Ginny had been in this place before.
Once again, she found herself standing in the stair, watching students travel from first block to second block. This day, however, no unfortunate incidents hampered their progress, Ginny had not been kept up half the night before with Prefect rounds, and she was clad in the new school sweater and robe that her mother had sent her - required by certain physical developments she at once welcomed and despaired of. Her arms wrapped around her waist, she was free to contemplate her fellow students in cozy comfort.
A group of first-years passed under her gaze - Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, she noted. Must have just gotten out of a class together. Their group could easily be dissected into two smaller groups, with how closely together the students of identical ties walked. It was evident to the sixth year that for these firsties, Hogwarts was still new enough that their House affiliation made up a large portion of their individual identities. So new, too, that the Ravenclaws saw the prefect badge pinned to Ginny's robe and walked even more primly.
To a student, the whole group of Gryffindors, knowing exactly who Ginny was thanks to the Quidditch quarrel, narrowed their eyes at her. Ginny, for her own part, valiantly fought to keep from sticking her tongue out at the lot of them. Once they had scampered up the staircase she kept watch from, she shook her head, letting her irritation go.
They were just ickle firsties, after all.
Next to push past her, obviously headed down to their common rooms, was a large portion of Hufflepuff House. Fourth years, she guessed; not one tie that was not black and gold, but they moved and joked with each other in a manner that spoke of a few years' comfortable acquaintance. A couple of them had those blushing expressions that spoke of early teenage crushes, although they weren't likely to be caught holding hands, or worse, by a Prefect from another house.
Unlike the seventh-years, who were traveling the staircase in the opposite direction. They had no inhibitions with gadding about as though they owned this school, right down to the very staircase that Ginny stood on, in multi-House groups - well, the three non-Slytherin Houses, anyway. No less than a full Professor (and even then, it depended on the professor) could get them to stop holding hands - certainly a fifth- or sixth-year Prefect was within her rights to demand cessation of the forbidden behaviour, but the flagrant disobedience that inevitably followed would be a huge loss of face for the Prefect in question.
She would prefer to avoid such occurrences. Especially after the past few weeks.
Funny, though. The Slytherins have always acted like they owned the school. And they've always isolated themselves from the rest of Hogwarts. As a matter of fact, I can't think of a situation where they've drawn an outsider into the Slytherin circle. Except, of course, this one..
She realized how her friendship with Pansy must appear to everyone else. Slytherins, creatures of habit they were, never opened themselves up to others. What did it mean that Pansy had brought a Gryffindor of shady history into her circle of influence? And why would anyone choose to believe little Ginny Weasley's word against years of Slytherin tendencies?
She raised her chin a notch. Bugger Slytherin tendencies. Bugger Gryffindor mistrust. She wasn't going to let people's insecurities get in the way of what could be a perfectly decent friendship.
"Weasley!" The voice that called her name summoned a smirk to her lips. She turned to greet it.
"Hullo, Parkinson." Taking in Pansy's companions, she added with a nod, "Zabini. Malfoy."
"Where are you off to?" the Slytherin girl questioned.
Ginny smiled. "Free block. I have a date in the library with a scroll for Flitwick."
Pansy grasped her elbow and tugged at her arm. "I have a better idea instead. Seeing as those of us who don't have second block free are determined to skive off -" at this, she glared at the two boys accompanying her - "let's go somewhere quiet and discuss our Potions project." She pulled Ginny in the direction they had been traveling at the time of their encounter.
"Wait. Shouldn't we be going upstairs, if we're going to the library?"
"My dear Weasley, certainly you wouldn't want to discuss the creation of a Ministry-controlled substance in such a public place," Pansy replied condescendingly. Ginny froze at her next words.
"I thought we'd go to Slytherin commons."
~*~
Ten minutes later, Ginny was standing stock-still in the middle of the Slytherin common room in awe.
It hadn't been an easy journey. Malfoy had objected - loudly - to the idea of a Weasley in Slytherin House. When Pansy had challenged him to find a location in the school that would offer them the same sort of privacy - and no, the Potions classroom was right out, because the second years were in session - his mouth had snapped shut, and he'd glared at Pansy's smug expression.
