A/N: I've had multiple requests to write the backstory of Initiate. Never let it be said that I don't listen to my readers. *winks* As always, much love to Thalia, Kirixchi, and Mynuet, who always have time for reading and making helpful suggestions.
Disclaimer: I didn't find Draco under my Christmas tree this year. He and the rest of his fellow characters still belong securely to the lovely Ms. Rowling.
~*~
Ginny Weasley was not having a good day.
Her problems had actually begun the night before. She had been assigned to Prefect duty, drawing the 10 PM - 1 AM patrol with Hannah Abbott, one of the seventh-year Hufflepuff Prefects. Staying up past midnight the night before she had Advanced Herbology - a double class - at 9 AM always led to a very grouchy Ginny. The fact that she'd had to spend three hours making small talk with a person who shared absolutely none of her interests had led to Ginny waking up with the Weasley temper in fine form.
She'd made it through breakfast without slaying any of her fellow Gryffindors and struggled to pay attention through the entire two hours of Herbology without daydreaming about hexing, cursing, or otherwise maligning one of her less able classmates. It was inevitable, therefore, that she would lose her patience with somebody on the way to her study period in the library.
A hapless Hufflepuff fourth-year named Owen Cauldwell was the catalyst for the incident in question. Cauldwell's ancient bookbag finally reached the end of its useful book-carrying career in a spectacular fashion while he was attempting to traverse the moving staircases. While the consequent disruption was unfortunate, this was not the cause of Ginny's meltdown. The unfortunate recipient of a full serving of Angry Ginny was instead Ernie MacMillan, the other seventh-year Hufflepuff Prefect, who felt that Ginny had not been understanding enough with his housemate, and threatened to take his disagreement over Ginny's discipline of Cauldwell to Minerva McGonagall.
Ginny had realized early on in her career as a Prefect that she was easily agitated and had less control of her temper than she probably should. One of the things Ginny prided herself on being, therefore, was a just authority figure. If she was in a position where she needed to take House points, by Merlin's blood, she was going to be in the right of it. Ginny found Ernie's insinuation that she was being unfair by docking Hufflepuff five points for the massive disruption utterly infuriating.
The Weasley temper came out to play, with a vengeance. In short order she'd very efficiently backed Ernie down from going to McGonagall, and convinced him that were she ever in a position to be taking points from Ernie himself she wouldn't be nearly as generous as she had been with the poor prat that had kept half the school's population from making their way to class for a full five minutes.
She stood in the same spot long after MacMillan had fled the scene, a stony expression on her face as she watched the student body make its way to its next class. When the hallway was finally silent of footsteps, she turned and headed for McGonagall's office.
If the Deputy Headmistress was going to hear about this incident - and the way news spread through the school, Minerva McGonagall was going to hear of it - she was going to hear it from Ginny herself.
~*~
The interview with the Deputy Headmistress kept Ginny past the end of her study period in the library. By the time Ginny made her way to the Great Hall for lunch, the rest of the school had settled into its chicken pot pie and quiet conversations.
"Ginny!" Colin Creevey called from his position one-third of the way down the table. He gestured to the empty space next to him. She gave him a grateful smile and sank to the bench. Moments later, she had a portion of pie on her plate and a full goblet of pumpkin juice at her right hand. She took a deep breath, savoring the comforting aroma.
Her first bite of lunch was interrupted by, of all people, her brother.
"I heard about the little fracas in the stairway," Ron remarked loudly from his position five or six seats away. "You know, it was just an accident. You really shouldn't have gotten all chuffed about it."
The temper she'd spent all morning trying to calm returned with a vengeance. "Thank you, Ron," she said acidly, loud enough for her brother (and indeed, half of the Gryffindor table) to hear. "I know, of course, that you are a paragon of virtue. You would never have lost your temper with a Prefect from another house or found it necessary to take a minimal amount of points for an incident that caused several students to be late for second block."
All along the table, snickers indicated how well their sources remembered Ron's own tendency to temper and illogic. His face flushed and his eyes narrowed; his mouth opened, evidently in the beginning stages of proving said tendency. But his sister had the final word.
"Ron," she snapped in exasperation, "shut up and eat your lunch. I don't really want to hear it."
~*~
After the Relaxing Lunch that Wasn't, Ginny found herself making her way to her afternoon class - NEWT-level Potions.
She expected no less of a trial in that class than she'd been blessed with over and over on this god-forsaken day. As her legs carried her toward the dungeons and Snape's classroom, she rued the day she'd decided to attempt NEWT Potions and found herself sharing a worktable with Pansy Parkinson, Princess of Slytherin House.
