Chapter 9: Living 6th June 1997
‘You know, the food’s exactly as it’s always been.’ Weasley’s words are somewhat garbled, as she attempts to chew into an over-large piece of pie while she speaks. He does not doubt that this is entirely due to her being ill bred; he cannot keep from sneering at her. Weasley ignores this, continuing, ‘At least, I would think it’s still the same House Elves who are preparing dinner…’
‘I – well,’ he begins. He does not feel inclined to admit to her that he has been battling a rising feeling of dissociation from this place that he has known for years now, and that it is not helping his appetite.
‘Are you that allergic to Muggles, Malfoy, that it prevents your eating?’ asks Weasley, and a good touch of incredulity has slipped into her tone.
‘It’s – this is the Great Hall, Weasley,’ he manages to say, and he realizes helplessly. It certainly does not please him – this consistent, recurrent state of helplessness in the past days; it has made each day seem like a century from the last, and he is fast losing his sense of time, of self.
Weasley does not answer him for a while, and takes her time to finish the piece of pie. Finally, swallowing, she remarks, ‘It’s that it’s not the same, is it, Malfoy? Not just ‘cos the Muggles are here?’
It surprises him that she has understood, somewhat. He meets her steady gaze, ‘Yes, well, it’s not – and they’re acting like they’ve always been here, they’re acting so much like how we’ve always been, in Hogwarts, like us students…’
‘We’ve only ever come here to do ordinary things, Malfoy, like eat, and study,’ says Weasley, and it irritates him immediately that her tone borders on excessively patient, as if she is speaking to an especially slow child. ‘It’s not like we ever came here to do anything particularly different from what Muggles likely do in their own lives – well, except when we receive our owl post, or when we’re having Apparition classes…’
He does not know how to answer this, and goes back to starring at his plate, using his fork to pick at the slice of pie in front of him – absently, he realizes, that he had not taken it for himself, but that someone – Weasley, probably – had placed it on his plate for him.
‘Is it so difficult to realize that they’re just human, like we are, Malfoy?’ Weasley asks. Her tone is exasperated, but he realizes that she has kept her voice consistently low all this while, so that in the noise of their surroundings, Groan and Nott, seated opposite them, likely cannot hear what they have been saying – is Weasley trying to conduct the conversation privately, for his sake?
‘Well – they’re Muggles, Weasley,’ he finally replies. ‘They’re different.’
Weasley stares at him for a while, and then says, ‘Of course they’re different. This wasn’t supposed to be their war to fight, Malfoy, but they’ve been dragged into this, by the wizarding world, they’ve had to leave their own lives, leave what they’re accustomed to, to live in Hogwarts, heaven knows for how long. We can’t promise them that they’ll be able to return to the lives they’ve left, either. But look at them – they’re living. They’re accepting this reality. And well, that takes a good amount of courage, and I would give a good amount of respect to them, if I were you, rather than harp on about their difference from us.’
‘I…’ He finds that he no longer knows what to say. When his part in this had started, a year ago, all he had had in mind was the safety of Mother, and Father, fear for his life – then he had been overwhelmed by his complete inability to kill Dumbledore, tasting the complete and overpowering sense of having no reason not to do something, except that it was simply something that he could not do. He had never thought of what would follow after, and he has never thought of – he has never imagined that these people, these Muggles, with their own lives and their own reality, will be involved.
He wonders at their eating the food the House Elves have prepared for them, wonders at their going to sleep in the Great Hall, in the classrooms, in the other House Towers. He wonders how they can do all of this, and not feel as completely helpless, and completely resentful, as he now feels.
‘Malfoy?’ Weasley prompts. He turns back to her, jerkily, and he realizes that her eyes are soft and he wants nothing but to run from them, or demand that she resent him to, and feel as helpless as he does. Then Weasley sighs, breaking off eye contact with him as she shakes her head briefly.
‘Just eat, Malfoy,’ she says, in a tired voice. ‘You haven’t eaten much in days.’
~
In the end, he only manages to finish the slice of pie that Weasley had put on his plate.
He finds that he wants to remember the fear, the pain that he had experienced in the past year – he remembers that it had been acute. But now he cannot remember that driving sharpness, which had told him that he had only one option – to obey the Dark Lord’s commands, to let the Death Eaters in, to kill Dumbledore.
It has dulled, as if the reasons had themselves grown cold and useless.
The Dark Lord had still punished him, Mother and Father are still in his service, and he does not know how he is going to breathe in this June that stretches out at length before him, with Potter and Granger and the Weasleys, all ready to fight, probably to lay down their lives, with Groan and his wanting to die, with his Housemates who had not chosen as he had, with these Mudbloods and Muggles who had been forced out of their lives, and still acted as if they can live.
As he stumbles out of the Great Hall as if in a trance, he almost does not notice that someone has wrapped their hand around his, and tries to pull him in another direction, away from the Slytherin dorm. He does not respond, at first, then the hand jerks him towards its owner, more insistently.
‘Weasley? What are you – ’ he starts.
‘Come with me, Malfoy,’ says Weasley; there is something hard to her face, as if she has just made a decision, and one that was difficult to make.
‘Where?’ he asks, stupidly.
‘Just come,’ replies Weasley, shortly, and her hand closes more surely around his as she pulls him away, into the crowd.
~
‘Why’re we in the Room of Requirement, Weasley?’ he manages; he has to remind himself that it is not the Room of Hidden Things, at least not now – in any case, according to what Weasley’s apparent needs, it is a small room, carpeted and with large velvet cushions thrown about the floor. A low stone table is at the heart of the room; in its centre is a shallow stone basin – a Pensieve.
Her small, thin hand still grasping his, Weasley answers, turning around to him, ‘I wanted to show you something.’ She pushes him down, and, letting go of his hand, drops onto the floor herself next to the Pensieve.
‘You want me to view a memory of yours with you?’ he finally asks.
‘Yes,’ she says, and she does not quite meet his gaze.