Ginny had briefly considered suggesting the Room of Requirement, until she recognized how very amusing it was to see the Head Boy backed down .. and realized that she might learn many potentially-useful things during her visit. She followed the rest of the group down the stairs, past the Great Hall, and into the dungeons barely able to conceal the excited expression of a small child on a grand adventure.
When they finally reached the entrance to Slytherin House, Zabini turned to her and covered her ears with his hands. "Can't have you hearing the password, can we?" he smiled at her.
Just before the Head Boy cuffed him on the back of the head.
"Hands off the Gryff, prat," he snapped. "Won't do any good, seeing as she's a bloody Prefect and already knows it. Don't you, little Weasley?"
Ginny smirked at him. "Want proof?" She turned to the portal and opened her mouth as if to say the password, but Pansy cut her off.
"Not a good idea, Ginny. The portal's cursed to raise an alarm all through Slytherin House should any non-Slytherin open it." Pansy spoke the password quietly, and explained, "While the alarm certainly has its .. purposes, in this case we DON'T want to alert the rest of Slytherin to your presence. Right?"
"Fair enough," she'd replied. As she stood in the middle of the empty common room, taking in the feel of the room, the art on the walls, the chill in the air screaming cunning, duplicity, stealth, a tiny voice in the back of her mind made itself known.
Comfortable here, girl? This would have been yours, you know, had you only said the word.
Ginny pushed the little voice out of her consciousness and spoke aloud. "So, Potions."
Pansy led the way to a small table off to the side of the common room, pulled four armchairs around it and sat down, spreading her books about on the flat surface. Noticing that the other three still stood, she looked up with an expression of irritation. "Well?" she snapped. "Don't just stand there."
"If you were worried about alerting the rest of Slytherin to my presence, isn't there a .. less obvious place to sit?" Ginny gestured around the room.
Pansy waved a hand negligently. "Most of the House IS in class at present .. and should someone so foolishly attempt to give us trouble, Draco can try out the overgrown bat routine he's picked up from Professor Snape. Now, sit."
They sat. Several moments and some rummaging around bookbags later, they looked down upon three different methods for brewing truth serum - the proceeds of two weeks' research.
"This one," Malfoy said, pale fingers reaching out to pull the parchment closer, "is the Ministry-preferred standard. The components, while slightly unusual, aren't anything we couldn't find in Snape's stores. This, of the three, would be the easiest to produce and the one we're probably expected to use.
"I'd like to avoid it, for that reason."
Showoff, Ginny thought contemptuously.
"The second," he said, fingers skittering across the table to the next piece of parchment, "is a little more complex. The majority of the ingredients for this one would have to come from Hogsmeade. And since the next weekend visit isn't for two weeks we'd either have to wait until then to start brewing, which puts our finishing date much closer to the end of term than I'd like, or get Professor Snape to get permission to go sooner. I could theoretically manage that, but it would mean using influence I'd rather save for a more critical occasion."
Ginny noted the looks that Pansy and Zabini gave the Head Boy, and wondered just what sort of influence he meant. A little chill ran down her spine, and she pushed those thoughts away.
"All the same, a good find. Yours, Zabini?" The boy's onyx tresses shook as he nodded his head, obviously pleased by the compliment.
"And then we have the entry from Gryffindor House." Steely eyes turned to Ginny as he picked up her parchment. "This method is the most exotic of the three; the majority of the ingredients commonplace, but there are a couple we wouldn't find outside of Knockturn Alley. I'd ask you where you got this, little Weasley, but I'm not sure I even want to know, and I'm certain that you don't want to tell me." His lips turned up into their well-known smirk. "You will have to tell me, if you propose we make the truth serum with your instructions. How are we to get our hands on doxy venom?"
"I have means," Ginny replied shortly.
"Indeed?" The unspoken challenge, leveled in a manner to irritate the girl further.
"I can owl my .. sources .. at lunchtime, and have an answer in two days. If they can procure it for me, I should have it by the beginning of next week. If they can't, we have plenty of time to choose one of the other methods." She leveled a glare at the blond boy. "If that's acceptable."
"Quite," he replied. He was content to let the little Weasel do all the work; if she got caught, there would be no negative repercussions upon himself, and in the meantime it provided plenty of opportunity to irritate the girl further. "Why don't you send that owl now? Good to know that we'll need to make alternate plans early."