It had been a rough start to the term, certainly. It was difficult enough to leave behind the comfort of classes isolated by year and step into the post-OWL NEWT preparatory classes that combined the sixth and seventh year students. Ginny's added suffering was due, in no small portion, to the fact that the seventh years in question had been feuding for their entire Hogwarts career, and she was somewhat unprepared for the intensity of their antagonism.
Ginny had never been one to make denigrating remarks about other students' Houses; Pansy had never been one to keep her thoughts to herself, especially regarding her views of Gryffindor House in particular. The first two weeks of the term were especially difficult; Ginny had spent more time in class sparring with Pansy than she had paying attention to Snape's lessons.
And if Ginny had learned anything in her first five years at Hogwarts, she had learned that it was not wise to cross Severus Snape. At any time.
Ginny entered the Potions classroom and sat down at her worktable. The Slytherin delegation had not yet arrived at class, and she sat in her seat for a few moments wondering who would emerge victorious from today's battle of wits before it was made perfectly clear that today's worst troubles wouldn't be coming from Pansy Parkinson.
Because the next person to walk through the classroom door was Justin Finch-Fletchley, seventh-year Hufflepuff. He'd heard from MacMillan about the insult to Hufflepuff House. And he was bloody brassed off.
He crossed to his own worktable, but instead of sitting down at it remained standing and turned to face Ginny, his arms crossed forbiddingly across his chest. "So. The perfect and just Miss Weasley felt the need to take points for an accident. Don't you think that's a little unfair?"
Ginny didn't even attempt to check her temper, letting it fuel a blossom of crimson across her cheeks as she herself stood up and placed her hands on the table in front of her, the cool contact distracting her enough to refrain from picking up her closest book and flinging it like a Quaffle in the direction of his head.
"Mmm. The last time I checked, Mister Finch-Fletchley, I was a Prefect, which gives me the authority to take points in whatever manner I deem appropriate." She heard a small crowd of students enter the classroom, but trained her stormy eyes on the Hufflepuff standing across the room from her. "I have already spoken with the Deputy Headmistress at length regarding this situation; she found my reasoning sound, and has determined that the penalty will stand." Her voice raised slightly. "I. Will. Not. Discuss. This. Again."
"Very noble of you, Miss Weasley." The cutting voice from the front of the classroom indicated that Professor Snape had entered the classroom and had leaned against his desk, taking in the scene before him. "This, however, is a Potions class and not a Prefect's meeting. Please recite for the class the list of reagents for the brewing of a Dreamless Sleep Potion."
Ginny assumed the most neutral facial expression she could manage under extreme duress and spun on her heel to face the Potions Master. She gave the recitation, taking great care to be thorough, and when she closed her mouth at the end of it the professor's expression relaxed slightly. "Very good, Miss Weasley. You will please be seated, and see me after class."
Ginny sunk to the bench, and leaned forward enough to rest her forehead on the tabletop. This day was only getting worse and worse. And any minute Parkinson was going to start in on something - the weaknesses of Gryffindor's Quidditch team, the shabbiness of Ginny's personal belongings, or the unattractiveness of her Weasley-red hair.
But nothing came from the direction of her tablemate for the remainder of the period. It turned out to be a theory day for the class, in which Snape lectured about the properties of poppy leaves: what uses they had in other potions besides Dreamless Sleep, and the proper methods of obtaining and storing them until ready for use. It wasn't until the end of the period, when the students were packing their books away and Ginny was stalling for time before she went up to Professor Snape's desk, that Parkinson finally spoke.
"Hey, Weasley," Pansy said, as she slipped her Potions notebook into her sleek leather bookpack. "I saw the little altercation with MacMillan in the stair this morning."
Ginny looked at her suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. "So did half the school. Your point?"
Pansy regarded her tablemate with a look Ginny hadn't seen on her face before. She couldn't identify it; all she could say definitively was that it wasn't the usual look of Slytherin superiority. "It was bloody brilliant, the way you backed him down. He's had it coming ever since he was made a Prefect, the pretentious bastard."
Ginny fought well to maintain the look of slight suspicion on her face. After all, it was either that, or a most inelegant jaw drop, and narrowed eyes were the lesser of the two evils.
"I thought it bore mentioning, is all. See you tomorrow." With that, Pansy swept her bookpack over her arm, and walked out of the classroom with Malfoy and Zabini. Ginny took up her own bookbag and made her way to the front of the classroom, wondering as she navigated worktables and benches if a truce had just been declared in the Parkinson-Weasley War.
