Author’s Notes: Thanks again for reading and for the fabulous reviews! I’m so glad to know that someone else likes it besides me. :-D As always, Illana, thank you for being my beta. Your input is appreciated!
One part of this chapter might squick you a little, so here’s fair warning. But it’s just the idea; nothing actually happens. And the chapter title comes from the song by the ever-angsty, terminally unhappy Linkin Park. (Just kiddin’ guys; I actually like a lot of their music.)
CHAPTER 21 – Somewhere I Belong
Ron gaped at Hermione, certain she’d finally gone completely around the bend. He shook his head in disbelief and stammered, “It-it can’t be Blaise Zabini, Hermione -- he, err, he died, remember?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “That’s what Dumbledore wanted everyone to believe. This was all his idea. Blaise Zabini is alive, and he lives in America. Dumbledore chose me as Secret Keeper.”
Neither Harry nor Ron said a word -- nor did they have to. Their looks of disbelief said it all.
She looked at them very seriously and said, “Look, I can assure you that Ginny is safe and that Blaise is not a threat to her. What I can’t figure out, though, is why would Blaise even be at Sirius’s old house?” The three friends alternated between staring at the diary then at one another, trying to make sense of it all.
But Harry… he wasn’t buying any of it.
He simply couldn’t fathom why their Headmaster, the greatest sorcerer in the world and the wisest man he knew, had actually endorsed something as foolhardy as faking a student’s death. Not just a death, a suicide! And yet it was all an elaborate, well-planned ruse!
“I can’t believe,” Harry ranted, “that Professor Dumbledore would be involved in such a farce… And you, Hermione! How could you lie to me -- to Ron? You’re supposed to be our best friend!”
“Harry,” she insisted, “that has nothing to do with it.”
He snapped at her, “Oh, really?”
“Yes, you had no right, or need to know!”
“So you never saw fit to tell us about any of this?” he went on.
“Why should I have? You’re just annoyed that you weren’t ‘in the loop’, like last summer!” she shot back angrily.
In the midst of their disagreement, Ron emerged as the voice of reason, saying in a placid tone, “Guys, we really need to figure out what we can do to help Ginny.”
“Of course -- you’re right, Ron,” Hermione snipped. She glowered at Harry, who held back an acrid remark.
Refocusing, she pressed on, asking them, “Now, why do you suppose Ginny and Draco would simply. . show up, where Blaise just happens to be, at the exact same time? I mean -- why Number 12 Grimmauld Place?”
On that front, anyway, the friends were unanimous: none of them had a clue.
“Well, maybe if we knew why Zabini was there in the first place—” Ron began, only to be cut off in mid-sentence by a new arrival to the hospital wing.
“I may be able to shed some light on that subject, Mr. Weasley.” It was the old Headmaster himself. “He is at Number 12 Grimmauld Place this evening because he is waiting for me. I’m going to take him to see his great-grandmother -- who is, coincidentally, a very old friend of mine,” he added with a wistful smile.
Then pointing a long, crooked finger at Harry and Ron, he said, “As for why Miss Granger can see him but neither of you can -- you are not friends of his. As his secret keeper, she can see him, despite the Disillusionment Charm.”
“But Hermione,” Ron interjected, “why were you chosen as Blaise Zabini’s Secret Keeper? Why not someone from Slytherin, like Draco Malfoy?”
Professor Dumbledore answered him, “It’s quite simple, Mr. Weasley. I asked her to. Miss Granger was in my office seeking some career counseling the day that Mr. Zabini stopped by, quite unexpectedly, pleading desperately for my help. Given his situation, her advanced magical abilities, and the fact that his enemies would never suspect her, she seemed an excellent choice.”
“His situation, sir?” Harry asked, his voice on the edge of sounding terse. “What do you mean?”
“For months now, Blaise has had an American girlfriend that he claimed was a pureblood witch. But he knew she was actually a muggle. When some of his housemates found out, it didn’t set too well with them or their families. He has been in hiding ever since.
“What completely baffles me, however, is why Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasley would have been sent there, rather than here, just when Blaise was waiting for me to contact him,” Dumbledore added, perplexed.
After pausing a moment or two, he remarked casually, “It may be merely a coincidence. But if it is, then it is a most curious one. At any rate, once I’ve had Mr. Filch check the Floo system for a possible breach, I shall see to it they make it back safely. Good night, all.”
And as if that settled the matter entirely, he left the room.
*****
Blaise was bored out of his ever-loving mind. This tedious waiting for Dumbledore -- it got so old. He was starting to get edgy, and he ground his teeth irritably.
Out of pure boredom, he raised his hand, and even though he could not see it, he dropped it back down to the arm of the chair with a dull ‘thud’, repeating the action over and over. Raise. Drop. Raise. Drop. It felt weird, hearing and feeling his arm make physical contact with the furniture, but not actually seeing it do so. Mad-Eye Moody’s Disillusionment Charm appeared to be ironclad, even if the man’s grip on reality wasn’t.
The sound of a bird singing and flapping its great wings gently awoke the boy from his dull stupor. On seeing Professor Dumbledore’s pet phoenix fly into the room, he exclaimed, “Fawkes!”
He grasped the note from the bird’s talons and muttered, “At last, some bloody news…” Fawkes vanished as quickly as he had arrived. Meanwhile, Blaise broke the sealing wax and read the old man’s brief apology:
So sorry, got delayed. Have a look around the place, if you like -- it’s quite old and very interesting, but be careful what you touch. See you soon.
“No, thanks -- did that already,” Blaise grumbled as he rubbed his right wrist, remembering the spot where a doxy had nearly bitten him. Fortunately, he was faster and Stunned the damned thing.
As always, Dumbledore’s note evaporated a few seconds later. The impatient teen breathed a heavy sigh; the old coot was a half-hour late as it was!
He stretched and yawned, checking the clock on the wall. Gods, hiding out was such a drag! How did Sirius Black ever manage it for nearly two whole years without going completely stir-crazy?
On hearing a rather loud noise downstairs followed closely by another, the poor boy’s heart nearly stopped. Dumbledore couldn’t have come so soon, he surmised. He swallowed nervously, and his mind quickly ran through his extremely limited options of what he should do.
1. Go see who it is. Hope they’re friendly and can’t see through Disillusionment Charms.
2. Pretend that that last loud ‘bump’ was just Fawkes flying into the wall.
3. Hide in the wardrobe in the next room and pay that pesky boggart no mind.
4. Wait here and see what happens.
Very limited options, indeed.
While he fretted about what to do, he listened and was soon rewarded with soft voices. Well, there were at least two of them, and they sounded… young, much too young to be Death Eaters. Still, what if they were children of Death Eaters? Theodore Nott, Adrian Pucey, Millicent Bulstrode… all of them had family connections with the Dark Lord. But if that were the case, how could any of them have found this sanctuary known as Number Twelve Grimmauld Place?
Blaise convinced himself that whoever these people were, they were most likely on Dumbledore’s side. He slowly crept downstairs as quietly as possible, carefully avoiding the fifth step from the top, which had creaked noisily the last three times he had traveled this way.
When he heard the boy speak again, his heart soared.
Draco!
Blaise was elated; he wasn’t alone, and his best friend in the world was here with him. How he had longed to see him, talk with him, tell him about life in the United States… But wait -- who was that girl with him?
Come to think of it, how did he know for certain that it was Draco and not someone else in disguise?
Although practically invisible, Blaise instinctively backed up next to the wall. As a refugee and a pupil of Albus Dumbledore, he had learned many things about caution and who to trust. And as a Slytherin, he knew that one had to be 100% certain that the person you trust is actually who you think they are.
“Constant vigilance!” he thought, recalling Mad-Eye Moody’s mantra. Mad-Eye, indeed; more like Mad-Brain.
He soon reached the lowest level of the house, its basement kitchen, treading carefully so as not to alert them to his presence. In the very faint light, this boy certainly looked like Draco; it even sounded like him.
Yet Blaise was troubled; what the hell was Draco doing with… King Weasley’s sister? Then he released a slight gasp and blinked in disbelief.
Why the bloody hell is he putting his arm around her? And why is he looking at her like that? Did he just touch -- no, caress -- her hair?
When he and the girl kissed, Blaise knew for sure that this couldn’t be his best friend. Still, he couldn’t quell his doubts. He had so wanted for it to be him…
He told himself, But it sounds just like him. How can I find out for sure?