~
‘I’m really, really sorry, Colin,’ sobs a younger Ginny Weasley; he realizes, watching her, that this must have been years ago – probably in her first, or second year. She is small for her age; he would not have guessed that she was already in Hogwarts, except that he recognizes that they are in the Infirmary, and she is wearing her Hogwarts robes. Weasley the younger is seated on a chair next to a bed; on the bed is a younger Colin Creevey, looking pale and terribly small, without his ubiquitous camera, and his eyes are large and touched with red and tears.
Weasley the older stands next to him, watching the proceedings calmly; it strikes him that she must have seen this scene before, not just because it happened to herself, but because she has reviewed this, in this Pensieve, likely many times.
‘Gin – Ginny, it’s okay, I didn’t – it’s not like I died, y’know. My mum’s just frightened, that’s all,’ says Creevey, in a soft voice, and tentatively he reaches small hands towards Ginny Weasley, and pulls her hands towards him. ‘She – she was just upset, she wouldn’t have screamed so at you, otherwise. You know I don’t blame you…’
‘I could have killed you,’ chokes out Weasley the younger, ‘I could have killed you, it would have been entirely my fault – your mum’s not wrong – ’
‘Hush, Gin,’ says Creevey, interrupting her, and this time his voice is stronger, clearer than Draco has ever heard it to be.
‘I don’t blame you. I’ve had some time to think about this, here, and even – even if it was your fault, even if you had meant it, which you did not – you’re my friend, and…even if you weren’t my friend, what can be done about this?’ In a sudden movement, Creevey has pulled Weasley, still sobbing, into his arms, ‘What is there to be angry for?’
‘But – but I – ’
‘It’s happened, and it’s passed, Gin,’ says Creevey, and Draco realizes that Creevey has started crying, too. ‘And I’ll live with it, Gin.’
‘And you’ll have to live with it, too.’
~
‘What was that, Weasley?’ he asks, quietly, as they return to the present. ‘What was that we just saw?’
‘That was when Colin regained consciousness, in the Infirmary. It was after I had gotten him Petrified; the Basilisk attacked him – and he was only alive because he happened to have his camera with him. It was entirely fortuitous,’ Weasley says. Her voice is almost steady, but he knows rather than hears that there is a tremor in it.
‘You know, after what happened in my first year, I apologized to each of them. I apologized to Hermione, to Filch, for Mrs. Norris, I apologized to Justin Finch-Fletchley, I apologized to Penelope Clearwater, I apologized to Nearly Headless Nick,’ she continues, and her voice starts to take on an almost matter-of-fact, conversational tone. ‘Apologizing to Hermione was the easiest, but also the worst. She told me – I still remember – she told me that it was alright, she knew that it was not my fault, and that I wasn’t myself, that she understood. I remember, at first I felt fine – we even managed to share a joke, after that – but I have never – it’s as if I have never made it up to her, that I can never. I feel always, forever, in her debt.’
‘Apologizing to Filch was the most unpleasant, but the easiest. He screamed at me, threatened me, threw things at me, even. I let him, and tried my best to stay still and not flinch. And then, finally – he stopped, his anger was spent.’
‘Apologizing to Justin was like apologizing to Hermione – I just haven’t felt it as badly, all this time, because I simply don’t see Justin as often as I do Hermione, and Justin has never gone on to want to be any particular kind of friend of mine. He was gentlemanly about it, and he nods to me and talks to me when he sees me – and I can’t ever help not thinking of what I did to him, whenever he does.’
‘Apologizing to Penelope and Nearly Headless Nick wasn’t particularly bad – Percy let me have it on Penny’s behalf, before hugging me and saying he was sorry halfway into his ranting at my utter stupidity and recklessness. Nearly Headless Nick just nodded when I said I was sorry – and maybe he understands how I would feel, will always feel, because he never tries to strike up a conversation with me, though he never looks like he is angry with me, either.’
‘But it was this apology to Colin – it was this apology to Colin that got me through the worst of it.’ Weasley pauses, finally. She looks down at her hands, as if studying them. ‘Colin was my first friend in Hogwarts. And he was worried – he was worried – that I’ll have to live with what I had done, what I had caused. And he’s not wrong – I’ve had to live with it, live past it, live with Tom…’
‘What are you trying to say, Weasley?’ he whispers. She had told him – just hours before, in the Weasleys’ kitchen – about what it was, to live with what Tom Riddle had done to her, but now he realizes, in a slow, thick haze, that that wasn’t quite everything she had had to face – that she has to face.
‘What you did – when you realize what it is that you’ve done – you’ll realize that you’ll never make up for it,’ Weasley says, and she finally looks up, at him. ‘You’ll never make up for it, even if you’ve undergone punishment for it, even if they have given you forgiveness. If you really realize what you’ve done – you’ll never think that you’ll ever do enough.’
‘But…’ she continues, still looking steadily into his eyes, ‘But you’ll have to live with it. And it’s the only way you’ll ever go towards making up for it – by living, and knowing…knowing that you’ll never make up for it.’
When he does not answer – cannot answer, she reaches towards him, and lays a small, pale hand on his. ‘You’re not going to get forgiveness, Malfoy, and anyway, I don’t think those people out there – whether Muggle or no – know to give you forgiveness, and I’m not even sure if you want forgiveness. For all I know, all your reasons for doing what you did, they still make sense to you. All I can say is, Malfoy, is that whatever it is – ’
‘Whatever it is, and whatever you will pay for it, you have to live.’
~
When the tears come, when the knowledge finally comes, she reaches over and pulls him towards her, and he cannot remember how long they sit there, together in the Room of Requirement.
~ 7th June 1997
When he wakes up, she is no longer there – someone, probably Weasley herself, had laid his head on a cushion, and had covered him with a blanket. He rubs his eyes and stretches, feeling strangely spent, and bereft, when he hears someone enter the room.
‘Malfoy? You’re awake?’ Weasley steps into the room. She is balancing a plate in her left hand – he smells fresh waffles and maple syrup – and in her right hand is a large mug. ‘I brought you some food – I s’pose you can call it sup-fast, since it’s so long past supper, but not quite time for breakfast yet…’ Gingerly, she moves towards the stone table, and looking over Draco realizes that there is no longer a Pensieve in its centre, in time for Weasley to put the plate and mug down on top of it.