Disclaimer: I didn't find Draco under my Christmas tree this year. He and the rest of his fellow characters still belong securely to the lovely Ms. Rowling.
Ginny Weasley was not having a good day.
Her problems had actually begun the night before. She had been assigned to Prefect duty, drawing the 10 PM - 1 AM patrol with Hannah Abbott, one of the seventh-year Hufflepuff Prefects. Staying up past midnight the night before she had Advanced Herbology - a double class - at 9 AM always led to a very grouchy Ginny. The fact that she'd had to spend three hours making small talk with a person who shared absolutely none of her interests had led to Ginny waking up with the Weasley temper in fine form.
She'd made it through breakfast without slaying any of her fellow Gryffindors and struggled to pay attention through the entire two hours of Herbology without daydreaming about hexing, cursing, or otherwise maligning one of her less able classmates. It was inevitable, therefore, that she would lose her patience with somebody on the way to her study period in the library.
A hapless Hufflepuff fourth-year named Owen Cauldwell was the catalyst for the incident in question. Cauldwell's ancient bookbag finally reached the end of its useful book-carrying career in a spectacular fashion while he was attempting to traverse the moving staircases. While the consequent disruption was unfortunate, this was not the cause of Ginny's meltdown. The unfortunate recipient of a full serving of Angry Ginny was instead Ernie MacMillan, the other seventh-year Hufflepuff Prefect, who felt that Ginny had not been understanding enough with his housemate, and threatened to take his disagreement over Ginny's discipline of Cauldwell to Minerva McGonagall.
Ginny had realized early on in her career as a Prefect that she was easily agitated and had less control of her temper than she probably should. One of the things Ginny prided herself on being, therefore, was a just authority figure. If she was in a position where she needed to take House points, by Merlin's blood, she was going to be in the right of it. Ginny found Ernie's insinuation that she was being unfair by docking Hufflepuff five points for the massive disruption utterly infuriating.
The Weasley temper came out to play, with a vengeance. In short order she'd very efficiently backed Ernie down from going to McGonagall, and convinced him that were she ever in a position to be taking points from Ernie himself she wouldn't be nearly as generous as she had been with the poor prat that had kept half the school's population from making their way to class for a full five minutes.
She stood in the same spot long after MacMillan had fled the scene, a stony expression on her face as she watched the student body make its way to its next class. When the hallway was finally silent of footsteps, she turned and headed for McGonagall's office.
If the Deputy Headmistress was going to hear about this incident - and the way news spread through the school, Minerva McGonagall was going to hear of it - she was going to hear it from Ginny herself.
The interview with the Deputy Headmistress kept Ginny past the end of her study period in the library. By the time Ginny made her way to the Great Hall for lunch, the rest of the school had settled into its chicken pot pie and quiet conversations.
"Ginny!" Colin Creevey called from his position one-third of the way down the table. He gestured to the empty space next to him. She gave him a grateful smile and sank to the bench. Moments later, she had a portion of pie on her plate and a full goblet of pumpkin juice at her right hand. She took a deep breath, savoring the comforting aroma.
Her first bite of lunch was interrupted by, of all people, her brother.
"I heard about the little fracas in the stairway," Ron remarked loudly from his position five or six seats away. "You know, it was just an accident. You really shouldn't have gotten all chuffed about it."
The temper she'd spent all morning trying to calm returned with a vengeance. "Thank you, Ron," she said acidly, loud enough for her brother (and indeed, half of the Gryffindor table) to hear. "I know, of course, that you are a paragon of virtue. You would never have lost your temper with a Prefect from another house or found it necessary to take a minimal amount of points for an incident that caused several students to be late for second block."
All along the table, snickers indicated how well their sources remembered Ron's own tendency to temper and illogic. His face flushed and his eyes narrowed; his mouth opened, evidently in the beginning stages of proving said tendency. But his sister had the final word.
"Ron," she snapped in exasperation, "shut up and eat your lunch. I don't really want to hear it."
After the Relaxing Lunch that Wasn't, Ginny found herself making her way to her afternoon class - NEWT-level Potions.
She expected no less of a trial in that class than she'd been blessed with over and over on this god-forsaken day. As her legs carried her toward the dungeons and Snape's classroom, she rued the day she'd decided to attempt NEWT Potions and found herself sharing a worktable with Pansy Parkinson, Princess of Slytherin House.