With a smirk on his lips, he reached into his robes and took out some parchment and a muggle pen. (Handy invention, pens, he thought.) He removed the cap and wrote down a few words. While Draco and Ginny were discussing exactly where fate had landed them, Blaise surreptitiously dropped his note. Using his wand, he flipped it face up then slid it toward the spot where Ginny was standing.
“Wherever we are, we do seem to be alone,” she observed. Then she murmured, “Lumos.”
She seemed not to notice the note at first, as she overstepped it four times while pacing the floor nervously in small circles. Suddenly, her eyes lit up as she cried out, “Draco, I know where we are, and we’re going to be all right! We’re at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!”
Draco, still mildly distracted by the fact that they were not at the hospital wing, asked dumbly, “Where? Is it your house?”
“No, silly,” she laughed, “it’s yours. Well, it might as well be -- it belonged to some of your mother’s relatives.”
She turned around quickly, anxious to have a look at the place. That was when she noticed the slip of parchment at her feet. Since they were standing in the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix and were obviously safe, she shrugged and bent down to pick it up. She read silently then smirked to herself.
“Draco, truth or dare?”
He snorted, “At a time like this, you say, ‘Truth or Dare’? What is wrong with you, woman?!” She only raised her eyebrows in response. He sighed. “Oh, all right -- if you insist. Truth.”
“Afraid of a dare?” she teased.
“Are you serious? In this weird, fucked-up old house? Hell, yes, I am!”
With a wicked grin, she asked him, “Who was the only boy you ever kissed?”
Ginny knew the answer -- the forced confession he’d made when they were both under Veritaserum that night, all those weeks ago, rung in her ears. Frankly, she wondered if he would ever admit it again.
He groaned, “You bloody well know the answer to that. I told you once -- it was Blaise. Now don’t ask me again! Ever!”
A loud sigh of relief escaped from invisible lips. “Thank you, Miss Weasley!” a joyful, disembodied voice nearly shouted. “Oh, Draco, it really is you!! That Dumbledore’s a miracle worker!”
The blond was startled. After all, he couldn’t see anyone, and it sounded like his friend -- the one who had died. But how could it be?
“Blaise?” he asked nervously, “are you a… a ghost now? Do you haunt this place?”
“Errr, not exactly,” Blaise replied tentatively. “Say, do either of you know how to undo a Disillusionment Charm?”
Ginny and Draco exchanged glances then she chuckled, “Come over here.”
Blaise quickly closed the distance between them and took her hand to guide her. With the back-end of her wand, she struck him on the head from behind -- not too gently, but not hurting him either.
As the Charm began to melt away, Blaise shuddered slightly as he felt the familiar warm ooze trickle down his back; his body gradually became more and more visible to them -- and most importantly, his eyes. On seeing them, Draco and Ginny both felt a rush of memories flood their minds. They had been in the Headmaster’s office, just after the funeral . . .
Draco was ecstatic. It was far too much to hope for: Blaise, alive and well, living in America with his girlfriend and her family. He had to fight to keep his tears from falling again, and Ginny instinctively took him into her arms. He hugged her fiercely and wept with joy into her soft, ginger hair. She stroked his hair tenderly and cooed gentle words of comfort and reassurance.
After several minutes, he looked up and wiped his eyes. “So what happens now?”
“Now,” Professor Snape said, “comes the difficult part. This hurts me more than I can say. You both need to have your memories modified.”
“What?!!” Draco shouted. “You can’t take this from me! This is Blaise we’re talking about -- he’s the closest thing I have to a brother!”
Professor Snape argued, “Believe me when I say it’s for his safety. And yours. Your close friendship is exactly the reason you were not chosen to be his Secret Keeper.”
Ginny asked harshly, “So Draco and I will believe that Blaise is -- really dead?” The she sobbed quietly, “This is so wrong. How could you?”
“No, Miss Weasley,” Professor Dumbledore assured her. “You will both know in your hearts that he is all right, just as you know now. What you cannot have any memory of is the circumstances -- not until you see him again. When your eyes meet his, the memories will be restored to you.”
And suddenly, just like Dumbledore had said they would, they knew. Both of them remembered everything. The fake suicide. The funeral that was a farce. The fact that Blaise Zabini was alive.
Draco was euphoric, feeling joy like he had not felt in ages. “Blaise,” he whispered excitedly, not taking his eyes off of him. When they finally broke eye contact, the two friends embraced one another jubilantly, then stepped back to take a good, long look at one another.
Practically beaming, Draco said, “I can’t tell you how great it is to see you. I suppose you know Ginny. She came with me to your ‘funeral’.” Eyeing her with a wry smile, he added cockily, “She’s wild about me.”
Ginny bit her lip as she blushed and rolled her eyes. Blaise noticed that she didn’t deny it, though.
“That’s great, man.” Blaise said, grinning from ear to ear. “Me and Marianne, we’re still together, and it just keeps getting better. Really, I couldn’t be happier, unless -- well, unless I could go back to Hogwarts . . . I do miss England,” he remarked with a sad smile.
The three of them joked around a bit, laughing nervously at first, unsure what to say at this odd, unexpected meeting. When the conversation took its inevitable lull, Ginny stirred it up again. She asked Blaise, “So, anyway -- what are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s a rather long story. Suffice it to say that I’m waiting for Dumbledore to pick me up and take me to visit Grandmamma Zabini. You know, the one who ‘allegedly’ sent me that ruddy mirror,” he remarked to Draco.
“Yes, about that goddamn mirror,” his friend sneered, “what were you thinking, you arrogant, self-centered prig? I should kick your arse for the stunt you pulled . . . the grief and agony you put me through! Don’t misunderstand; I’m quite grateful you’re here, of course. But was it absolutely necessary?”
Blaise was silent; there was really nothing he could say to make up for the pain he’d caused. It was one time he couldn’t just wave his wand and ‘make it all better’.
Getting no response, Draco went on angrily. “You know I love you, like you were my own brother. And losing you -- it really hurt! So why’d you fucking do it?”
His friend winced slightly; he knew he had a lot to explain. “Well,” he hedged then laughed nervously. “As much as I was hoping desperately for this to happen someday . . well, now that it actually is -- I realize that I’ve been rather dreading it, too.”
He paused briefly then sighed once more. “I got the mirror on a Saturday. You remember, it was a Hogsmeade Weekend, the 12th of October. After I looked in it and said Marianne’s name, and saw a stranger’s face staring back -- a note fell out of the package.”
His eyes met Draco’s. “It was a Howler -- in a voice I knew far too well to simply ignore . . . ”
*****
Saturday, October 12 (Slytherin Sixth-Year Boys’ Dormitory)
The very idea that Marianne had been unfaithful to him caused Blaise’s heart to ache with pain. The cruel manner in which he was told -- by Grandmamma, no less! -- had made it all the worse. It was a crushing blow. Sobbing gently, he picked up the unopened Howler, considering it carefully.
“The mirror wasn’t enough?” he asked bitterly.
He cast a Silencing Charm, just in case any of the others got back early or if Draco came down. He broke the seal gingerly and waited -- anything to make him forget what he had seen, even harsh words from Grandmamma, seemed better.
Maybe he deserved them.
But it was a man’s, one he knew immediately: Draco’s father. It wasn’t loud, or screaming, but it was damning all the same. He cut right to the chase -- and deep into Blaise’s heart.
“Blaise Zabini,” came the haughty, authoritative voice.
“I have known you for so long, you are like a son to me. I am sorry, but I felt it was my duty, however painful, to show you what your muggle lover does when you are not with her. Don’t feel badly; they all do. They know nothing of loyalty.
“The reasons I share this with you are twofold. One, I hate to see a fellow pureblood wizard be made a fool of, especially at the hands of a muggle. Nothing disgusts me more.
“Two, your friendship with Draco and your influence on him could have become far too important to him. If my only son were to follow your example -- I ask you, what would become of the Malfoy line?
“You are better off without her. Break it off now, before it goes too far. If you do not, I cannot guarantee her safety or that of her family.
“You are a pureblood wizard, Blaise Zabini. Never forget that. Consider carefully what you do.”
The note ripped itself into tiny shreds, which disappeared before they could reach the floor.
Blaise was livid. Seeing another man’s face in the Fidelity Mirror had made him feel physically ill. He felt jealous, betrayed, angry -- but even more so, he hated Draco’s father for sending the mirror and this blasted note.