"You watch me, Malfoy," she retorted, her brown eyes flashing. "You'll eat those words. Or maybe even some doxy venom."
"Come on, Weasley," Zabini said, rising. "I'll make sure you make it out of Slytherin dungeon without meeting a dark fate."
"Speaking of that, I was wondering why I hadn't seen the hags, banshees, vampires, ghouls and other nasties that are reputed to live here," Ginny replied, as she packed her Potions materials away. "Oh, wait. He's sitting right in front of me."
"Oh, my wounded pride! Ten points from Gryffindor, for insolence to the Head Boy." The smirk grew smug.
"Best ten points I've ever lost," she said frostily, before leaving the common room in Zabini's company.
"You enjoyed that far too much," Pansy remarked off-handedly, as she watched the Gryffindor disappear through the entrance to Slytherin House.
"Don't even think it, Parkinson," Malfoy retorted. "I assure you, I do not suffer from the same debilitation of intelligence that seems to have infected our friend Zabini."
~*~
Ginny felt slightly uncomfortable at the presence of the dark-haired boy walking next to her. She'd expected him to abandon her at the entrance to the dungeons, but instead he'd followed her up the moving staircases, past the library and the classrooms all the way to the Owlery, nattering on about the Quidditch game she'd missed, how disappointed he was not to play against the only good Chaser on the Gryffindor team, and how exciting it was to be assigned a Potions project that had real-world applicability.
Ginny barely heard any of it. She was too busy staring at the floor meters ahead, attempting to locate the source of her unease. Was it simply the fact that Zabini was a Slytherin, and was expected to be untrustworthy? Was it the fact that he'd just given her an unexpected compliment?
Or was it the fact that while his black hair was long enough to fall into his face at inopportune moments, it was nonetheless a subtle reminder of another Slytherin boy of her "acquaintance"?
She shivered for a moment at that thought.
As they crossed the threshold of the Owlery, she turned to her unexpected companion. "Did Malfoy put you up to this?" she asked, a frown twisting her usually sunny expression. "Did he want to make sure I got that owl sent out? Wanted to ensure another opportunity to cast aspersions on me and my House?"
"No, Ginny." His eyes, with irises so dark they looked black at a glance, were glittering at her, and her name - always Weasley before, never Ginny - sounded like a midnight breeze rustling through grass. "I'm here because I wish to be."
She looked up at him with concern in her eyes. This was Blaise Zabini, Slytherin playboy, breaker of hearts. Absolutely no good at all could come of him wanting to be alone in the Owlery with her. "Why?" she demanded.
"Because," said the voice of darkness and velvet, "I determined after the Quidditch match that I was going to ask you to accompany me on the next Hogsmeade weekend. Seeing as it was announced this morning, I wanted to make sure I did so before some other prat won your favour."
Ginny stared at him, a look of disbelief spreading across her face. "You do remember," she said slowly, "that I am a Gryffindor and a Weasley, which makes me poor, homely, and a disgrace to the name of Wizard?"
Blaise stepped closer to her, those eyes focused intently on her alone, and cupped her face in his hands. "You are the most beautiful witch at this school," he said in a low voice that was almost a growl, "and the rest of that is also rot."
Her eyes took in his hair, his eyes, the set of his jaw, and her thoughts grew jumbled. She opened her mouth to speak, knowing she should say something. "Er .. okay," she said, her voice sounding more affected than she'd like.
"Okay what?"
"Okay, I'll go with you."
And suddenly she couldn't think at all, because his lips had pressed forcefully against hers. Soft and warm, like the hands that touched her face except they weren't there anymore, they were tangled in her hair at the base of her neck and why hadn't Michael or Dean kissed like this?
And then Ginny's mind managed to push one thought into her consciousness - it's the middle of the day, and you're in a well-traveled part of the school - and she stiffened. It was enough to break contact, but Blaise merely brushed her lips with his thumb before murmuring "I'll see you in Potions," and disappearing through the archway.
She sank down on a nearby bench, attempting to straighten out her thoughts before starting her letter to the twins. "Dear Fred and George, you wouldn't believe the kiss I just got," she giggled to herself, before another, more sobering thought crashed down around her ears.