It had been a rough start to the term, certainly. It was difficult enough to leave behind the comfort of classes isolated by year and step into the post-OWL NEWT preparatory classes that combined the sixth and seventh year students. Ginny's added suffering was due, in no small portion, to the fact that the seventh years in question had been feuding for their entire Hogwarts career, and she was somewhat unprepared for the intensity of their antagonism.
Ginny had never been one to make denigrating remarks about other students' Houses; Pansy had never been one to keep her thoughts to herself, especially regarding her views of Gryffindor House in particular. The first two weeks of the term were especially difficult; Ginny had spent more time in class sparring with Pansy than she had paying attention to Snape's lessons.
And if Ginny had learned anything in her first five years at Hogwarts, she had learned that it was not wise to cross Severus Snape. At any time.
Ginny entered the Potions classroom and sat down at her worktable. The Slytherin delegation had not yet arrived at class, and she sat in her seat for a few moments wondering who would emerge victorious from today's battle of wits before it was made perfectly clear that today's worst troubles wouldn't be coming from Pansy Parkinson.
Because the next person to walk through the classroom door was Justin Finch-Fletchley, seventh-year Hufflepuff. He'd heard from MacMillan about the insult to Hufflepuff House. And he was bloody brassed off.
He crossed to his own worktable, but instead of sitting down at it remained standing and turned to face Ginny, his arms crossed forbiddingly across his chest. "So. The perfect and just Miss Weasley felt the need to take points for an accident. Don't you think that's a little unfair?"
Ginny didn't even attempt to check her temper, letting it fuel a blossom of crimson across her cheeks as she herself stood up and placed her hands on the table in front of her, the cool contact distracting her enough to refrain from picking up her closest book and flinging it like a Quaffle in the direction of his head.
"Mmm. The last time I checked, Mister Finch-Fletchley, I was a Prefect, which gives me the authority to take points in whatever manner I deem appropriate." She heard a small crowd of students enter the classroom, but trained her stormy eyes on the Hufflepuff standing across the room from her. "I have already spoken with the Deputy Headmistress at length regarding this situation; she found my reasoning sound, and has determined that the penalty will stand." Her voice raised slightly. "I. Will. Not. Discuss. This. Again."
"Very noble of you, Miss Weasley." The cutting voice from the front of the classroom indicated that Professor Snape had entered the classroom and had leaned against his desk, taking in the scene before him. "This, however, is a Potions class and not a Prefect's meeting. Please recite for the class the list of reagents for the brewing of a Dreamless Sleep Potion."
Ginny assumed the most neutral facial expression she could manage under extreme duress and spun on her heel to face the Potions Master. She gave the recitation, taking great care to be thorough, and when she closed her mouth at the end of it the professor's expression relaxed slightly. "Very good, Miss Weasley. You will please be seated, and see me after class."
Ginny sunk to the bench, and leaned forward enough to rest her forehead on the tabletop. This day was only getting worse and worse. And any minute Parkinson was going to start in on something - the weaknesses of Gryffindor's Quidditch team, the shabbiness of Ginny's personal belongings, or the unattractiveness of her Weasley-red hair.
But nothing came from the direction of her tablemate for the remainder of the period. It turned out to be a theory day for the class, in which Snape lectured about the properties of poppy leaves: what uses they had in other potions besides Dreamless Sleep, and the proper methods of obtaining and storing them until ready for use. It wasn't until the end of the period, when the students were packing their books away and Ginny was stalling for time before she went up to Professor Snape's desk, that Parkinson finally spoke.
"Hey, Weasley," Pansy said, as she slipped her Potions notebook into her sleek leather bookpack. "I saw the little altercation with MacMillan in the stair this morning."
Ginny looked at her suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. "So did half the school. Your point?"
Pansy regarded her tablemate with a look Ginny hadn't seen on her face before. She couldn't identify it; all she could say definitively was that it wasn't the usual look of Slytherin superiority. "It was bloody brilliant, the way you backed him down. He's had it coming ever since he was made a Prefect, the pretentious bastard."
Ginny fought well to maintain the look of slight suspicion on her face. After all, it was either that, or a most inelegant jaw drop, and narrowed eyes were the lesser of the two evils.
"I thought it bore mentioning, is all. See you tomorrow." With that, Pansy swept her bookpack over her arm, and walked out of the classroom with Malfoy and Zabini. Ginny took up her own bookbag and made her way to the front of the classroom, wondering as she navigated worktables and benches if a truce had just been declared in the Parkinson-Weasley War.
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