying, "Your cousin Tonks pointed him out to me a few days ago."
"Ah, that's right. You know my cousin." He snarled bitterly, "She certainly has made a name for herself around here, hasn't she? Engaged to the school werewolf, of all things!" He shuddered, practically choking on the words. Then he added, "What could possibly be worse? Mother was simply revolted by the idea."
"You've spoken to your mother recently?" Ginny interjected.
"Yes, we exchanged letters. Brief letters, but letters all the same," he said.
"Did Madame Pomfrey's potion help her with . . . whatever it was she needed help with?"
He groaned, "Bloody hell -- I forgot to send it to her!"
"You what?! What if it was something important?"
"Crap, I think it's still in my trunk. I'll send it the moment I get back to my dorm . . " he began but stopped.
Ginny gasped softly, "Quiet! Someone's coming!"
"No one's coming—" he argued.
But she was right once again. Michael Grant and his comrades, Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle, were coming up the hall, moving closer to their hiding spot. Draco and Ginny edged their way back so as not to be seen by the Death-Eaters-in-Training as they headed for the kitchens, apparently intent on late night snacks themselves. After all, one had to assume that preparing for a life of evil would make a young lad hungry.
Draco slumped against Ginny and muttered, "Not again . . "
~End of Chapter~
And there you have it. (I know, I'm a Drama Queen!) :-D
Once Again, Credit Where It's Due: This chapter includes a paraphrase from the movie Clueless. Dan Hedaya as Cher's father says, “Anything happens to my daughter, I got a .45 and a shovel, I doubt anybody would miss you.”
And *thank you,* smprsgrrl and kaerra, for reviewing!
This chapter's title is from the Alanis Morrisette song from her Jagged Little Pill album. I call it that because someone learns a lot in this chapter.
CHAPTER 13 – You Learn
Several weeks after Blaise's funeral, Draco was still struggling to make it through a single Occlumency lesson without collapsing at least once. Not only were the sessions physically demanding, they nearly always gave him murderous headaches, in spite of Madame Pomfrey's latest remedy to combat them. The only positives were that Professor Snape proved to be an understanding, patient tutor and that the lessons were not very long. This was especially good tonight, as he still had a prefect meeting to attend and plans to see Ginny afterward.
"Again, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape said in his silky voice. “Legilimens!”
Draco concentrated fiercely on closing his mind from his instructor, but it was still to no avail. With each attempt, his will seemed to slip away from him, and every time, he would end up in a heap on the cool, dungeon floor, breathing rapidly and sweating like a kitchen house-elf. This time was no different.
As soon his teacher had broken through his resolve, the boy's thoughts flooding his mind, the man stopped and sighed softly. "Draco, you have to concentrate."
“I'm trying,” he insisted. "It's just so very difficult—"
The professor interrupted, "And it must be, in order to train you properly. Now let's try again."
Draco was feeling frustrated. He wasn't used to being completely unable to grasp a concept. No matter what his parents believed, he was clever, and he did want to be the best. And regardless of what his enemies thought, not everything just fell in his lap. Sure, one can buy his way onto a school Quidditch team, but gold can't buy a victory; that takes practice and skill.
I had to train hard in order to kick Cho Chang's arse like I did a few weeks back. He mused with satisfaction, Shortest match at Hogwarts in over 50 years. Even Ginny's oaf of a brother said so; between his Quidditch obsession and that know-it-all girlfriend of his, I'm sure he would know.
Before he could stop it, his mind turned to Ginny. He thought about the last time they'd been together. The steamy memories threatened to distract him, but he caught himself just in time. Not now -- later. He drew a deep breath as he gathered his strength for the next exercise. Control, he reminded himself sternly. If he were not fully focused on his task, not only could Professor Snape waltz right into his most secret thoughts, he would know straight away that he wasn't really trying.
"Legilimens!" Snape said once more. He rummaged around Draco's mind for a few seconds, when he suddenly felt himself being violently cast out. The impetus of it knocked the man over, and he very nearly laughed with pride. "Well done, Mr. Malfoy," he said with a faint grin.
"Sir?" his pupil asked, a mildly stunned look on his face. All the while, he was thinking, I don't think I did anything different that time. Could it be I'm finally getting the hang of this . . ? Is that all there is to it?