Ron is going to have a fit.
The thought that she had two weeks to find some way of telling him provided only minimal comfort as she reached into her bag for a parchment and quill.
~*~
She dreamed that night. Not the usual variety of dream, where she found herself sitting naked in Charms class, or overslept the night before the Quidditch match and awoke to discover it over.
She was sitting on a stool, in front of the four House tables, the entire staff, and all of Hogwarts' students. Professor McGonagall was placing the Sorting Hat upon her head, and a voice she remembered poured into her ear.
"Ahh, a redheaded Weasley. Another Gr-" The Hat was about to shout the word "GRYFFINDOR!" to the assembled room when it stopped abruptly. "One moment, what's this?"
Ginny felt the frozen chill of dread fall from her throat to her stomach, as if one of the ghosts had waved their arm through her body. "You, dear girl, are quite unlike every other Weasley I've sat upon. Yes, there is courage in you, but .. there's something else at play as well."
Her stomach clenched. Gryffindor, she thought, just name me Gryffindor and we can get on with it.
"You're hiding something, girl. That's why you so desperately want me to Sort you Gryffindor, because you're afraid of it coming out should you belong to .. another House. You realize that, in addition to your predilection to complication, proves you to be suited for Slytherin above all, do you not, Miss Weasley?"
I'll make just as good a Gryffindor as the rest of my family. Please, Sort me Gryffindor!
"I'm terribly sorry, dear girl. I must listen to my instinct, and my instinct tells me that you belong in ... SLYTHERIN!"
Ginny bolted upright, her pulse pounding, echoes of a cacophony in her ears: her family's protestations, the Gryffindors' gasps of disbelief, and her own horrified shriek.
She pushed aside the veil of sleep to discover herself shaking from chill, her thin nightclothes drenched in sweat. It's just a dream. Just a dream, she told herself, reclining slowly until her head reached the soft pillows, and her hand tugged the soft coverlet up under her chin, to ward against the cold. You're safe in the sixth-year Gryffindor dormitory.
The Hat did listen to you.
Once again, she found herself standing in the stair, watching students travel from first block to second block. This day, however, no unfortunate incidents hampered their progress, Ginny had not been kept up half the night before with Prefect rounds, and she was clad in the new school sweater and robe that her mother had sent her - required by certain physical developments she at once welcomed and despaired of. Her arms wrapped around her waist, she was free to contemplate her fellow students in cozy comfort.
A group of first-years passed under her gaze - Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, she noted. Must have just gotten out of a class together. Their group could easily be dissected into two smaller groups, with how closely together the students of identical ties walked. It was evident to the sixth year that for these firsties, Hogwarts was still new enough that their House affiliation made up a large portion of their individual identities. So new, too, that the Ravenclaws saw the prefect badge pinned to Ginny's robe and walked even more primly.
To a student, the whole group of Gryffindors, knowing exactly who Ginny was thanks to the Quidditch quarrel, narrowed their eyes at her. Ginny, for her own part, valiantly fought to keep from sticking her tongue out at the lot of them. Once they had scampered up the staircase she kept watch from, she shook her head, letting her irritation go.
They were just ickle firsties, after all.
Next to push past her, obviously headed down to their common rooms, was a large portion of Hufflepuff House. Fourth years, she guessed; not one tie that was not black and gold, but they moved and joked with each other in a manner that spoke of a few years' comfortable acquaintance. A couple of them had those blushing expressions that spoke of early teenage crushes, although they weren't likely to be caught holding hands, or worse, by a Prefect from another house.
Unlike the seventh-years, who were traveling the staircase in the opposite direction. They had no inhibitions with gadding about as though they owned this school, right down to the very staircase that Ginny stood on, in multi-House groups - well, the three non-Slytherin Houses, anyway. No less than a full Professor (and even then, it depended on the professor) could get them to stop holding hands - certainly a fifth- or sixth-year Prefect was within her rights to demand cessation of the forbidden behaviour, but the flagrant disobedience that inevitably followed would be a huge loss of face for the Prefect in question.
She would prefer to avoid such occurrences. Especially after the past few weeks.