He was certain of one thing, though: he had to act. He couldn’t let them hurt Marianne, but neither could he give her up. Tears welled up in his eyes once more, his mind racing . . ‘No, Marianne does love me -- she would never do that! It’s not true. The . . . mirror, it must be fake—’
“I won’t let her go,” he said to the empty room.
Mulling over what his professors and Madam Pomfrey had discussed, he remedied the situation by drinking the potion and effectively removing himself from the equation.
*****
He concluded, “And that was when I took the potion. Sorry to worry you, mate. It wasn’t intentional.”
But Draco couldn’t stay angry at his friend. Instead, he was more disappointed in his father. He wasn’t even that upset, really -- just dismayed.
“So,” Draco asked him, “what do your parents think?”
“About what?”
“Do they know you’re not really . . . you know, dead?”
“No, they still believe it,” Blaise confessed. “They’re too close to the wrong people.”
“Aren’t they upset?” Draco asked, sounding shocked.
“Not so far as I could tell. Dumbledore must have put a Charm on them -- like with you, I suppose.”
Longing to change the subject to something less morose, Blaise offered, “Say, how about I show you two around the place? Just be careful; there seem to be a few doxies about, and I could have sworn there was a boggart rattling around in a wardrobe upstairs.” They set off to explore the upper levels of the house.
“Sure,” Ginny readily agreed.
“Wait till you see these revolting, shrunken house-elves’ heads,” Blaise continued. “Got ‘em mounted like trophies.”
Feigning disgust mingled with curiosity, she cringed. “You’re joking, right?” When he insisted he wasn’t, she added, “Ewww!”
As they trod up the stairs from the basement to the ground floor, Draco asked her, “Hey, Gin, have you been here before?”
“No,” she lied easily. “Why?”
He shrugged, “No reason. Just wondering how you recognized it earlier.”
“Oh. Well, Harry spent his winter holidays here last year. He took pictures of it with a muggle camera and then brought them back to school.” Ginny told herself, Damn, you’re getting good at this; maybe you do have a future as an Auror.
Taking care to steer clear of the draperies where he had narrowly escaped the sharp, venomous teeth of that sodding doxy, Blaise pointed out a number of oddities, including a set of long, moth-eaten velvet drapes. Ginny tiptoed past them cautiously, knowing that Mrs. Black’s portrait was hidden behind them. Draco thought it odd, the way she maneuvered past them -- after all, they were just a pair of old drapes -- but he kept his comments to himself.
Climbing the steps, they looked at the line of repugnant heads of the late house-elves who had served the Blacks for generations. They all agreed vehemently that they were absolutely repulsive.
When the three of them arrived at the upper level, Ginny remembered the Black family tapestry -- and apparently, forgot herself. She grabbed Draco’s hand and practically dragged him ran into the room where it was. She squealed, “Oooh, Draco, you’ve got to see this! Your name is on it!”
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and drawled, “Really?”
“Yes,” she blurted out, “that’s how I knew the house was in your family, that your mum was related to Sirius, and—”
Then she stopped.
“And how would you know about all that? Did Potter share that little bit of gossip with you as he gazed into your eyes, telling you all about his enchanting little winter visit with his godfather, known murderer and fugitive, Sirius Black?” A smug look crossed his face.
Realizing she was caught, she admitted with frustration, “All right -- I have been here. So what? And yes, I was with Harry, and my family; all of them except Percy.”
“Vacationing with Potter? How convenient,” he glared at her jealously. “Did you and ‘Harry’ sleep in the same room?”
She gasped, “What sort of girl do you take me for? You know I was a virgin when we—”
Blushing furiously, she suddenly remembered they weren’t entirely alone. Blaise looked around rather awkwardly as he tried to back away from the bickering couple. He grinned sheepishly and said, “Hey, don’t mind me -- just pretend I’m not here.”
Ginny seemed to turn even redder than her hair. She stamped her foot, and fuming, marched out the door.
Draco snickered, “I just love ‘getting’ her -- she’s so cute when she’s miffed, and she’s so easy to get riled. I knew she was lying about never having been here before.”
“Aren’t you going to check on her? Maybe apologize?”
“No, she’ll be back. She can’t Floo out of here, can she? Unless she has an emergency supply in her pockets.”
Blaise smiled comfortably and sighed. At least some things haven’t changed.
He turned his gaze to the elegant tapestry. “Say, she was right; you are on here, mate.”
As the two old friends examined the tapestry, they talked as easily as they always had, almost as if they’d never been apart. They anxiously told each other what had been going on since that fateful day last October. Blaise talked about what he had learned in America, muggle inventions he couldn’t live without, and the different subjects they studied in their magical schools. One of the main subjects, in fact, a requirement for all seven years in American wizarding schools, was Muggle Studies.
He said, “So far, my class has dealt mostly with what to do if you meet a muggle who has a gun -- they’re legal there, you know.”
When Draco took his turn, he told him about Michael Grant, the strange goings-on with his mother and the UCD-I potion, and what it felt like for him to be in love and to be loved.
As his friend talked, Blaise realized, Come to think of it, things have changed radically since we parted.
*****
Ginny snorted. She didn’t care what Blaise thought, anyway.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. But why did Draco have to embarrass her, or catch her in that stupid lie, or make her admit that she had lost her virginity to him . . ? And all of it, in front of his best friend!
Blowing out a frustrated breath, she sulked in silence. She told herself, Don’t know why I care if he knows about me and Draco, anyway. What does it matter that they’re probably talking about us, right now?
She stood in the hallway, lurking just outside the same bedroom she and Hermione had shared every time they’d stayed there. From there, she could barely hear either one of the young Slytherins, but it seemed that they had long since stopped talking about her. Not wishing to interrupt them, though, she listened patiently for an opportune moment to return -- and for the remainder of her embarrassment to subside.
Suddenly, she felt inexplicably nervous, as if someone were nearby or slipping up on her. Then a small, unassuming voice whispered, “Mrs. LeStrange?” After a brief silence, it hissed, “Is that you, Missus? Kreacher has come, as he promised.”
Ginny listened in disbelief as the foul, little house-elf called out for his late mistress’s niece, the nefarious Bellatrix LeStrange.
Why is he here? And why does he think that Bellatrix would be here, too? Surely, he must know she’s at Azkaban.
Out of morbid curiosity, and wishing to protect Draco and Blaise, she left the sanctuary of the upstairs hallway. She followed the sound of his voice to the ground floor. Her heart was thumping loudly, yet she managed to sound relatively calm when she found him and said, “Kreacher?”
The house-elf looked at Ginny, focusing intently on her face. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open as he stared at her mutely. Then he said something that she could barely comprehend.
“Mrs. LeStrange,” he asked eagerly, “it is you, isn’t it, milady? Is Mr. Grant gone, and did Missus trap the vile daughter of those . . nasty red-haired freaks in her Soul Window, just like Missus wanted?”
So that was their plan! she thought, trying to keep the utter horror from reaching her face.
Could that be -- why we’re here?
Thinking quickly, she forced a wicked smirk and gave a slight nod of her head. “Yes, it’s me, Bellatrix,” she lied smoothly.
“It’s uncanny; Missus has even taken on the brat’s demeanor.” Clearly awed, Kreacher rubbed his hands together as he whispered in barely-contained excitement, “Young Master Malfoy will never know.”
Ginny found it difficult not to choke when she heard those words. And she chose her next ones very carefully.
“No, he won’t. Michael Grant is dead, and that Weasley whore is safely hidden inside my mirror. And now . . ” She stopped to give him a malevolent smile then whispered, “We move on with our plan.”
Kreacher’s eyes lit up. He was practically salivating at the thought. A most cooperative servant, he was quite eager to help. “Yes, ma’am. Young Master Malfoy is here, isn’t he?”
“Of course he is, you ignorant twat!” she hissed in her most Bella-like manner.
There was only one slight problem, that being that Ginny had no clue what this ‘plan’ of theirs actually was. But she was getting an idea that would make that little detail inconsequential.
“You do understand the plan, don’t you, you imbecile?” she barked at him. He nodded, and she ordered, “Then explain your view of it -- just to make sure you ‘get it’.”