"Well, you only managed to knock me on my backside, that's all," Professor Snape said admiringly, practically chuckling with amusement. Rising to his feet, he patted Draco's shoulder and remarked proudly, "Now we're making some progress."
Pressing a bit further, he asked, "Tell me, were you able to see into my mind? Were there any random thoughts you were not sure where they came from? Anything at all you didn't recognize as a memory of yours?" he pressed.
Draco considered the question then replied, "No, sir. Sorry -- I didn't know I was supposed to."
"Do you feel as if you could try it one last time?" Professor Snape suggested hopefully. He was excited about the boy's breakthrough. "If you're not too tired, that is?"
Although he was feeling fatigued, Draco closed his eyes momentarily then lied, "No, no -- I can manage. I'm fine."
In the last attempt of the evening, he was once again moderately successful in blocking his instructor. Then, quite suddenly, he saw a small group of students hanging about in the library. It looked somehow different, with a few chairs in odd places and some of the books appearing to be slightly less worn. At one table, there was a quiet, young boy, sitting alone and working diligently, his hook nose mere centimeters from his parchment. His greasy, black hair hung down in his eyes, and he was being laughed at by four other boys. Draco thought one of the boy's tormenters looked remarkably like . . Potter?
Just then, a girl with green eyes and flowing red hair marched up to the practical jokers. She was clearly outraged, and she spoke harshly to them. The boy who could have passed for Potter's twin tried to calm her, saying, "Yes, but Lily, who on Earth would care about him, anyway?" She glowered at him and slapped him hard across the cheek. She turned to the black-haired lad, and, smiling gingerly at him, apologized for her housemates' rude behavior.
Draco very nearly felt sorry for the boy that the man before him had once been. He was right. Potter's dad was bloody arrogant -- just like his son, he thought.
The next thing Draco knew, he was the one being tossed out, and quite roughly. "Professor," he began, "who was that girl? The one who took up for you?"
"That," he replied coolly, "was Lily Evans. Nice girl. Don't know what she ever saw in that creep."
"Who? Potter?" Draco asked.
Professor Snape smirked at the name. "Recognized him, did you? Yes, that was the famous James Potter, arsehole extraordinaire. Along with his partners in crime, Lupin, Pettigrew, and your cousin, the late Sirius Black. Did you know they tried to kill me once -- just as a prank?" He looked as though the memories still chafed him, and Draco thought he heard him grinding his teeth.
The man broke into a tight smile and said, "Enough of all that. The important thing is we are getting somewhere. Your lessons seem to be paying off. Same time, day after tomorrow, right?"
"Yes, sir," Draco concurred. "Good night."
Although he ran nearly all the way there, he arrived at the prefect meeting a few minutes late, receiving glares from around the table. He glared back with contempt; inside, however, he was groaning irritably. Bugger! Those damned sessions with Snape are consuming the little bit that was left of my life. On top of that, his head was absolutely throbbing.
Once he was seated, he snuck a small swig of Madame Pomfrey's latest headache potion. He brought the bottle with him to every Occlumency lesson. While it helped to dull the pain somewhat, it also tended to make him lose focus and feel a bit groggy, especially if he was tired already. He took another swallow of the foul drink, pondering whether the woman was even capable of making a potion that didn't taste utterly repulsive.
A tedious, nondescript prefect meeting followed; to fight off boredom, he daydreamed about his first Quidditch victory of the season and what had followed. After his team had thoroughly trounced Ravenclaw, he and Ginny had spent some time together in the changing rooms. They had also done a fair bit of kissing and touching, but they'd mostly talked. It was one of the best visits they had ever had; it seemed like their meetings had been so sporadic and all too brief that snogging was often all they ever had time for -- that, an occasional bit of fluff. And since she was so obliging, who was he to complain? His reasoning had been, What's the point of really getting to know one another? I'm sure to get tired of her eventually, and it would all have been a waste of time. May as well spend it getting my jollies.
Yet the other day as they sat together in the changing rooms, it dawned on him that aside from their physical relationship, he was actually starting to like the girl. Her personality, her sense of humor, and even though it sounded so disgustingly Gryffindor -- her spirit, or rather, her spark. Could she be my new best friend? he wondered vaguely. Snorting to himself, he thought, That's just crazy. Besides, if I don't have a best friend, it's because I don't need one. Thinking he heard someone calling his surname, he remembered where he was and refocused on the meeting.