Funny, though. The Slytherins have always acted like they owned the school. And they've always isolated themselves from the rest of Hogwarts. As a matter of fact, I can't think of a situation where they've drawn an outsider into the Slytherin circle. Except, of course, this one..
She realized how her friendship with Pansy must appear to everyone else. Slytherins, creatures of habit they were, never opened themselves up to others. What did it mean that Pansy had brought a Gryffindor of shady history into her circle of influence? And why would anyone choose to believe little Ginny Weasley's word against years of Slytherin tendencies?
She raised her chin a notch. Bugger Slytherin tendencies. Bugger Gryffindor mistrust. She wasn't going to let people's insecurities get in the way of what could be a perfectly decent friendship.
"Weasley!" The voice that called her name summoned a smirk to her lips. She turned to greet it.
"Hullo, Parkinson." Taking in Pansy's companions, she added with a nod, "Zabini. Malfoy."
"Where are you off to?" the Slytherin girl questioned.
Ginny smiled. "Free block. I have a date in the library with a scroll for Flitwick."
Pansy grasped her elbow and tugged at her arm. "I have a better idea instead. Seeing as those of us who don't have second block free are determined to skive off -" at this, she glared at the two boys accompanying her - "let's go somewhere quiet and discuss our Potions project." She pulled Ginny in the direction they had been traveling at the time of their encounter.
"Wait. Shouldn't we be going upstairs, if we're going to the library?"
"My dear Weasley, certainly you wouldn't want to discuss the creation of a Ministry-controlled substance in such a public place," Pansy replied condescendingly. Ginny froze at her next words.
"I thought we'd go to Slytherin commons."
Ten minutes later, Ginny was standing stock-still in the middle of the Slytherin common room in awe.
It hadn't been an easy journey. Malfoy had objected - loudly - to the idea of a Weasley in Slytherin House. When Pansy had challenged him to find a location in the school that would offer them the same sort of privacy - and no, the Potions classroom was right out, because the second years were in session - his mouth had snapped shut, and he'd glared at Pansy's smug expression.
Ginny had briefly considered suggesting the Room of Requirement, until she recognized how very amusing it was to see the Head Boy backed down .. and realized that she might learn many potentially-useful things during her visit. She followed the rest of the group down the stairs, past the Great Hall, and into the dungeons barely able to conceal the excited expression of a small child on a grand adventure.
When they finally reached the entrance to Slytherin House, Zabini turned to her and covered her ears with his hands. "Can't have you hearing the password, can we?" he smiled at her.
Just before the Head Boy cuffed him on the back of the head.
"Hands off the Gryff, prat," he snapped. "Won't do any good, seeing as she's a bloody Prefect and already knows it. Don't you, little Weasley?"
Ginny smirked at him. "Want proof?" She turned to the portal and opened her mouth as if to say the password, but Pansy cut her off.
"Not a good idea, Ginny. The portal's cursed to raise an alarm all through Slytherin House should any non-Slytherin open it." Pansy spoke the password quietly, and explained, "While the alarm certainly has its .. purposes, in this case we DON'T want to alert the rest of Slytherin to your presence. Right?"
"Fair enough," she'd replied. As she stood in the middle of the empty common room, taking in the feel of the room, the art on the walls, the chill in the air screaming cunning, duplicity, stealth, a tiny voice in the back of her mind made itself known.
Comfortable here, girl? This would have been yours, you know, had you only said the word.
Ginny pushed the little voice out of her consciousness and spoke aloud. "So, Potions."
Pansy led the way to a small table off to the side of the common room, pulled four armchairs around it and sat down, spreading her books about on the flat surface. Noticing that the other three still stood, she looked up with an expression of irritation. "Well?" she snapped. "Don't just stand there."
"If you were worried about alerting the rest of Slytherin to my presence, isn't there a .. less obvious place to sit?" Ginny gestured around the room.
Pansy waved a hand negligently. "Most of the House IS in class at present .. and should someone so foolishly attempt to give us trouble, Draco can try out the overgrown bat routine he's picked up from Professor Snape. Now, sit."
They sat. Several moments and some rummaging around bookbags later, they looked down upon three different methods for brewing truth serum - the proceeds of two weeks' research.