The elf, anxious to show his loyalty to his late mistress’s favorite niece, blathered more rapidly than Ginny had ever heard him speak before. “First, Missus puts Miss Weasley’s soul into the Soul Window and takes over her body. Over time, the new ‘Miss Weasley’ is gradually taken in by the Dark Lord and convinces young Master Malfoy to follow him as well -- even refusing to sleep with the boy until he agrees.
“Meanwhile, Missus coerces the real Miss Weasley to tell her family’s secrets… passwords to charms and wards that protect her family and others who support Dumbledore, threatening to ‘forget’ to use the Pregnancy Prevention Charm and to tell young Master Malfoy that she doesn’t really love him; she only sleeps with him for his power and his money.”
Ginny was horrified. But he wasn’t finished yet.
“Then Missus returns to her Master, triumphant, young Master Malfoy ensnared and enthralled by ‘Miss Weasley’… who, when released from the Soul Window, will do anything to protect her family from the Dark Lord -- even join him willingly,” he concluded proudly, nearly out of breath with excitement. “He will be so proud of Missus.”
Ginny had never seen him so happy, nor had she ever felt so intimidated by a house-elf. Her mouth fell open into a slight ‘O’ at the audacity of the woman whose evil mind could conjure such a devious plan, much less intend to spring such a trap on her own nephew -- even engage in incest, if necessary.
She didn’t know how she kept from vomiting all over the little freak.
Remembering her role, she wrinkled her nose and said coldly, “Hmmm, you seem to have the gist of it. Let’s not waste any time.”
“Yes, yes -- must go further down the stairs, so Master Malfoy cannot hear us.”
When they reached Mrs. Black’s portrait, Ginny was taken slightly aback, as the curtains were now open, and the lady within the painting sneered at her with disdain. “What is that piece of trash doing in my house?!” She shrieked, “I told you to get rid of them, Kreacher -- all of them!”
The elf recoiled slightly and bowed, saying as respectfully as possible, “Begging pardon most humbly, Mistress, but this -- this is your niece, Bellatrix. She is only borrowing the Weasley girl’s body to sway Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa’s boy to join their noble cause.”
The former lady of the house looked down her nose and passed judgment on her. “Well, good luck, darling. That boy has been the bane of his parents’ existence since he was born. It’s all your sister’s fault, you know; she’s way too easy on him. Always has been.”
The redhead nodded and did her best to fake a devious laugh. Mrs. Black seemed pleased, as she added confidentially, “And Trixie, just between you, me, and the house-elf -- Lucius should have married you. The biggest mistake he ever made was breaking up with you after he met Cissy.”
On hearing the Black sisters called by their pet names, Ginny suddenly realized that she didn’t even know Mrs. Black’s first name. What should I call her? Her niece wouldn’t call her ‘Mrs. Black’, and ‘Aunt Black’ sounds a little too -- 18th century.
Inspiration struck her.
“Yes, Auntie,” she agreed, “it was foolish of him.”
“Trixie! You haven’t called me that in years, not since you were a girl! It warms my heart to know you still think of me with affection.” Ginny thought the miserable old woman in the portrait might actually . . . cry.
“Of course, I do. But Auntie, I need to go -- we have a task to complete.”
“I understand, my dear. Goodbye, then.” As an afterthought, Mrs. Black called to her, “Trixie, would you mind drawing the curtains? I’m feeling a bit tired.” Ginny complied, giving the woman a smile, one that was as sincere and loving as she could muster, reminding herself a little bit of Professor Umbridge. The young witch and the elf turned to go.
Following after Kreacher, she walked down the main hallway, heading for -- Ginny really didn’t know where. The basement kitchen, perhaps, since it had a large table?
Then without warning, a pair of strong hands reached out from the darkness and grabbed her, startling her half to death. She screamed reflexively. Arms were soon flung about her waist, pulling her into the shadows and close to a figure that was tall and slender yet slightly muscular. She shuddered as a thrill coursed through her; she loved the feel of his body pressed against hers.
“Draco, you arsehole -- you frightened me!” she squealed. “Let me go this instant!”
But instead of releasing her, a hand went over her mouth, stifling another scream. A wand was placed roughly at the base of her throat; she had a sinking feeling that she was about to be killed mercilessly. When a cruel voice panted in her ear, “Guess again, you muggle-loving slut,” she was certain of it.
Kreacher looked on, utterly horror-struck. He fell to his knees as he begged, “No, Master Malfoy, no!!! It is your sister-in-law, Mrs. LeStrange!”
Lucius glared at the elf with severe loathing. “It certainly is not, you contemptible fool!”
Ginny swallowed nervously. The jig was up . . or so it seemed. She watched the distraught house-elf as he struggled to comprehend what Mr. Malfoy had just said. She had never seen worry or fear in Kreacher’s eyes before, but now -- she saw both.
Still, as if by merely saying it, he could make it true, the loyal servant insisted adamantly, “But she is Bella, sir, she must be—”
Lucius Malfoy’s next words sent terror into his black heart. “Your precious Bella is now in Azkaban -- thanks to my ungrateful son and this trollop!”
*****
“And then—” Blaise said, unable to stop cackling long enough to finish, “and then, he says, ‘You don’t bewieve I have a fwiend named Biggus Dickus?’ And all the centurions are rolling on the floor laughing! I’m telling you, those guys are the funniest muggles ever!” Blaise was laughing so hard that he could barely breathe, and Draco had a stitch in his side. He groaned and placed a hand on his aching ribs. Both of them rubbed the tears out of their eyes. Neither of them had laughed like that in months.
Shortly after the laughter died down, they heard a shriek from downstairs. Draco looked around nervously.
He whispered, “Did you hear that?”
“Must have been Ginny,” Blaise shrugged. “I’ll bet she found that boggart. Or Dumbledore got here. Suppose we ought to go and see?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They stood up and headed for the stairs. As they reached the last stair, Draco stopped dead in his tracks for no apparent reason, and his expression hardened.
Slightly alarmed, Blaise looked at him and asked cautiously, “You all right, mate?”
He was anything but.
Draco dropped to his knees as tears surged from his squinted grey eyes. He felt pain grip his head like it never had before. Hot, white pain, impossible to endure, worse than any kind he’d ever known; even Cruciatus hadn’t been this bad. Somehow, this was far more . . intense.
Blaise called his name, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he fell down and was soon lying prone on the floor, writhing in anguish. He released an involuntary scream.
“Draco!” Blaise cried. “What’s wrong? What’s happening to you?”
“I don’t know,” he wheezed, his eyes shut tight, his face contorted in agony. “I feel like my head is being crushed in a vice—”
He sobbed and curled into a tight ball. His friend knelt at his side.
“Ginny—” Draco gasped, “Blaise, get Ginny and get out! Take the Knight Bus! GO!!” Then he blacked out.
“Bloody hell,” Blaise muttered.
Suddenly, a loud BANG! startled Blaise and sent a shock of fear down to his very core. His heart pounding madly, he jumped to his feet and looked around the dimly-lit anteroom. He raised his wand and shouted, “Lumos!”, pointing it in the direction he thought the sound had come from.
When he saw it was only Ginny, he lowered it and sighed in relief. But she seemed a bit strange; she had a rather dazed look in her eyes, and her hair seemed to shine, like she a halo or bright light was glowing behind her.
A few seconds later, Draco came to again. He opened his eyes and blinked them to focus. He looked up and whispered, “Ginny?”
An invisible force thrust her forward. She stumbled and fell to the floor, landing flat on her back, not far from Draco. When her head struck the ground with a dull thump, she released a painful groan. As she lay sprawled out on the floor, her hand clutched her forehead. Both boys could see a patch of thick blood oozing from her hairline. They looked at her in utter disbelief and horror.
From the shadows where she’d been standing, there came a silky, smooth voice that drawled lazily, “Hello, boys -- looking for this?!”
~End of Chapter~
Notes: I know, absolutely terrible place to end it, but if I had gone on, the chapter would be over 10,000 words. I promise, more in a few weeks - ! Meanwhile, please review (your reviews inspire me . . . !). :-D
The bit about Draco and Blaise having kissed before was mentioned in a higher-rated outtake from Chapter 8. They were drunk and ‘experimenting’ -- but it didn’t go beyond kissing. (That’s all the slash this fic will have.)
In the Credit Where it’s Due Department: The lines Blaise quotes when he and Draco are laughing (a fwiend named Biggus Dickus) are from Monty Python’s film, “The Life of Brian.” I thought that Python fans would appreciate it! And yes, those guys are brilliant.