‘What time is it?’ His voice comes out in a scratch.
‘It’s almost five in the morning,’ answers Weasley, ‘I was going to wake you up anyway, I don’t suppose you would want the two of us to be seen together by all and sundry, as if we’ve spent the night together…’
He shoots her a strange look, as he sits up and reaches forward towards the table, pushing the blanket off himself, ‘Are you fussed about your reputation, Weasley?’
‘If you’re implying that I don’t have a reputation to speak of to protect, Malfoy…’
‘No – no,’ he says, brow furrowed, as he reaches for a waffle – Weasley has not had the presence of mind to bring any cutlery with her, so he has to settle with eating it with his hands. He realizes that he is, indeed, extremely hungry. ‘Well, you did set yourself up for such a remark, but what I meant is, it’s not like we spent the night together in any particular sense which ought to get anyone’s knickers in a twist.’
‘Yes – well,’ Weasley starts, then shakes her head, as she reaches for a waffle herself. ‘It’s not something which would worry boys much, I s’pose.’
‘Well – I would hex anyone into oblivion who thought poorly of your virtue, Weasley,’ he replies, almost flippantly, but he keeps an eye on her reaction.
Weasley chokes slightly on her waffle at his words, and sputters, half a laugh at her lips, ‘Are you saying that you intend to protect my reputation for me, Malfoy?’
‘I’ll have to do something…for last night, don’t you think?’ He tries to keep his tone as light as possible, and concentrates on the waffle in his hand.
Weasley does not answer him for a moment, and then she reaches a hand towards him, and rests it on his arm. He tries not to flinch from her new familiarity with him, or from the slight pain that runs up his arm with her hand pressed against the Dark Lord’s carved-in words. ‘Malfoy, last night – I’m not going to say it’s nothing, because it was something for me, something which was both difficult and good for me to share, with you. But we’re not – you don’t have to think that you owe me anything…’
‘I’ve saved your life twice, anyway, so I think you’re still indebted to me,’ he says, as she trails off, and he is surprised at the note of amusement in his own voice, even as he knows that his lips have curved into a small smile.
Ginny Weasley stares at him for a beat, looking for all the world somewhat dumbfounded, until, finally, she bursts out into laughter. ‘Did you – did you just – with me – Malfoy!’ she manages, and he finds himself swallowing the piece of waffle in his mouth hastily as he starts to laugh too, his shoulders shaking.
When he finally manages to catch a breath, however – after the first time, he realizes, he has laughed properly, sincerely, in a long time – he realizes that there the dim light of the room just lights onto Ginny Weasley’s red hair, and sets it aflame.
And he thinks, not for the first time, that Ginny Weasley is, perhaps, the prettiest girl he has ever seen.
~
They make it back to the Slytherin dorm unmolested; at the Common Room, however, she pauses – they have been quiet on the way back, without speaking, and suddenly she wonders if she should say something.
After all, she has been thinking, on the way back – for hours, in fact, after Malfoy had fallen asleep in her arms, of what she has done with him. And, she supposes, what it means.
The night before had been strange enough – she has never had anyone admit, out loud, that they understood – could have felt as she had, and has – what it is to have had Tom, so near to her, in her. But Malfoy had, in a small way – and when she had seen him, his expression and his inability to eat in the Great Hall, she had seen in him what she had had to face, and still has to face, other than Tom – having to live with herself, with what she had done.
Which had led to the past hours – she realizes, suddenly, that she has now shared a part of herself that she has never shared with anyone else; only Colin himself knows of what had happened between them, but not what had happened with Hermione, and the others, and Colin certainly does not know just how much his words had meant to her. She realizes that what she has shared with Malfoy – Malfoy, who she cannot even think of calling by his first name, who she had assumed that she would always dislike – was intimate.
And he had cried – she remembers Harry relating how Malfoy had cried in the past year, Moaning Myrtle hovering at his shoulder – but she has never expected to ever, herself, see Malfoy cry. And when he had cried into her neck, his body trembling, she had felt the tears come to her own eyes, and she had held him, reached around the slender frame and held him close to her, and at that point, she would have given anything to take some of what he has to face away from him.
But now, they are in the middle of the Common Room – and the silence hangs between them; she realizes that Malfoy has not quite turned to make his way to the Slytherin boys’ dorm, either.
‘You’d better get some sleep, Weasley,’ says Malfoy finally, his eyes shaded in the low light from the fireplace, his voice soft and without its usual, drawling quality.
She nods, and turns to go, then stops. Impulsively, she spins around just as she hears his footsteps start – ‘Malfoy!’
Surprised, he stops and turns towards her. ‘What is it, Weasley?’
Abruptly, she feels the heat rise around her neck, onto her face – thank heavens it is dark in the Common Room – but she has made a decision, and she will see it through, ‘Call me Ginny, Malfoy.’
She cannot quite catch his expression in the poor light, but there is a stillness to his features which betrays his shock at this. She feels her cheeks burn, but forces herself not to run.
Then, finally, ‘Then you ought to call me Draco, Weasley,’ he drawls, but she knows he is not mocking her, at least not really – if this were him from a year ago, he could have answered in a myriad humiliating ways, but he has not.
She nods, and gives him a quick, small smile – she wonders if he sees it in the light. ‘Have a good rest, Draco.’
He does not respond for a moment, before nodding, shortly.
‘See you in a while, Ginny.’
~
‘Gin! Get up, it’s time for breakfast!’ Hermione reaches out to shake the younger girl in the last bed in the far corner of the room – Ginny has always liked to sleep up against a wall. Today she has backed herself against the wall next to her bed; her small form leaves an expanse of bed untouched. Tracey Davis has already left; she had nodded wordlessly at Hermione as a morning greeting, which Hermione takes as her form of friendliness. She has hardly heard a word from Tracey Davis since she had arrived – now that she thinks of it, she doubts she has ever heard Tracey Davis speak.
‘Ginny, c’mon, aren’t you hungry?’ Sighing at the lack of response from Ginny, Hermione aims her wand at her – ‘Reennervate!’