"This one," Malfoy said, pale fingers reaching out to pull the parchment closer, "is the Ministry-preferred standard. The components, while slightly unusual, aren't anything we couldn't find in Snape's stores. This, of the three, would be the easiest to produce and the one we're probably expected to use.
"I'd like to avoid it, for that reason."
Showoff, Ginny thought contemptuously.
"The second," he said, fingers skittering across the table to the next piece of parchment, "is a little more complex. The majority of the ingredients for this one would have to come from Hogsmeade. And since the next weekend visit isn't for two weeks we'd either have to wait until then to start brewing, which puts our finishing date much closer to the end of term than I'd like, or get Professor Snape to get permission to go sooner. I could theoretically manage that, but it would mean using influence I'd rather save for a more critical occasion."
Ginny noted the looks that Pansy and Zabini gave the Head Boy, and wondered just what sort of influence he meant. A little chill ran down her spine, and she pushed those thoughts away.
"All the same, a good find. Yours, Zabini?" The boy's onyx tresses shook as he nodded his head, obviously pleased by the compliment.
"And then we have the entry from Gryffindor House." Steely eyes turned to Ginny as he picked up her parchment. "This method is the most exotic of the three; the majority of the ingredients commonplace, but there are a couple we wouldn't find outside of Knockturn Alley. I'd ask you where you got this, little Weasley, but I'm not sure I even want to know, and I'm certain that you don't want to tell me." His lips turned up into their well-known smirk. "You will have to tell me, if you propose we make the truth serum with your instructions. How are we to get our hands on doxy venom?"
"I have means," Ginny replied shortly.
"Indeed?" The unspoken challenge, leveled in a manner to irritate the girl further.
"I can owl my .. sources .. at lunchtime, and have an answer in two days. If they can procure it for me, I should have it by the beginning of next week. If they can't, we have plenty of time to choose one of the other methods." She leveled a glare at the blond boy. "If that's acceptable."
"Quite," he replied. He was content to let the little Weasel do all the work; if she got caught, there would be no negative repercussions upon himself, and in the meantime it provided plenty of opportunity to irritate the girl further. "Why don't you send that owl now? Good to know that we'll need to make alternate plans early."
"You watch me, Malfoy," she retorted, her brown eyes flashing. "You'll eat those words. Or maybe even some doxy venom."
"Come on, Weasley," Zabini said, rising. "I'll make sure you make it out of Slytherin dungeon without meeting a dark fate."
"Speaking of that, I was wondering why I hadn't seen the hags, banshees, vampires, ghouls and other nasties that are reputed to live here," Ginny replied, as she packed her Potions materials away. "Oh, wait. He's sitting right in front of me."
"Oh, my wounded pride! Ten points from Gryffindor, for insolence to the Head Boy." The smirk grew smug.
"Best ten points I've ever lost," she said frostily, before leaving the common room in Zabini's company.
"You enjoyed that far too much," Pansy remarked off-handedly, as she watched the Gryffindor disappear through the entrance to Slytherin House.
"Don't even think it, Parkinson," Malfoy retorted. "I assure you, I do not suffer from the same debilitation of intelligence that seems to have infected our friend Zabini."
Ginny felt slightly uncomfortable at the presence of the dark-haired boy walking next to her. She'd expected him to abandon her at the entrance to the dungeons, but instead he'd followed her up the moving staircases, past the library and the classrooms all the way to the Owlery, nattering on about the Quidditch game she'd missed, how disappointed he was not to play against the only good Chaser on the Gryffindor team, and how exciting it was to be assigned a Potions project that had real-world applicability.
Ginny barely heard any of it. She was too busy staring at the floor meters ahead, attempting to locate the source of her unease. Was it simply the fact that Zabini was a Slytherin, and was expected to be untrustworthy? Was it the fact that he'd just given her an unexpected compliment?
Or was it the fact that while his black hair was long enough to fall into his face at inopportune moments, it was nonetheless a subtle reminder of another Slytherin boy of her "acquaintance"?
She shivered for a moment at that thought.
As they crossed the threshold of the Owlery, she turned to her unexpected companion. "Did Malfoy put you up to this?" she asked, a frown twisting her usually sunny expression. "Did he want to make sure I got that owl sent out? Wanted to ensure another opportunity to cast aspersions on me and my House?"