Please review -- thanks!
One part of this chapter might squick you a little, so here’s fair warning. But it’s just the idea; nothing actually happens. And the chapter title comes from the song by the ever-angsty, terminally unhappy Linkin Park. (Just kiddin’ guys; I actually like a lot of their music.)
CHAPTER 21 – Somewhere I Belong
Ron gaped at Hermione, certain she’d finally gone completely around the bend. He shook his head in disbelief and stammered, “It-it can’t be Blaise Zabini, Hermione -- he, err, he died, remember?”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “That’s what Dumbledore wanted everyone to believe. This was all his idea. Blaise Zabini is alive, and he lives in America. Dumbledore chose me as Secret Keeper.”
Neither Harry nor Ron said a word -- nor did they have to. Their looks of disbelief said it all.
She looked at them very seriously and said, “Look, I can assure you that Ginny is safe and that Blaise is not a threat to her. What I can’t figure out, though, is why would Blaise even be at Sirius’s old house?” The three friends alternated between staring at the diary then at one another, trying to make sense of it all.
But Harry… he wasn’t buying any of it.
He simply couldn’t fathom why their Headmaster, the greatest sorcerer in the world and the wisest man he knew, had actually endorsed something as foolhardy as faking a student’s death. Not just a death, a suicide! And yet it was all an elaborate, well-planned ruse!
“I can’t believe,” Harry ranted, “that Professor Dumbledore would be involved in such a farce… And you, Hermione! How could you lie to me -- to Ron? You’re supposed to be our best friend!”
“Harry,” she insisted, “that has nothing to do with it.”
He snapped at her, “Oh, really?”
“Yes, you had no right, or need to know!”
“So you never saw fit to tell us about any of this?” he went on.
“Why should I have? You’re just annoyed that you weren’t ‘in the loop’, like last summer!” she shot back angrily.
In the midst of their disagreement, Ron emerged as the voice of reason, saying in a placid tone, “Guys, we really need to figure out what we can do to help Ginny.”
“Of course -- you’re right, Ron,” Hermione snipped. She glowered at Harry, who held back an acrid remark.
Refocusing, she pressed on, asking them, “Now, why do you suppose Ginny and Draco would simply. . show up, where Blaise just happens to be, at the exact same time? I mean -- why Number 12 Grimmauld Place?”
On that front, anyway, the friends were unanimous: none of them had a clue.
“Well, maybe if we knew why Zabini was there in the first place—” Ron began, only to be cut off in mid-sentence by a new arrival to the hospital wing.
“I may be able to shed some light on that subject, Mr. Weasley.” It was the old Headmaster himself. “He is at Number 12 Grimmauld Place this evening because he is waiting for me. I’m going to take him to see his great-grandmother -- who is, coincidentally, a very old friend of mine,” he added with a wistful smile.
Then pointing a long, crooked finger at Harry and Ron, he said, “As for why Miss Granger can see him but neither of you can -- you are not friends of his. As his secret keeper, she can see him, despite the Disillusionment Charm.”
“But Hermione,” Ron interjected, “why were you chosen as Blaise Zabini’s Secret Keeper? Why not someone from Slytherin, like Draco Malfoy?”
Professor Dumbledore answered him, “It’s quite simple, Mr. Weasley. I asked her to. Miss Granger was in my office seeking some career counseling the day that Mr. Zabini stopped by, quite unexpectedly, pleading desperately for my help. Given his situation, her advanced magical abilities, and the fact that his enemies would never suspect her, she seemed an excellent choice.”
“His situation, sir?” Harry asked, his voice on the edge of sounding terse. “What do you mean?”
“For months now, Blaise has had an American girlfriend that he claimed was a pureblood witch. But he knew she was actually a muggle. When some of his housemates found out, it didn’t set too well with them or their families. He has been in hiding ever since.
“What completely baffles me, however, is why Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasley would have been sent there, rather than here, just when Blaise was waiting for me to contact him,” Dumbledore added, perplexed.
After pausing a moment or two, he remarked casually, “It may be merely a coincidence. But if it is, then it is a most curious one. At any rate, once I’ve had Mr. Filch check the Floo system for a possible breach, I shall see to it they make it back safely. Good night, all.”
And as if that settled the matter entirely, he left the room.
Blaise was bored out of his ever-loving mind. This tedious waiting for Dumbledore -- it got so old. He was starting to get edgy, and he ground his teeth irritably.
Out of pure boredom, he raised his hand, and even though he could not see it, he dropped it back down to the arm of the chair with a dull ‘thud’, repeating the action over and over. Raise. Drop. Raise. Drop. It felt weird, hearing and feeling his arm make physical contact with the furniture, but not actually seeing it do so. Mad-Eye Moody’s Disillusionment Charm appeared to be ironclad, even if the man’s grip on reality wasn’t.
The sound of a bird singing and flapping its great wings gently awoke the boy from his dull stupor. On seeing Professor Dumbledore’s pet phoenix fly into the room, he exclaimed, “Fawkes!”
He grasped the note from the bird’s talons and muttered, “At last, some bloody news…” Fawkes vanished as quickly as he had arrived. Meanwhile, Blaise broke the sealing wax and read the old man’s brief apology:
So sorry, got delayed. Have a look around the place, if you like -- it’s quite old and very interesting, but be careful what you touch. See you soon.
“No, thanks -- did that already,” Blaise grumbled as he rubbed his right wrist, remembering the spot where a doxy had nearly bitten him. Fortunately, he was faster and Stunned the damned thing.
As always, Dumbledore’s note evaporated a few seconds later. The impatient teen breathed a heavy sigh; the old coot was a half-hour late as it was!
He stretched and yawned, checking the clock on the wall. Gods, hiding out was such a drag! How did Sirius Black ever manage it for nearly two whole years without going completely stir-crazy?
On hearing a rather loud noise downstairs followed closely by another, the poor boy’s heart nearly stopped. Dumbledore couldn’t have come so soon, he surmised. He swallowed nervously, and his mind quickly ran through his extremely limited options of what he should do.
1. Go see who it is. Hope they’re friendly and can’t see through Disillusionment Charms.
2. Pretend that that last loud ‘bump’ was just Fawkes flying into the wall.
3. Hide in the wardrobe in the next room and pay that pesky boggart no mind.
4. Wait here and see what happens.
Very limited options, indeed.
While he fretted about what to do, he listened and was soon rewarded with soft voices. Well, there were at least two of them, and they sounded… young, much too young to be Death Eaters. Still, what if they were children of Death Eaters? Theodore Nott, Adrian Pucey, Millicent Bulstrode… all of them had family connections with the Dark Lord. But if that were the case, how could any of them have found this sanctuary known as Number Twelve Grimmauld Place?
Blaise convinced himself that whoever these people were, they were most likely on Dumbledore’s side. He slowly crept downstairs as quietly as possible, carefully avoiding the fifth step from the top, which had creaked noisily the last three times he had traveled this way.
When he heard the boy speak again, his heart soared.
Draco!
Blaise was elated; he wasn’t alone, and his best friend in the world was here with him. How he had longed to see him, talk with him, tell him about life in the United States… But wait -- who was that girl with him?
Come to think of it, how did he know for certain that it was Draco and not someone else in disguise?
Although practically invisible, Blaise instinctively backed up next to the wall. As a refugee and a pupil of Albus Dumbledore, he had learned many things about caution and who to trust. And as a Slytherin, he knew that one had to be 100% certain that the person you trust is actually who you think they are.
“Constant vigilance!” he thought, recalling Mad-Eye Moody’s mantra. Mad-Eye, indeed; more like Mad-Brain.
He soon reached the lowest level of the house, its basement kitchen, treading carefully so as not to alert them to his presence. In the very faint light, this boy certainly looked like Draco; it even sounded like him.
Yet Blaise was troubled; what the hell was Draco doing with… King Weasley’s sister? Then he released a slight gasp and blinked in disbelief.
Why the bloody hell is he putting his arm around her? And why is he looking at her like that? Did he just touch -- no, caress -- her hair?
When he and the girl kissed, Blaise knew for sure that this couldn’t be his best friend. Still, he couldn’t quell his doubts. He had so wanted for it to be him…
He told himself, But it sounds just like him. How can I find out for sure?