Ginny jerks awake, and immediately looks up at her, a full scowl on her face. ‘’Mione!’ she complains, ‘I wanted to sleep in a bit, it isn’t like we have school…’
‘Yes, well, but we’ve got to go back to our research, don’t we?’ replies Hermione, somewhat exasperatedly. ‘And you shouldn’t have come back so late from your Ravenclaw friends last night…’
‘Ravenclaw friends…?’ says Ginny, a look of confusion coming to her face. She rubs her eyes and a curtain of red hair falls over her shoulders.
‘Yes, your Ravenclaw friends – Groan said that you had gone to say hello to them, and talk with them last night,’ says Hermione, fully exasperated now, ‘Really, Ginny, I think you need some coffee…’
She turns away a moment to collect her things, and misses the quick, sharp look of comprehension that flits across Ginny’s face. When she turns back, Ginny has already started to get up from the bed, and looks rather decidedly awake.
‘Well, I’ll wait for you at the Common Room, then we’ll walk to the Great Hall together,’ says Hermione, smiling at the younger girl.
~
‘You weren’t in the dorm last night, Malfoy.’
Inwardly, he sighs – why, in all hells, must the first voice to greet him at the Common Room have to be Potter’s?
‘I didn’t know you were keeping such close watch on my bed, Potter,’ he bites out, sneering.
Potter glowers at him, ‘You did enough last year, Malfoy, to warrant your being put in – ’
‘Draco was up talking to my brother, Brett,’ another voice interrupts; Draco recognizes it as Brone’s – the taller boy walks into Common Room, but he has come in from the corridor leading into the Slytherin dungeons rather than from the dorm. In his hand is his customized Firebolt; he is in what appears to be his older brother’s old Montrose Magpies practice robes. Brone might be the only Slytherin Draco knows to willingly and openly wear someone else’s hand-me-downs, but no one would tease him for it. Ron Weasley, who is standing next to Potter, casts an envious look in Brone’s direction.
‘Draco’s quite a fan of the Magpies, and he’s known Brett for some years,’ continues Brone smoothly, and spares Potter an easy, even sunny smile. Draco shoots him a grateful look.
When Brone quickly passes him on the way to his dorm, however, he says, in a low, fierce whisper, ‘You had better have been doing something innocuous, Draco.’
When he turns back, Potter is still looking at him suspiciously. ‘I hardly think anyone appointed you my guard, Potter,’ he manages, rather bitterly, ‘So why don’t you go and – ’
‘Let’s go for breakfast, Draco,’ cuts in Blaise, who steps out into the Common Room just as Brone disappears into the corridor leading to the dorms. ‘I hardly think this is worth sniping about, Potter.’
‘What’s going on?’ asks Granger. She too, has just come into the Common Room, from the corridor leading to the girls’ dorms.
‘I was just asking Malfoy why he wasn’t in his bed for most of the night,’ answers Potter, who still looks rather irritated. ‘Vaisey claims that Malfoy spent the night talking to Vaisey’s older brother.’
‘Malfoy wasn’t in his bed too?’ says Granger, and her brow begins to furrow.
‘What d’you mean…’ starts Potter, then he turns, and begins to smile as Ginny Weasley appears at the threshold of the corridor leading to the Common Room.
Ginny Weasley. He catches her eye, briefly, before she greets Potter, Granger and her brother. Despite what he had told her to do herself, he had not slept in the two hours since he had left her – he had spent the time thinking, of what she had shown him, of what he would have to face, but also of her telling him to call her by her name.
‘Draco,’ he hears Blaise hiss, and he realizes, looking at Blaise and at the irritated tone of his voice, that it must not have been the first time he has tried to catch his attention. ‘If you’re quite done staring at Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, I suggest that we leave for breakfast before Potter notices what you’re doing.’
‘Oh, yes – and I wasn’t – ’ starts Draco, and he gives Blaise an annoyed look; Blaise returns him an infuriatingly superior one, and it takes all of Draco’s self-control not to hit him.
~
‘I somehow doubt Vaisey would’ve lied for you if he knew that you had spent the night with Ginny Weasley,’ says Blaise in a low voice; his features are alight with mischief.
‘What d’you mean by that?’ Draco shoots back irritably, stabbing his sausage rather viciously; he does not bother to protest that Blaise has gotten it wrong – Blaise is no idiot, and any such effort would be entirely futile, and only appear more worthy of suspicion and examination. This morning, Blaise sits with Draco – even Draco knows that Blaise’s mother never rises before eleven in the morning.
Even without needing to look up at the boy opposite him he knows that he is rolling his eyes as he answers, ‘Vaisey’s a bit soft on Weasley, don’t you know, Draco?’
Draco stops his attack on his sausage long enough to cast a full glare at the other boy. ‘No, why would I know that, and why would I care anyway?’
Blaise sighs, ‘Apparently Vaisey has been rather protective of Weasley’s virtue in the Slytherin Quidditch locker room one too many times in the past year, so there’s been some talk going around about what he thinks of her. You would’ve known of this too, Draco.’
‘Except that I was rather preoccupied, and not on the Quidditch team in the past year, Blaise,’ replies Draco with exaggerated patience. He ignores the slight distaste in his mouth at the kind of conversation which could have been conducted in the Slytherin Quidditch locker room with respect to Ginny, and also what could have driven Vaisey to have stood up for her – then again, Vaisey has always had a mind of his own. Perhaps that includes acting like a gentleman even when it is inconvenient – Draco cannot imagine why.
‘And anyway, you would care, since apparently you cared enough to spend an entire night out with her,’ continues Blaise unperturbed. ‘And you’re eating, today.’
‘I eat everyday, Blaise,’ he retorts, trying to keep his temper in check and ignoring his insinuation with respect to Ginny, ‘it’s not a particularly remarkable thing.’
‘You weren’t doing a very good job of it last evening, mate – I saw you, you weren’t very far from where my mum and I were having dinner,’ Blaise replies sweetly, ‘I suppose Miss Ginny Weasley is a convincing girl.’
Draco glowers at him.