The seventh-year Hufflepuff prefect (I can never remember that girl's name) was looking at him expectantly. As if he were stupid, she repeated slowly, "Malfoy, I asked would you be able to take Michael's place?"
"Corner?" he asked, then he ruminated wittily, I thought I already had.
"Yes, who else?" she snapped. When that got no response from him, she groaned then clarified, "For the late-shift hall check next Tuesday and Thursday. Can you do it?"
Corner interrupted, offering generously, "I'll take your turn next weekend: Friday, Saturday, and Sunday."
Without really thinking about it, Draco accepted by nodding his head. Giving up two nights and gaining three looked good -- at first. But when he realized how tight that would make his schedule on those two days (Hell, those are the same nights as my Occlumency lessons!), he sighed in frustration.
These private classes with Snape, the intense homework schedule sixth-years endured, and regular Quidditch practices made it very difficult to find time to spend with Ginny. He found he couldn't get her off his mind. Unable to focus, he deliberately tuned out the rest of the meeting. He absently rubbed his knee as he thought, We have got to find a room with a couch or something. Cushioning Charms only make the floor feel softer; I still get those annoying bruises on both knees.
When the meeting finally adjourned, Granger magically changed the hall check schedule at the Head Girl's request then conjured copies for all who were present. She then reproduced minutes from the meeting, complete with who had made a particular motion, who had seconded it, and who had voted which way. Gods, she's anal. Weasley, you're a nutter for putting up with her; for your sake, I hope she's a really good lay.
The group disbanded, and he slowly rose from the table. He glanced over the minutes casually, not really having a clue what they had discussed or what else he had agreed to. When he began to study them, he gasped, Interhouse Cooperation Week; what the hell is that? He scoffed, thinking, Aww, fuck me! I've got to tutor younger students in Potions, and I'm working with -- Granger?! I've really got to stop thinking about Ginny during these bloody meetings and pay attention!
He read on, wondering, What else did I agree to? Escorting Ron Weasley to the Yule Ball? But when he saw that no other horrible fates awaited him, he put the minutes away and set off in search of his little fire sprite. At least the potions-tutoring shift was only one afternoon; of course, all Quidditch practices had been cancelled for the week, as well as any other group activities.
Clearing his mind of difficult lessons, boring meetings, and Granger's annoyingly fastidious habits, he focused on finding Ginny. He had looked forward to being with her all day and sincerely hoped that she was feeling as randy as he was. The note she had owled to him earlier today seemed to indicate that tonight would be very special indeed.
Driven by desire, he moved down the faintly-lit corridor, looking for the room she had asked him to meet her in. It was he who normally chose the time and place for their meetings, but her note was insistent and very specific. At first, he was a little surprised by her direct approach; although she was unafraid and definitely assertive, this was one area that she usually left to his discretion. But having had the entire day to mull over the idea, he decided he was flattered that she had asked to see him. Maybe, he hoped, she ached for his touch just as much as he did for hers. Filled with anticipation, his heartbeat quickened, as did his footsteps.
He soon recognized the various landmarks she had mentioned in her note and found himself gravitating toward one door. It was said to be a Charms classroom that had been abandoned decades ago. It was even rumored to have a couch of dark, velvety green; he sincerely hoped that it did, as her hair would look marvelous on it. He wondered briefly if it had been Granger who told Ginny about this particular room . . but then he decided that he didn't really want to know.
As seemed to be the case with so many doors throughout the castle, this one was locked. No matter, he thought, and pointing his wand at the doorknob, whispered, "Alohamora." Predictably, the latch turned, and the door eased open. He entered cautiously and said softly, "Ginny?"
He heard a voice shout, "Stupify!" and promptly fell to the floor.
His first thought on being revived was how badly he wanted to hex the wanker who had just Stunned him. But when he reached for his wand, he realized that he was in a full body bind. He blinked his eyes in the low torchlight, trying to ascertain who was there and what was going on. Still feeling a bit sluggish, he wondered, "Ginny?", realizing too late that he had made one fatal error: her name had actually slipped out. Did I just say her name? he thought, cringing, waiting for whatever came. Shite, I hope it's not Father.