With a smirk on his lips, he reached into his robes and took out some parchment and a muggle pen. (Handy invention, pens, he thought.) He removed the cap and wrote down a few words. While Draco and Ginny were discussing exactly where fate had landed them, Blaise surreptitiously dropped his note. Using his wand, he flipped it face up then slid it toward the spot where Ginny was standing.
“Wherever we are, we do seem to be alone,” she observed. Then she murmured, “Lumos.”
She seemed not to notice the note at first, as she overstepped it four times while pacing the floor nervously in small circles. Suddenly, her eyes lit up as she cried out, “Draco, I know where we are, and we’re going to be all right! We’re at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!”
Draco, still mildly distracted by the fact that they were not at the hospital wing, asked dumbly, “Where? Is it your house?”
“No, silly,” she laughed, “it’s yours. Well, it might as well be -- it belonged to some of your mother’s relatives.”
She turned around quickly, anxious to have a look at the place. That was when she noticed the slip of parchment at her feet. Since they were standing in the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix and were obviously safe, she shrugged and bent down to pick it up. She read silently then smirked to herself.
“Draco, truth or dare?”
He snorted, “At a time like this, you say, ‘Truth or Dare’? What is wrong with you, woman?!” She only raised her eyebrows in response. He sighed. “Oh, all right -- if you insist. Truth.”
“Afraid of a dare?” she teased.
“Are you serious? In this weird, fucked-up old house? Hell, yes, I am!”
With a wicked grin, she asked him, “Who was the only boy you ever kissed?”
Ginny knew the answer -- the forced confession he’d made when they were both under Veritaserum that night, all those weeks ago, rung in her ears. Frankly, she wondered if he would ever admit it again.
He groaned, “You bloody well know the answer to that. I told you once -- it was Blaise. Now don’t ask me again! Ever!”
A loud sigh of relief escaped from invisible lips. “Thank you, Miss Weasley!” a joyful, disembodied voice nearly shouted. “Oh, Draco, it really is you!! That Dumbledore’s a miracle worker!”
The blond was startled. After all, he couldn’t see anyone, and it sounded like his friend -- the one who had died. But how could it be?
“Blaise?” he asked nervously, “are you a… a ghost now? Do you haunt this place?”
“Errr, not exactly,” Blaise replied tentatively. “Say, do either of you know how to undo a Disillusionment Charm?”
Ginny and Draco exchanged glances then she chuckled, “Come over here.”
Blaise quickly closed the distance between them and took her hand to guide her. With the back-end of her wand, she struck him on the head from behind -- not too gently, but not hurting him either.
As the Charm began to melt away, Blaise shuddered slightly as he felt the familiar warm ooze trickle down his back; his body gradually became more and more visible to them -- and most importantly, his eyes. On seeing them, Draco and Ginny both felt a rush of memories flood their minds. They had been in the Headmaster’s office, just after the funeral . . .
Draco was ecstatic. It was far too much to hope for: Blaise, alive and well, living in America with his girlfriend and her family. He had to fight to keep his tears from falling again, and Ginny instinctively took him into her arms. He hugged her fiercely and wept with joy into her soft, ginger hair. She stroked his hair tenderly and cooed gentle words of comfort and reassurance.
After several minutes, he looked up and wiped his eyes. “So what happens now?”
“Now,” Professor Snape said, “comes the difficult part. This hurts me more than I can say. You both need to have your memories modified.”
“What?!!” Draco shouted. “You can’t take this from me! This is Blaise we’re talking about -- he’s the closest thing I have to a brother!”
Professor Snape argued, “Believe me when I say it’s for his safety. And yours. Your close friendship is exactly the reason you were not chosen to be his Secret Keeper.”
Ginny asked harshly, “So Draco and I will believe that Blaise is -- really dead?” The she sobbed quietly, “This is so wrong. How could you?”
“No, Miss Weasley,” Professor Dumbledore assured her. “You will both know in your hearts that he is all right, just as you know now. What you cannot have any memory of is the circumstances -- not until you see him again. When your eyes meet his, the memories will be restored to you.”
And suddenly, just like Dumbledore had said they would, they knew. Both of them remembered everything. The fake suicide. The funeral that was a farce. The fact that Blaise Zabini was alive.
Draco was euphoric, feeling joy like he had not felt in ages. “Blaise,” he whispered excitedly, not taking his eyes off of him. When they finally broke eye contact, the two friends embraced one another jubilantly, then stepped back to take a good, long look at one another.
Practically beaming, Draco said, “I can’t tell you how great it is to see you. I suppose you know Ginny. She came with me to your ‘funeral’.” Eyeing her with a wry smile, he added cockily, “She’s wild about me.”
Ginny bit her lip as she blushed and rolled her eyes. Blaise noticed that she didn’t deny it, though.
“That’s great, man.” Blaise said, grinning from ear to ear. “Me and Marianne, we’re still together, and it just keeps getting better. Really, I couldn’t be happier, unless -- well, unless I could go back to Hogwarts . . . I do miss England,” he remarked with a sad smile.
The three of them joked around a bit, laughing nervously at first, unsure what to say at this odd, unexpected meeting. When the conversation took its inevitable lull, Ginny stirred it up again. She asked Blaise, “So, anyway -- what are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s a rather long story. Suffice it to say that I’m waiting for Dumbledore to pick me up and take me to visit Grandmamma Zabini. You know, the one who ‘allegedly’ sent me that ruddy mirror,” he remarked to Draco.
“Yes, about that goddamn mirror,” his friend sneered, “what were you thinking, you arrogant, self-centered prig? I should kick your arse for the stunt you pulled . . . the grief and agony you put me through! Don’t misunderstand; I’m quite grateful you’re here, of course. But was it absolutely necessary?”
Blaise was silent; there was really nothing he could say to make up for the pain he’d caused. It was one time he couldn’t just wave his wand and ‘make it all better’.
Getting no response, Draco went on angrily. “You know I love you, like you were my own brother. And losing you -- it really hurt! So why’d you fucking do it?”
His friend winced slightly; he knew he had a lot to explain. “Well,” he hedged then laughed nervously. “As much as I was hoping desperately for this to happen someday . . well, now that it actually is -- I realize that I’ve been rather dreading it, too.”
He paused briefly then sighed once more. “I got the mirror on a Saturday. You remember, it was a Hogsmeade Weekend, the 12th of October. After I looked in it and said Marianne’s name, and saw a stranger’s face staring back -- a note fell out of the package.”
His eyes met Draco’s. “It was a Howler -- in a voice I knew far too well to simply ignore . . . ”
Saturday, October 12 (Slytherin Sixth-Year Boys’ Dormitory)
The very idea that Marianne had been unfaithful to him caused Blaise’s heart to ache with pain. The cruel manner in which he was told -- by Grandmamma, no less! -- had made it all the worse. It was a crushing blow. Sobbing gently, he picked up the unopened Howler, considering it carefully.
“The mirror wasn’t enough?” he asked bitterly.
He cast a Silencing Charm, just in case any of the others got back early or if Draco came down. He broke the seal gingerly and waited -- anything to make him forget what he had seen, even harsh words from Grandmamma, seemed better.
Maybe he deserved them.
But it was a man’s, one he knew immediately: Draco’s father. It wasn’t loud, or screaming, but it was damning all the same. He cut right to the chase -- and deep into Blaise’s heart.
“Blaise Zabini,” came the haughty, authoritative voice.
“I have known you for so long, you are like a son to me. I am sorry, but I felt it was my duty, however painful, to show you what your muggle lover does when you are not with her. Don’t feel badly; they all do. They know nothing of loyalty.
“The reasons I share this with you are twofold. One, I hate to see a fellow pureblood wizard be made a fool of, especially at the hands of a muggle. Nothing disgusts me more.
“Two, your friendship with Draco and your influence on him could have become far too important to him. If my only son were to follow your example -- I ask you, what would become of the Malfoy line?
“You are better off without her. Break it off now, before it goes too far. If you do not, I cannot guarantee her safety or that of her family.
“You are a pureblood wizard, Blaise Zabini. Never forget that. Consider carefully what you do.”
The note ripped itself into tiny shreds, which disappeared before they could reach the floor.
Blaise was livid. Seeing another man’s face in the Fidelity Mirror had made him feel physically ill. He felt jealous, betrayed, angry -- but even more so, he hated Draco’s father for sending the mirror and this blasted note.