‘It’s good though, you’ll need your strength…’ continues Blaise.
‘What for?’ Draco interrupts, rudely.
‘I heard yesterday from Groan that you’re already part of their little research team, Draco,’ smiles Blaise, and Draco dearly wants to smack him. ‘I am rather certain that Granger’s rather a slave driver when it comes to these things. And you’ll need a good deal of strength to deal with Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter, if your friendship with Ginny Weasley is going to persist…’
‘What have they got to do with whether I’m friends with Ginny or not?’ bursts Draco, and it is a beat before he realizes his mistake.
Blaise leans back, almost as if admiring his handiwork.
‘Well, well, Draco Malfoy…’
~
She notices that Draco is going spare at Blaise Zabini, while the latter leans back, a devious smile on his lips, and cannot help but try to bite back a smile herself. It is a scene that she has seen a few times in the past years, and she can only infer that it has nevertheless never significantly jeopardized the boys’ relationship – and she cannot help but feel that it looks so very much like how Draco would normally be.
He already looks much better, this morning – and he is eating. He looked rather over-eager, in fact, with a sausage just a while ago…
‘Gin?’ asks Harry from next to her, he is sitting very close to her, she realizes; his body touches hers and she suddenly feels somewhat short of space, of breath. ‘You’re drifting,’ he continues. ‘Are you okay?’
Since his kissing her the night before last – he has been acting like they are together again. She cannot deny that his kiss had comforted her, had made her hope that perhaps she could persist in this, or that perhaps he does love her, outside of Hermione’s love potion. But she cannot help the fear either; thinking of what she shared with Draco the night before, she wonders if she can just live with it, if that would be enough for both her and Harry.
‘I’m fine, Harry,’ she manages, ‘Just fine.’
‘Who were you hanging out with, from Ravenclaw, yesterday?’ he asks. At Ginny’s surprised look, ‘Hermione just mentioned – you must have missed it – you weren’t in your bed for the most part of last night either, Gin. She said that Groan said that you were with your Ravenclaw friends.’
‘Oh,’ says Ginny, rather stupidly, but she quickly recovers, ‘I was with well, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot – Terry had arrived yesterday, after the fight, to see his family.’ She had certainly seen Michael last evening at dinner and had waved at him, and he had nudged Terry who was next to him, who had also directed a friendly smile in her direction – she supposes that Terry must have, indeed, come to Hogwarts after the fight. She would have to ask Michael to corroborate her story if it came to that, later. ‘I haven’t seen Michael in a really long time, so…’
‘I didn’t know that you and Michael were still close,’ says Harry, and she does not miss the note of jealousy in his voice.
‘Well, we started talking again more often ‘cos he wasn’t very happy when he and Cho broke up, and we were friends for months before we got together, and have been friends even after we broke up, Harry,’ says Ginny, before adding, in a softer voice, ‘and we were with Terry, and it oughtn’t mean anything to you, anyway.’
‘Gin…’ says Harry, and his voice speaks both of warning and tiredness. ‘I told you…’
‘And I told you, Harry, that I think it should be clearer between us; you asked if we could break up,’ Ginny says, afraid to hear more. ‘And – and I think you might want some time, to think about how you really feel about me…’
‘Gin, I know how I feel about you,’ says Harry, ‘And if Ron and Hermione and I can’t leave for a while now – perhaps I shouldn’t have broken things off with you…’
‘So when you can leave, you’ll break things off again?’ Ginny says softly. Surely there is something wrong with them, independently of Hermione’s love potion – which she is not sure is even in effect now, anyway, since Ginny had stopped Hermione from administering it for weeks now…
‘You kissed me back, the night before, when I kissed you,’ he says, almost accusingly. ‘You must know that I only want what’s best for us, Gin – when,’ he suddenly swallows, ‘when all this is over, we’ll be happy together, Ginny, and – and remember when we used to say – I could get an apartment, at Hogsmeade, and stay with you here while you finish your last year…and after that, you’ll be with me…’
She barely remembers having ever had this conversation – it feels like a lifetime ago, and she feels quite suddenly ill that he remembers. It must have been within the first week of their getting together – she must have teasingly asked him what he would do without her, when he graduates, in between kisses, and he must have answered her with this. She never expected him to mean it, or to remember – are the effects of the love potion supposed to be this lasting, and this serious?
‘Are you – are you quite yourself, Harry?’ she manages to whisper.
‘Gin – what are you – ’ he begins, almost sounding angry, and then he stops himself. ‘Ginny, if I had known you would be like this, I would never have broken things off with you. I thought you understood – and Ginny, I need you more than ever, I’ve known since that day when we came back from Godric’s Hollow after the Dementors attacked us, you were one of my most important memories…’
‘I’m – I’m sorry, Harry,’ she manages. Her fingers are cold; she feels as if she is not quite within herself, and it is as if her tongue continues to speak of its own accord. ‘But you don’t – you don’t really love me.’
‘Ginny, please,’ his voice has taken on a pleading quality, and his green eyes look over-bright.
‘No – Harry, it’s not – I’m not saying it’s your fault, it’s mine,’ she chokes, and she realizes belatedly that hot tears are already slowly sliding down her cheeks, and she feels acutely that something is breaking inside her. But suddenly she knows – she knows – that she must say it –
‘You don’t love me, Harry, because Hermione’d – we’d – given you a love potion, and what you think you feel for me – it’s not real.’
~
‘You know, the food’s exactly as it’s always been.’ Weasley’s words are somewhat garbled, as she attempts to chew into an over-large piece of pie while she speaks. He does not doubt that this is entirely due to her being ill bred; he cannot keep from sneering at her. Weasley ignores this, continuing, ‘At least, I would think it’s still the same House Elves who are preparing dinner…’
‘I – well,’ he begins. He does not feel inclined to admit to her that he has been battling a rising feeling of dissociation from this place that he has known for years now, and that it is not helping his appetite.
‘Are you that allergic to Muggles, Malfoy, that it prevents your eating?’ asks Weasley, and a good touch of incredulity has slipped into her tone.