When someone kicked him sharply in the side, he thought it might actually be his father. He cried out in pain and gasped for air. Longing to curl up in a ball and just to be able to breathe again, he thought bitterly, No, it couldn't be Father; he wouldn't have stopped at one. His eyes slowly adjusted to the near darkness, and when they did, he discovered it was not one of his relatives, but one of Ginny's. Or rather, two of them.
It was those obnoxious twins, the ugly, freckled, orange-haired prats who were unfortunate enough to look just like each other. One of them placed his foot directly on Draco's throat. Standing over him, he threatened him by applying slight pressure with the sole of his boot. With hatred in his eyes, he snarled, "Looks like we caught the bastard, Fred."
"So Hagrid's suspicions were right; he is seeing her. Or rather, he was seeing her; believe me, they are through."
The first one said with familial pride, "Excellent work, brothers."
Brothers? Draco started to feel panicked, his mind racing to recollect exactly how many she said she had. Are any of her brothers not here? But before he could recall whether she had six, seven, or nine, one of the twins had unbound him and stood him up forcibly. He turned to a third redhead, a slightly older, stockier man whom Draco didn't recognize, and prompted with exaggerated deference, "Charlie, if you would please do the honors?" Looking around, Draco saw that aside from the twins, this third one -- this Charlie -- appeared to be the only other Weasley there. He swallowed nervously as the man approached him.
"I'd love to," he muttered. He walked up to Draco with a look of utter loathing on his spotted face and roughly grabbed the collar of his robes, giving no thought to how expensive they were. Hey, these cost more Galleons than you make in two months, so hands off! Draco thought with superiority -- but he wisely held his tongue. After all, there were three of them, and he wasn't stupid.
Not even bothering to conceal his anger, Charlie growled, "Look here, you son of a bitch. We have it on good authority that you've been seeing our sister Ginny. You are pond scum, and you are not to go anywhere near her. Do you get that?!" Draco eyed him warily. "And if I ever find out that you've been in her knickers," Charlie warned in a deadly serious tone, "I'll cut off your stones, grind them to dust, and put them in a jar above the Weasley fireplace, right next to the Floo Powder. We'll label it 'Essence of Ferret." The boy said nothing to this, as he tried to disguise his fear as hatred.
"Oh, and by the way, Draco." Charlie said his name with an amused sneer on his face then added menacingly, "I am a dragon-handler by trade -- the real ones that breathe actual fire -- I'm sure that you will be no problem whatsoever." The Slytherin gulped nervously, and the man asked him slowly, "So do we have an understanding . . Malfoy?"
He knew he was in serious trouble. These guys were older, taller, bigger . . and not to mention, fully trained wizards. What were they going to do to him? What should he say to appease them?
Denial. It nearly worked with Mother, and surely these Weasleys are not nearly as bright as her.
And hopefully, they’re much more forgiving.
He said gruffly, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about! Me, date someone from your vile family? My mother would kill me!"
Attempting to bolster his case, he scoffed, "I wouldn't sleep with her if she were the last girl in this school. In fact, I'd shag Potter before I'd touch your disgusting little sister!" He asked himself, Was that good enough? He hoped so, but just for good measure, he added with finality, "And if I ever do start liking her, then ship me off to Saint Mungo's, because I've obviously gone completely around the bend!"
This wasn't exactly the reaction they had anticipated. They had rather expected him to confess -- no, to brag -- and then to defend his God-given right to deflower the only Weasley daughter. Pointing out a minute flaw in the boy's logic, Charlie stated, "But you're here, aren't you? You got the owl and came to meet . . her, didn't you?"
Fred prodded him, "Come on, Malfoy. Cough up. Why are you here if you're not boinking our sister? Or hoping to, anyway?"
Draco knew he'd been had. Bugger! The owl wasn't from her -- it was from them! Masking his surprise as he mustered his courage, he got right back in Fred's face, poking a finger in his chest and responding in the most authoritative voice he could manage. "I don't know what owl you're talking about! Anyway, that's not why I'm here, you imbecile! I am a prefect, and I was just checking up on a tip that some students had brought some harmful, not to mention illegal, substances into this school." Just then, Draco had a flash of inspiration; raising his eyebrows, he said snidely, "Funny that you're here. Some of them were reportedly from your little shop of horrors."