He was certain of one thing, though: he had to act. He couldn’t let them hurt Marianne, but neither could he give her up. Tears welled up in his eyes once more, his mind racing . . ‘No, Marianne does love me -- she would never do that! It’s not true. The . . . mirror, it must be fake—’
“I won’t let her go,” he said to the empty room.
Mulling over what his professors and Madam Pomfrey had discussed, he remedied the situation by drinking the potion and effectively removing himself from the equation.
He concluded, “And that was when I took the potion. Sorry to worry you, mate. It wasn’t intentional.”
But Draco couldn’t stay angry at his friend. Instead, he was more disappointed in his father. He wasn’t even that upset, really -- just dismayed.
“So,” Draco asked him, “what do your parents think?”
“About what?”
“Do they know you’re not really . . . you know, dead?”
“No, they still believe it,” Blaise confessed. “They’re too close to the wrong people.”
“Aren’t they upset?” Draco asked, sounding shocked.
“Not so far as I could tell. Dumbledore must have put a Charm on them -- like with you, I suppose.”
Longing to change the subject to something less morose, Blaise offered, “Say, how about I show you two around the place? Just be careful; there seem to be a few doxies about, and I could have sworn there was a boggart rattling around in a wardrobe upstairs.” They set off to explore the upper levels of the house.
“Sure,” Ginny readily agreed.
“Wait till you see these revolting, shrunken house-elves’ heads,” Blaise continued. “Got ‘em mounted like trophies.”
Feigning disgust mingled with curiosity, she cringed. “You’re joking, right?” When he insisted he wasn’t, she added, “Ewww!”
As they trod up the stairs from the basement to the ground floor, Draco asked her, “Hey, Gin, have you been here before?”
“No,” she lied easily. “Why?”
He shrugged, “No reason. Just wondering how you recognized it earlier.”
“Oh. Well, Harry spent his winter holidays here last year. He took pictures of it with a muggle camera and then brought them back to school.” Ginny told herself, Damn, you’re getting good at this; maybe you do have a future as an Auror.
Taking care to steer clear of the draperies where he had narrowly escaped the sharp, venomous teeth of that sodding doxy, Blaise pointed out a number of oddities, including a set of long, moth-eaten velvet drapes. Ginny tiptoed past them cautiously, knowing that Mrs. Black’s portrait was hidden behind them. Draco thought it odd, the way she maneuvered past them -- after all, they were just a pair of old drapes -- but he kept his comments to himself.
Climbing the steps, they looked at the line of repugnant heads of the late house-elves who had served the Blacks for generations. They all agreed vehemently that they were absolutely repulsive.
When the three of them arrived at the upper level, Ginny remembered the Black family tapestry -- and apparently, forgot herself. She grabbed Draco’s hand and practically dragged him ran into the room where it was. She squealed, “Oooh, Draco, you’ve got to see this! Your name is on it!”
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow and drawled, “Really?”
“Yes,” she blurted out, “that’s how I knew the house was in your family, that your mum was related to Sirius, and—”
Then she stopped.
“And how would you know about all that? Did Potter share that little bit of gossip with you as he gazed into your eyes, telling you all about his enchanting little winter visit with his godfather, known murderer and fugitive, Sirius Black?” A smug look crossed his face.
Realizing she was caught, she admitted with frustration, “All right -- I have been here. So what? And yes, I was with Harry, and my family; all of them except Percy.”
“Vacationing with Potter? How convenient,” he glared at her jealously. “Did you and ‘Harry’ sleep in the same room?”
She gasped, “What sort of girl do you take me for? You know I was a virgin when we—”
Blushing furiously, she suddenly remembered they weren’t entirely alone. Blaise looked around rather awkwardly as he tried to back away from the bickering couple. He grinned sheepishly and said, “Hey, don’t mind me -- just pretend I’m not here.”
Ginny seemed to turn even redder than her hair. She stamped her foot, and fuming, marched out the door.
Draco snickered, “I just love ‘getting’ her -- she’s so cute when she’s miffed, and she’s so easy to get riled. I knew she was lying about never having been here before.”
“Aren’t you going to check on her? Maybe apologize?”
“No, she’ll be back. She can’t Floo out of here, can she? Unless she has an emergency supply in her pockets.”
Blaise smiled comfortably and sighed. At least some things haven’t changed.
He turned his gaze to the elegant tapestry. “Say, she was right; you are on here, mate.”
As the two old friends examined the tapestry, they talked as easily as they always had, almost as if they’d never been apart. They anxiously told each other what had been going on since that fateful day last October. Blaise talked about what he had learned in America, muggle inventions he couldn’t live without, and the different subjects they studied in their magical schools. One of the main subjects, in fact, a requirement for all seven years in American wizarding schools, was Muggle Studies.
He said, “So far, my class has dealt mostly with what to do if you meet a muggle who has a gun -- they’re legal there, you know.”
When Draco took his turn, he told him about Michael Grant, the strange goings-on with his mother and the UCD-I potion, and what it felt like for him to be in love and to be loved.
As his friend talked, Blaise realized, Come to think of it, things have changed radically since we parted.
Ginny snorted. She didn’t care what Blaise thought, anyway.
At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. But why did Draco have to embarrass her, or catch her in that stupid lie, or make her admit that she had lost her virginity to him . . ? And all of it, in front of his best friend!
Blowing out a frustrated breath, she sulked in silence. She told herself, Don’t know why I care if he knows about me and Draco, anyway. What does it matter that they’re probably talking about us, right now?
She stood in the hallway, lurking just outside the same bedroom she and Hermione had shared every time they’d stayed there. From there, she could barely hear either one of the young Slytherins, but it seemed that they had long since stopped talking about her. Not wishing to interrupt them, though, she listened patiently for an opportune moment to return -- and for the remainder of her embarrassment to subside.
Suddenly, she felt inexplicably nervous, as if someone were nearby or slipping up on her. Then a small, unassuming voice whispered, “Mrs. LeStrange?” After a brief silence, it hissed, “Is that you, Missus? Kreacher has come, as he promised.”
Ginny listened in disbelief as the foul, little house-elf called out for his late mistress’s niece, the nefarious Bellatrix LeStrange.
Why is he here? And why does he think that Bellatrix would be here, too? Surely, he must know she’s at Azkaban.
Out of morbid curiosity, and wishing to protect Draco and Blaise, she left the sanctuary of the upstairs hallway. She followed the sound of his voice to the ground floor. Her heart was thumping loudly, yet she managed to sound relatively calm when she found him and said, “Kreacher?”
The house-elf looked at Ginny, focusing intently on her face. His eyes went wide and his mouth fell open as he stared at her mutely. Then he said something that she could barely comprehend.
“Mrs. LeStrange,” he asked eagerly, “it is you, isn’t it, milady? Is Mr. Grant gone, and did Missus trap the vile daughter of those . . nasty red-haired freaks in her Soul Window, just like Missus wanted?”
So that was their plan! she thought, trying to keep the utter horror from reaching her face.
Could that be -- why we’re here?
Thinking quickly, she forced a wicked smirk and gave a slight nod of her head. “Yes, it’s me, Bellatrix,” she lied smoothly.
“It’s uncanny; Missus has even taken on the brat’s demeanor.” Clearly awed, Kreacher rubbed his hands together as he whispered in barely-contained excitement, “Young Master Malfoy will never know.”
Ginny found it difficult not to choke when she heard those words. And she chose her next ones very carefully.
“No, he won’t. Michael Grant is dead, and that Weasley whore is safely hidden inside my mirror. And now . . ” She stopped to give him a malevolent smile then whispered, “We move on with our plan.”
Kreacher’s eyes lit up. He was practically salivating at the thought. A most cooperative servant, he was quite eager to help. “Yes, ma’am. Young Master Malfoy is here, isn’t he?”
“Of course he is, you ignorant twat!” she hissed in her most Bella-like manner.
There was only one slight problem, that being that Ginny had no clue what this ‘plan’ of theirs actually was. But she was getting an idea that would make that little detail inconsequential.
“You do understand the plan, don’t you, you imbecile?” she barked at him. He nodded, and she ordered, “Then explain your view of it -- just to make sure you ‘get it’.”
The elf, anxious to show his loyalty to his late mistress’s favorite niece, blathered more rapidly than Ginny had ever heard him speak before. “First, Missus puts Miss Weasley’s soul into the Soul Window and takes over her body. Over time, the new ‘Miss Weasley’ is gradually taken in by the Dark Lord and convinces young Master Malfoy to follow him as well -- even refusing to sleep with the boy until he agrees.