‘It’s – this is the Great Hall, Weasley,’ he manages to say, and he realizes helplessly. It certainly does not please him – this consistent, recurrent state of helplessness in the past days; it has made each day seem like a century from the last, and he is fast losing his sense of time, of self.
Weasley does not answer him for a while, and takes her time to finish the piece of pie. Finally, swallowing, she remarks, ‘It’s that it’s not the same, is it, Malfoy? Not just ‘cos the Muggles are here?’
It surprises him that she has understood, somewhat. He meets her steady gaze, ‘Yes, well, it’s not – and they’re acting like they’ve always been here, they’re acting so much like how we’ve always been, in Hogwarts, like us students…’
‘We’ve only ever come here to do ordinary things, Malfoy, like eat, and study,’ says Weasley, and it irritates him immediately that her tone borders on excessively patient, as if she is speaking to an especially slow child. ‘It’s not like we ever came here to do anything particularly different from what Muggles likely do in their own lives – well, except when we receive our owl post, or when we’re having Apparition classes…’
He does not know how to answer this, and goes back to starring at his plate, using his fork to pick at the slice of pie in front of him – absently, he realizes, that he had not taken it for himself, but that someone – Weasley, probably – had placed it on his plate for him.
‘Is it so difficult to realize that they’re just human, like we are, Malfoy?’ Weasley asks. Her tone is exasperated, but he realizes that she has kept her voice consistently low all this while, so that in the noise of their surroundings, Groan and Nott, seated opposite them, likely cannot hear what they have been saying – is Weasley trying to conduct the conversation privately, for his sake?
‘Well – they’re Muggles, Weasley,’ he finally replies. ‘They’re different.’
Weasley stares at him for a while, and then says, ‘Of course they’re different. This wasn’t supposed to be their war to fight, Malfoy, but they’ve been dragged into this, by the wizarding world, they’ve had to leave their own lives, leave what they’re accustomed to, to live in Hogwarts, heaven knows for how long. We can’t promise them that they’ll be able to return to the lives they’ve left, either. But look at them – they’re living. They’re accepting this reality. And well, that takes a good amount of courage, and I would give a good amount of respect to them, if I were you, rather than harp on about their difference from us.’
‘I…’ He finds that he no longer knows what to say. When his part in this had started, a year ago, all he had had in mind was the safety of Mother, and Father, fear for his life – then he had been overwhelmed by his complete inability to kill Dumbledore, tasting the complete and overpowering sense of having no reason not to do something, except that it was simply something that he could not do. He had never thought of what would follow after, and he has never thought of – he has never imagined that these people, these Muggles, with their own lives and their own reality, will be involved.
He wonders at their eating the food the House Elves have prepared for them, wonders at their going to sleep in the Great Hall, in the classrooms, in the other House Towers. He wonders how they can do all of this, and not feel as completely helpless, and completely resentful, as he now feels.
‘Malfoy?’ Weasley prompts. He turns back to her, jerkily, and he realizes that her eyes are soft and he wants nothing but to run from them, or demand that she resent him to, and feel as helpless as he does. Then Weasley sighs, breaking off eye contact with him as she shakes her head briefly.
‘Just eat, Malfoy,’ she says, in a tired voice. ‘You haven’t eaten much in days.’
~
In the end, he only manages to finish the slice of pie that Weasley had put on his plate.
He finds that he wants to remember the fear, the pain that he had experienced in the past year – he remembers that it had been acute. But now he cannot remember that driving sharpness, which had told him that he had only one option – to obey the Dark Lord’s commands, to let the Death Eaters in, to kill Dumbledore.
It has dulled, as if the reasons had themselves grown cold and useless.
The Dark Lord had still punished him, Mother and Father are still in his service, and he does not know how he is going to breathe in this June that stretches out at length before him, with Potter and Granger and the Weasleys, all ready to fight, probably to lay down their lives, with Groan and his wanting to die, with his Housemates who had not chosen as he had, with these Mudbloods and Muggles who had been forced out of their lives, and still acted as if they can live.
As he stumbles out of the Great Hall as if in a trance, he almost does not notice that someone has wrapped their hand around his, and tries to pull him in another direction, away from the Slytherin dorm. He does not respond, at first, then the hand jerks him towards its owner, more insistently.
‘Weasley? What are you – ’ he starts.
‘Come with me, Malfoy,’ says Weasley; there is something hard to her face, as if she has just made a decision, and one that was difficult to make.
‘Where?’ he asks, stupidly.
‘Just come,’ replies Weasley, shortly, and her hand closes more surely around his as she pulls him away, into the crowd.
~
‘Why’re we in the Room of Requirement, Weasley?’ he manages; he has to remind himself that it is not the Room of Hidden Things, at least not now – in any case, according to what Weasley’s apparent needs, it is a small room, carpeted and with large velvet cushions thrown about the floor. A low stone table is at the heart of the room; in its centre is a shallow stone basin – a Pensieve.
Her small, thin hand still grasping his, Weasley answers, turning around to him, ‘I wanted to show you something.’ She pushes him down, and, letting go of his hand, drops onto the floor herself next to the Pensieve.
‘You want me to view a memory of yours with you?’ he finally asks.
‘Yes,’ she says, and she does not quite meet his gaze.
~
‘I’m really, really sorry, Colin,’ sobs a younger Ginny Weasley; he realizes, watching her, that this must have been years ago – probably in her first, or second year. She is small for her age; he would not have guessed that she was already in Hogwarts, except that he recognizes that they are in the Infirmary, and she is wearing her Hogwarts robes. Weasley the younger is seated on a chair next to a bed; on the bed is a younger Colin Creevey, looking pale and terribly small, without his ubiquitous camera, and his eyes are large and touched with red and tears.
Weasley the older stands next to him, watching the proceedings calmly; it strikes him that she must have seen this scene before, not just because it happened to herself, but because she has reviewed this, in this Pensieve, likely many times.