The twins were aghast. "What? You think that we would -- market contraband?" George asked in mild shock.
Charlie crossed his arms as he considered Draco's denial. The Slytherin's icy glare was unswerving, hoping that one, if not all three, of them might actually believe him. Fortunately for him, the Weasleys tended to hold to that rather foolish muggle notion that people are basically -- good and that everyone deserves a second chance.
"Well," the oldest one replied, "let's hope, for your sake, that you were just being a good little prefect. But if I ever find out otherwise, believe me, you are dead. We have a big back yard and shovels; I doubt anybody would miss you." He turned to the twins and motioned toward the door, all three of them staring at him coldly. As the last one walked out, he drew Draco's wand out of his robes and deliberately tossed it in the opposite direction.
Draco retrieved his wand and clenched it tightly, but on considering Charlie's parting words, he decided it would probably be a bit risky to hex any of them now. Sighing in relief that they were finally gone, he muttered, "Shit." He breathed deeply and left the room nervously, closing the door behind him. The moment he was in the hallway, he was attacked by another redhead, this one with a smaller frame. His lovely vixen ran and leapt into his arms. Wrapping herself around him, she kissed him soundly.
"Oh, thank the gods, you're all right! I was so worried," Ginny said, fear and concern apparent in her voice. Lowering herself to the floor, she took a step back and studied him intently. "What did they do to you? I know you think Fred and George are just brainless, harmless pranksters, but they can do some serious damage when they want to."
How . . how did she know what had just happened? "Who?" he asked in annoyance, pretending that nothing had.
Equally disgusted, she scoffed, "My older brothers, you ninny! I know they were with you, I saw them on the—" she started but then stopped herself.
He urged, "Saw them on what?"
"Ohhh," she hesitated, her worried tone one of a child who had just been caught with one hand in the cookie jar.
"Ginny, what is it? How did you know they were here?"
Closing her eyes, she looked down at her robes and stated flatly, "I can't tell you. It isn't mine. I just -- borrowed it."
"Tell me," he insisted.
Fidgeting, she confessed all that she could. "It's something of Harry's. His dad invented it. And if I tell you what it is, and anyone ever finds out that you know -- I probably won't be able to see you again."
Mildly insulted, he sniffed, "Very well, then. That's a bit . . melodramatic, but I guess lovers should have some secrets they keep from each other."
Utterly relieved, she said, "Thank you for understanding." He didn't really, but he didn't see how his need to know could possibly outweigh his need to be with her. "Really, it's better this way."
They walked along, hand in hand, discussing each of their days, talking comfortably about nothing, and occasionally bantering back and forth. They pointedly avoided his impromptu meeting with her brothers; they had both been expecting something like that to happen. She was only too glad that she hadn't received a howler yet from her mum. And given the odds, he managed to fare pretty well.
Arriving in the hallway where they had shared tea laced with Veritaserum over a month ago, Draco suggested casually, "Fancy a snack? We're right by the kitchens, near our favorite spot," he added, pointing to the small, partially secluded space they had sat in the last time they were here. He added with amused sarcasm, "Looks like our table is available, too."
"Yes, I'm starving," she consented. "Luna and I had to finish a joint project this evening, so I had a very early dinner."
He sighed. "Yes, I didn't see you down at the Great Hall. I had hoped you were getting ready for our late-night rendezvous . . . which apparently you knew nothing about," he sulked.
Ginny tutted, "Now, don't be too upset with my brothers. They mean well, and at least you still have all your body parts -- don't you?" She suddenly reached inside his robes, apparently to check for damages; she knew the twins and their warped sense of humor far too well to trust her eyes. She dipped her hand lower, the brazen act eliciting a moan from him, then she declared with assurity, "Well, everything seems to be in order." She stepped away then sidled into their semi-private nook and looked back, silently beckoning him to follow her. He did. Closing the distance between them, he leaned in and kissed her. He pulled away slightly then immersed his fingers into her magnificent hair, wrapping it around his face, inhaling its scent deeply, and relishing the silky feel of it.