"No, Ginny." His eyes, with irises so dark they looked black at a glance, were glittering at her, and her name - always Weasley before, never Ginny - sounded like a midnight breeze rustling through grass. "I'm here because I wish to be."
She looked up at him with concern in her eyes. This was Blaise Zabini, Slytherin playboy, breaker of hearts. Absolutely no good at all could come of him wanting to be alone in the Owlery with her. "Why?" she demanded.
"Because," said the voice of darkness and velvet, "I determined after the Quidditch match that I was going to ask you to accompany me on the next Hogsmeade weekend. Seeing as it was announced this morning, I wanted to make sure I did so before some other prat won your favour."
Ginny stared at him, a look of disbelief spreading across her face. "You do remember," she said slowly, "that I am a Gryffindor and a Weasley, which makes me poor, homely, and a disgrace to the name of Wizard?"
Blaise stepped closer to her, those eyes focused intently on her alone, and cupped her face in his hands. "You are the most beautiful witch at this school," he said in a low voice that was almost a growl, "and the rest of that is also rot."
Her eyes took in his hair, his eyes, the set of his jaw, and her thoughts grew jumbled. She opened her mouth to speak, knowing she should say something. "Er .. okay," she said, her voice sounding more affected than she'd like.
"Okay what?"
"Okay, I'll go with you."
And suddenly she couldn't think at all, because his lips had pressed forcefully against hers. Soft and warm, like the hands that touched her face except they weren't there anymore, they were tangled in her hair at the base of her neck and why hadn't Michael or Dean kissed like this?
And then Ginny's mind managed to push one thought into her consciousness - it's the middle of the day, and you're in a well-traveled part of the school - and she stiffened. It was enough to break contact, but Blaise merely brushed her lips with his thumb before murmuring "I'll see you in Potions," and disappearing through the archway.
She sank down on a nearby bench, attempting to straighten out her thoughts before starting her letter to the twins. "Dear Fred and George, you wouldn't believe the kiss I just got," she giggled to herself, before another, more sobering thought crashed down around her ears.
Ron is going to have a fit.
The thought that she had two weeks to find some way of telling him provided only minimal comfort as she reached into her bag for a parchment and quill.
She dreamed that night. Not the usual variety of dream, where she found herself sitting naked in Charms class, or overslept the night before the Quidditch match and awoke to discover it over.
She was sitting on a stool, in front of the four House tables, the entire staff, and all of Hogwarts' students. Professor McGonagall was placing the Sorting Hat upon her head, and a voice she remembered poured into her ear.
"Ahh, a redheaded Weasley. Another Gr-" The Hat was about to shout the word "GRYFFINDOR!" to the assembled room when it stopped abruptly. "One moment, what's this?"
Ginny felt the frozen chill of dread fall from her throat to her stomach, as if one of the ghosts had waved their arm through her body. "You, dear girl, are quite unlike every other Weasley I've sat upon. Yes, there is courage in you, but .. there's something else at play as well."
Her stomach clenched. Gryffindor, she thought, just name me Gryffindor and we can get on with it.
"You're hiding something, girl. That's why you so desperately want me to Sort you Gryffindor, because you're afraid of it coming out should you belong to .. another House. You realize that, in addition to your predilection to complication, proves you to be suited for Slytherin above all, do you not, Miss Weasley?"
I'll make just as good a Gryffindor as the rest of my family. Please, Sort me Gryffindor!
"I'm terribly sorry, dear girl. I must listen to my instinct, and my instinct tells me that you belong in ... SLYTHERIN!"
Ginny bolted upright, her pulse pounding, echoes of a cacophony in her ears: her family's protestations, the Gryffindors' gasps of disbelief, and her own horrified shriek.
She pushed aside the veil of sleep to discover herself shaking from chill, her thin nightclothes drenched in sweat. It's just a dream. Just a dream, she told herself, reclining slowly until her head reached the soft pillows, and her hand tugged the soft coverlet up under her chin, to ward against the cold. You're safe in the sixth-year Gryffindor dormitory.
The Hat did listen to you.
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