‘Gin – Ginny, it’s okay, I didn’t – it’s not like I died, y’know. My mum’s just frightened, that’s all,’ says Creevey, in a soft voice, and tentatively he reaches small hands towards Ginny Weasley, and pulls her hands towards him. ‘She – she was just upset, she wouldn’t have screamed so at you, otherwise. You know I don’t blame you…’
‘I could have killed you,’ chokes out Weasley the younger, ‘I could have killed you, it would have been entirely my fault – your mum’s not wrong – ’
‘Hush, Gin,’ says Creevey, interrupting her, and this time his voice is stronger, clearer than Draco has ever heard it to be.
‘I don’t blame you. I’ve had some time to think about this, here, and even – even if it was your fault, even if you had meant it, which you did not – you’re my friend, and…even if you weren’t my friend, what can be done about this?’ In a sudden movement, Creevey has pulled Weasley, still sobbing, into his arms, ‘What is there to be angry for?’
‘But – but I – ’
‘It’s happened, and it’s passed, Gin,’ says Creevey, and Draco realizes that Creevey has started crying, too. ‘And I’ll live with it, Gin.’
‘And you’ll have to live with it, too.’
~
‘What was that, Weasley?’ he asks, quietly, as they return to the present. ‘What was that we just saw?’
‘That was when Colin regained consciousness, in the Infirmary. It was after I had gotten him Petrified; the Basilisk attacked him – and he was only alive because he happened to have his camera with him. It was entirely fortuitous,’ Weasley says. Her voice is almost steady, but he knows rather than hears that there is a tremor in it.
‘You know, after what happened in my first year, I apologized to each of them. I apologized to Hermione, to Filch, for Mrs. Norris, I apologized to Justin Finch-Fletchley, I apologized to Penelope Clearwater, I apologized to Nearly Headless Nick,’ she continues, and her voice starts to take on an almost matter-of-fact, conversational tone. ‘Apologizing to Hermione was the easiest, but also the worst. She told me – I still remember – she told me that it was alright, she knew that it was not my fault, and that I wasn’t myself, that she understood. I remember, at first I felt fine – we even managed to share a joke, after that – but I have never – it’s as if I have never made it up to her, that I can never. I feel always, forever, in her debt.’
‘Apologizing to Filch was the most unpleasant, but the easiest. He screamed at me, threatened me, threw things at me, even. I let him, and tried my best to stay still and not flinch. And then, finally – he stopped, his anger was spent.’
‘Apologizing to Justin was like apologizing to Hermione – I just haven’t felt it as badly, all this time, because I simply don’t see Justin as often as I do Hermione, and Justin has never gone on to want to be any particular kind of friend of mine. He was gentlemanly about it, and he nods to me and talks to me when he sees me – and I can’t ever help not thinking of what I did to him, whenever he does.’
‘Apologizing to Penelope and Nearly Headless Nick wasn’t particularly bad – Percy let me have it on Penny’s behalf, before hugging me and saying he was sorry halfway into his ranting at my utter stupidity and recklessness. Nearly Headless Nick just nodded when I said I was sorry – and maybe he understands how I would feel, will always feel, because he never tries to strike up a conversation with me, though he never looks like he is angry with me, either.’
‘But it was this apology to Colin – it was this apology to Colin that got me through the worst of it.’ Weasley pauses, finally. She looks down at her hands, as if studying them. ‘Colin was my first friend in Hogwarts. And he was worried – he was worried – that I’ll have to live with what I had done, what I had caused. And he’s not wrong – I’ve had to live with it, live past it, live with Tom…’
‘What are you trying to say, Weasley?’ he whispers. She had told him – just hours before, in the Weasleys’ kitchen – about what it was, to live with what Tom Riddle had done to her, but now he realizes, in a slow, thick haze, that that wasn’t quite everything she had had to face – that she has to face.
‘What you did – when you realize what it is that you’ve done – you’ll realize that you’ll never make up for it,’ Weasley says, and she finally looks up, at him. ‘You’ll never make up for it, even if you’ve undergone punishment for it, even if they have given you forgiveness. If you really realize what you’ve done – you’ll never think that you’ll ever do enough.’
‘But…’ she continues, still looking steadily into his eyes, ‘But you’ll have to live with it. And it’s the only way you’ll ever go towards making up for it – by living, and knowing…knowing that you’ll never make up for it.’
When he does not answer – cannot answer, she reaches towards him, and lays a small, pale hand on his. ‘You’re not going to get forgiveness, Malfoy, and anyway, I don’t think those people out there – whether Muggle or no – know to give you forgiveness, and I’m not even sure if you want forgiveness. For all I know, all your reasons for doing what you did, they still make sense to you. All I can say is, Malfoy, is that whatever it is – ’
‘Whatever it is, and whatever you will pay for it, you have to live.’
~
When the tears come, when the knowledge finally comes, she reaches over and pulls him towards her, and he cannot remember how long they sit there, together in the Room of Requirement.
~ 7th June 1997
When he wakes up, she is no longer there – someone, probably Weasley herself, had laid his head on a cushion, and had covered him with a blanket. He rubs his eyes and stretches, feeling strangely spent, and bereft, when he hears someone enter the room.
‘Malfoy? You’re awake?’ Weasley steps into the room. She is balancing a plate in her left hand – he smells fresh waffles and maple syrup – and in her right hand is a large mug. ‘I brought you some food – I s’pose you can call it sup-fast, since it’s so long past supper, but not quite time for breakfast yet…’ Gingerly, she moves towards the stone table, and looking over Draco realizes that there is no longer a Pensieve in its centre, in time for Weasley to put the plate and mug down on top of it.
‘What time is it?’ His voice comes out in a scratch.
‘It’s almost five in the morning,’ answers Weasley, ‘I was going to wake you up anyway, I don’t suppose you would want the two of us to be seen together by all and sundry, as if we’ve spent the night together…’
He shoots her a strange look, as he sits up and reaches forward towards the table, pushing the blanket off himself, ‘Are you fussed about your reputation, Weasley?’
‘If you’re implying that I don’t have a reputation to speak of to protect, Malfoy…’
‘No – no,’ he says, brow furrowed, as he reaches for a waffle – Weasley has not had the presence of mind to bring any cutlery with her, so he has to settle with eating it with his hands. He realizes that he is, indeed, extremely hungry. ‘Well, you did set yourself up for such a remark, but what I meant is, it’s not like we spent the night together in any particular sense which ought to get anyone’s knickers in a twist.’