“Meanwhile, Missus coerces the real Miss Weasley to tell her family’s secrets… passwords to charms and wards that protect her family and others who support Dumbledore, threatening to ‘forget’ to use the Pregnancy Prevention Charm and to tell young Master Malfoy that she doesn’t really love him; she only sleeps with him for his power and his money.”
Ginny was horrified. But he wasn’t finished yet.
“Then Missus returns to her Master, triumphant, young Master Malfoy ensnared and enthralled by ‘Miss Weasley’… who, when released from the Soul Window, will do anything to protect her family from the Dark Lord -- even join him willingly,” he concluded proudly, nearly out of breath with excitement. “He will be so proud of Missus.”
Ginny had never seen him so happy, nor had she ever felt so intimidated by a house-elf. Her mouth fell open into a slight ‘O’ at the audacity of the woman whose evil mind could conjure such a devious plan, much less intend to spring such a trap on her own nephew -- even engage in incest, if necessary.
She didn’t know how she kept from vomiting all over the little freak.
Remembering her role, she wrinkled her nose and said coldly, “Hmmm, you seem to have the gist of it. Let’s not waste any time.”
“Yes, yes -- must go further down the stairs, so Master Malfoy cannot hear us.”
When they reached Mrs. Black’s portrait, Ginny was taken slightly aback, as the curtains were now open, and the lady within the painting sneered at her with disdain. “What is that piece of trash doing in my house?!” She shrieked, “I told you to get rid of them, Kreacher -- all of them!”
The elf recoiled slightly and bowed, saying as respectfully as possible, “Begging pardon most humbly, Mistress, but this -- this is your niece, Bellatrix. She is only borrowing the Weasley girl’s body to sway Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa’s boy to join their noble cause.”
The former lady of the house looked down her nose and passed judgment on her. “Well, good luck, darling. That boy has been the bane of his parents’ existence since he was born. It’s all your sister’s fault, you know; she’s way too easy on him. Always has been.”
The redhead nodded and did her best to fake a devious laugh. Mrs. Black seemed pleased, as she added confidentially, “And Trixie, just between you, me, and the house-elf -- Lucius should have married you. The biggest mistake he ever made was breaking up with you after he met Cissy.”
On hearing the Black sisters called by their pet names, Ginny suddenly realized that she didn’t even know Mrs. Black’s first name. What should I call her? Her niece wouldn’t call her ‘Mrs. Black’, and ‘Aunt Black’ sounds a little too -- 18th century.
Inspiration struck her.
“Yes, Auntie,” she agreed, “it was foolish of him.”
“Trixie! You haven’t called me that in years, not since you were a girl! It warms my heart to know you still think of me with affection.” Ginny thought the miserable old woman in the portrait might actually . . . cry.
“Of course, I do. But Auntie, I need to go -- we have a task to complete.”
“I understand, my dear. Goodbye, then.” As an afterthought, Mrs. Black called to her, “Trixie, would you mind drawing the curtains? I’m feeling a bit tired.” Ginny complied, giving the woman a smile, one that was as sincere and loving as she could muster, reminding herself a little bit of Professor Umbridge. The young witch and the elf turned to go.
Following after Kreacher, she walked down the main hallway, heading for -- Ginny really didn’t know where. The basement kitchen, perhaps, since it had a large table?
Then without warning, a pair of strong hands reached out from the darkness and grabbed her, startling her half to death. She screamed reflexively. Arms were soon flung about her waist, pulling her into the shadows and close to a figure that was tall and slender yet slightly muscular. She shuddered as a thrill coursed through her; she loved the feel of his body pressed against hers.
“Draco, you arsehole -- you frightened me!” she squealed. “Let me go this instant!”
But instead of releasing her, a hand went over her mouth, stifling another scream. A wand was placed roughly at the base of her throat; she had a sinking feeling that she was about to be killed mercilessly. When a cruel voice panted in her ear, “Guess again, you muggle-loving slut,” she was certain of it.
Kreacher looked on, utterly horror-struck. He fell to his knees as he begged, “No, Master Malfoy, no!!! It is your sister-in-law, Mrs. LeStrange!”
Lucius glared at the elf with severe loathing. “It certainly is not, you contemptible fool!”
Ginny swallowed nervously. The jig was up . . or so it seemed. She watched the distraught house-elf as he struggled to comprehend what Mr. Malfoy had just said. She had never seen worry or fear in Kreacher’s eyes before, but now -- she saw both.
Still, as if by merely saying it, he could make it true, the loyal servant insisted adamantly, “But she is Bella, sir, she must be—”
Lucius Malfoy’s next words sent terror into his black heart. “Your precious Bella is now in Azkaban -- thanks to my ungrateful son and this trollop!”
“And then—” Blaise said, unable to stop cackling long enough to finish, “and then, he says, ‘You don’t bewieve I have a fwiend named Biggus Dickus?’ And all the centurions are rolling on the floor laughing! I’m telling you, those guys are the funniest muggles ever!” Blaise was laughing so hard that he could barely breathe, and Draco had a stitch in his side. He groaned and placed a hand on his aching ribs. Both of them rubbed the tears out of their eyes. Neither of them had laughed like that in months.
Shortly after the laughter died down, they heard a shriek from downstairs. Draco looked around nervously.
He whispered, “Did you hear that?”
“Must have been Ginny,” Blaise shrugged. “I’ll bet she found that boggart. Or Dumbledore got here. Suppose we ought to go and see?”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
They stood up and headed for the stairs. As they reached the last stair, Draco stopped dead in his tracks for no apparent reason, and his expression hardened.
Slightly alarmed, Blaise looked at him and asked cautiously, “You all right, mate?”
He was anything but.
Draco dropped to his knees as tears surged from his squinted grey eyes. He felt pain grip his head like it never had before. Hot, white pain, impossible to endure, worse than any kind he’d ever known; even Cruciatus hadn’t been this bad. Somehow, this was far more . . intense.
Blaise called his name, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he fell down and was soon lying prone on the floor, writhing in anguish. He released an involuntary scream.
“Draco!” Blaise cried. “What’s wrong? What’s happening to you?”
“I don’t know,” he wheezed, his eyes shut tight, his face contorted in agony. “I feel like my head is being crushed in a vice—”
He sobbed and curled into a tight ball. His friend knelt at his side.
“Ginny—” Draco gasped, “Blaise, get Ginny and get out! Take the Knight Bus! GO!!” Then he blacked out.
“Bloody hell,” Blaise muttered.
Suddenly, a loud BANG! startled Blaise and sent a shock of fear down to his very core. His heart pounding madly, he jumped to his feet and looked around the dimly-lit anteroom. He raised his wand and shouted, “Lumos!”, pointing it in the direction he thought the sound had come from.
When he saw it was only Ginny, he lowered it and sighed in relief. But she seemed a bit strange; she had a rather dazed look in her eyes, and her hair seemed to shine, like she a halo or bright light was glowing behind her.
A few seconds later, Draco came to again. He opened his eyes and blinked them to focus. He looked up and whispered, “Ginny?”
An invisible force thrust her forward. She stumbled and fell to the floor, landing flat on her back, not far from Draco. When her head struck the ground with a dull thump, she released a painful groan. As she lay sprawled out on the floor, her hand clutched her forehead. Both boys could see a patch of thick blood oozing from her hairline. They looked at her in utter disbelief and horror.
From the shadows where she’d been standing, there came a silky, smooth voice that drawled lazily, “Hello, boys -- looking for this?!”
~End of Chapter~
Notes: I know, absolutely terrible place to end it, but if I had gone on, the chapter would be over 10,000 words. I promise, more in a few weeks - ! Meanwhile, please review (your reviews inspire me . . . !). :-D
The bit about Draco and Blaise having kissed before was mentioned in a higher-rated outtake from Chapter 8. They were drunk and ‘experimenting’ -- but it didn’t go beyond kissing. (That’s all the slash this fic will have.)
In the Credit Where it’s Due Department: The lines Blaise quotes when he and Draco are laughing (a fwiend named Biggus Dickus) are from Monty Python’s film, “The Life of Brian.” I thought that Python fans would appreciate it! And yes, those guys are brilliant.
Please review -- thanks!
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