Draco had always made fun of the Weasley hair because his parents had taught him it signified poverty. But hers was different; its texture, shade, and thickness were so very rich. He had adored it since the first time he laid eyes on her, even though he would never admit it to anyone, not even her. Still, she knew -- it was pretty obvious, since nearly every time he kissed her while weaving his hands through it, he ended up with a boner.
He thought back to that day at Flourish and Blott's years ago, and how even then, his fingers had itched to touch her exquisite coppery locks. Knowing that he would never be permitted to lay a hand on them and that Potter would -- it was so unfair. The very thought that Potter could get everything he wanted, even things he didn't want . . it made Draco sick, nearly as much as the idea that he himself actually craved to touch a Weasley's hair. So, in the book shop, and then again on Valentine's Day the following February, he did the only thing he could to justify it in his own mind: He used her admiration of The Boy Who Lived to belittle and embarrass her.
Since she was a Weasley, he'd always believed that the only emotion she had ever instilled in him was pure and intense hatred. Now he wondered if he had actually been feeling something else and was trying desperately to suppress it. If only he had known what feelings he would later stir in her heart, things might have been different in the ensuing years.
He soon put all that behind him and refocused on the present. She was here. She was real. She was his.
"I . . I . . . don't—" she stammered, as if his ministrations were all of a sudden bothering her.
Draco was puzzled. She seemed to be game for this a moment ago. Desperately wishing for her to carry this one step -- or perhaps two steps -- further, he said romantically, "What is it, darling? Is anything wrong?"
Looking past him, she withdrew her hand and pointed, whispering, "What's he doing here?"
"Who?" he asked, mildly irritated at whoever was interrupting what was bound to end up as something wonderful. Turning around to see who she was looking at, he asked, "That repulsive house-elf? The repugnant little bugger with the huge nose?"
"Yeah. It's Kreacher," Ginny said without thinking.
He replied slowly, "I think he was one of the Black family's house-elves. I wondered where their servants were now, with the entire family gone, in prison, or in hiding."
She rolled her eyes and laughed, "It's got to be part of Hermione's plan to improve the lives of house-elves everywhere. She calls it 'Second Chance for Displaced House-Elves.' Hogwarts got several over the summer when wizards were arrested for following You-Know-Who." The second the words were out of her mouth, she regretted it, thinking, Oh dear, that includes your father . . ! She murmured, "Sorry. I didn't mean—"
But he seemed not to notice her minor social faux pas or her apology, still focusing on the creepy-looking little fellow that was hanging about the door to the kitchens. "So how do you know Kreacher?" he asked Ginny, still confused. "Have you seen him around here?"
She nodded in reply, clarifying, "Your cousin Tonks pointed him out to me a few days ago."
"Ah, that's right. You know my cousin." He snarled bitterly, "She certainly has made a name for herself around here, hasn't she? Engaged to the school werewolf, of all things!" He shuddered, practically choking on the words. Then he added, "What could possibly be worse? Mother was simply revolted by the idea."
"You've spoken to your mother recently?" Ginny interjected.
"Yes, we exchanged letters. Brief letters, but letters all the same," he said.
"Did Madame Pomfrey's potion help her with . . . whatever it was she needed help with?"
He groaned, "Bloody hell -- I forgot to send it to her!"
"You what?! What if it was something important?"
"Crap, I think it's still in my trunk. I'll send it the moment I get back to my dorm . . " he began but stopped.
Ginny gasped softly, "Quiet! Someone's coming!"
"No one's coming—" he argued.
But she was right once again. Michael Grant and his comrades, Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle, were coming up the hall, moving closer to their hiding spot. Draco and Ginny edged their way back so as not to be seen by the Death-Eaters-in-Training as they headed for the kitchens, apparently intent on late night snacks themselves. After all, one had to assume that preparing for a life of evil would make a young lad hungry.
Draco slumped against Ginny and muttered, "Not again . . "
~End of Chapter~
And there you have it. (I know, I'm a Drama Queen!) :-D
Once Again, Credit Where It's Due: This chapter includes a paraphrase from the movie Clueless. Dan Hedaya as Cher's father says, “Anything happens to my daughter, I got a .45 and a shovel, I doubt anybody would miss you.”
And *thank you,* smprsgrrl and kaerra, for reviewing!
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