‘Yes – well,’ Weasley starts, then shakes her head, as she reaches for a waffle herself. ‘It’s not something which would worry boys much, I s’pose.’
‘Well – I would hex anyone into oblivion who thought poorly of your virtue, Weasley,’ he replies, almost flippantly, but he keeps an eye on her reaction.
Weasley chokes slightly on her waffle at his words, and sputters, half a laugh at her lips, ‘Are you saying that you intend to protect my reputation for me, Malfoy?’
‘I’ll have to do something…for last night, don’t you think?’ He tries to keep his tone as light as possible, and concentrates on the waffle in his hand.
Weasley does not answer him for a moment, and then she reaches a hand towards him, and rests it on his arm. He tries not to flinch from her new familiarity with him, or from the slight pain that runs up his arm with her hand pressed against the Dark Lord’s carved-in words. ‘Malfoy, last night – I’m not going to say it’s nothing, because it was something for me, something which was both difficult and good for me to share, with you. But we’re not – you don’t have to think that you owe me anything…’
‘I’ve saved your life twice, anyway, so I think you’re still indebted to me,’ he says, as she trails off, and he is surprised at the note of amusement in his own voice, even as he knows that his lips have curved into a small smile.
Ginny Weasley stares at him for a beat, looking for all the world somewhat dumbfounded, until, finally, she bursts out into laughter. ‘Did you – did you just – with me – Malfoy!’ she manages, and he finds himself swallowing the piece of waffle in his mouth hastily as he starts to laugh too, his shoulders shaking.
When he finally manages to catch a breath, however – after the first time, he realizes, he has laughed properly, sincerely, in a long time – he realizes that there the dim light of the room just lights onto Ginny Weasley’s red hair, and sets it aflame.
And he thinks, not for the first time, that Ginny Weasley is, perhaps, the prettiest girl he has ever seen.
~
They make it back to the Slytherin dorm unmolested; at the Common Room, however, she pauses – they have been quiet on the way back, without speaking, and suddenly she wonders if she should say something.
After all, she has been thinking, on the way back – for hours, in fact, after Malfoy had fallen asleep in her arms, of what she has done with him. And, she supposes, what it means.
The night before had been strange enough – she has never had anyone admit, out loud, that they understood – could have felt as she had, and has – what it is to have had Tom, so near to her, in her. But Malfoy had, in a small way – and when she had seen him, his expression and his inability to eat in the Great Hall, she had seen in him what she had had to face, and still has to face, other than Tom – having to live with herself, with what she had done.
Which had led to the past hours – she realizes, suddenly, that she has now shared a part of herself that she has never shared with anyone else; only Colin himself knows of what had happened between them, but not what had happened with Hermione, and the others, and Colin certainly does not know just how much his words had meant to her. She realizes that what she has shared with Malfoy – Malfoy, who she cannot even think of calling by his first name, who she had assumed that she would always dislike – was intimate.
And he had cried – she remembers Harry relating how Malfoy had cried in the past year, Moaning Myrtle hovering at his shoulder – but she has never expected to ever, herself, see Malfoy cry. And when he had cried into her neck, his body trembling, she had felt the tears come to her own eyes, and she had held him, reached around the slender frame and held him close to her, and at that point, she would have given anything to take some of what he has to face away from him.
But now, they are in the middle of the Common Room – and the silence hangs between them; she realizes that Malfoy has not quite turned to make his way to the Slytherin boys’ dorm, either.
‘You’d better get some sleep, Weasley,’ says Malfoy finally, his eyes shaded in the low light from the fireplace, his voice soft and without its usual, drawling quality.
She nods, and turns to go, then stops. Impulsively, she spins around just as she hears his footsteps start – ‘Malfoy!’
Surprised, he stops and turns towards her. ‘What is it, Weasley?’
Abruptly, she feels the heat rise around her neck, onto her face – thank heavens it is dark in the Common Room – but she has made a decision, and she will see it through, ‘Call me Ginny, Malfoy.’
She cannot quite catch his expression in the poor light, but there is a stillness to his features which betrays his shock at this. She feels her cheeks burn, but forces herself not to run.
Then, finally, ‘Then you ought to call me Draco, Weasley,’ he drawls, but she knows he is not mocking her, at least not really – if this were him from a year ago, he could have answered in a myriad humiliating ways, but he has not.
She nods, and gives him a quick, small smile – she wonders if he sees it in the light. ‘Have a good rest, Draco.’
He does not respond for a moment, before nodding, shortly.
‘See you in a while, Ginny.’
~
‘Gin! Get up, it’s time for breakfast!’ Hermione reaches out to shake the younger girl in the last bed in the far corner of the room – Ginny has always liked to sleep up against a wall. Today she has backed herself against the wall next to her bed; her small form leaves an expanse of bed untouched. Tracey Davis has already left; she had nodded wordlessly at Hermione as a morning greeting, which Hermione takes as her form of friendliness. She has hardly heard a word from Tracey Davis since she had arrived – now that she thinks of it, she doubts she has ever heard Tracey Davis speak.
‘Ginny, c’mon, aren’t you hungry?’ Sighing at the lack of response from Ginny, Hermione aims her wand at her – ‘Reennervate!’
Ginny jerks awake, and immediately looks up at her, a full scowl on her face. ‘’Mione!’ she complains, ‘I wanted to sleep in a bit, it isn’t like we have school…’
‘Yes, well, but we’ve got to go back to our research, don’t we?’ replies Hermione, somewhat exasperatedly. ‘And you shouldn’t have come back so late from your Ravenclaw friends last night…’
‘Ravenclaw friends…?’ says Ginny, a look of confusion coming to her face. She rubs her eyes and a curtain of red hair falls over her shoulders.
‘Yes, your Ravenclaw friends – Groan said that you had gone to say hello to them, and talk with them last night,’ says Hermione, fully exasperated now, ‘Really, Ginny, I think you need some coffee…’
She turns away a moment to collect her things, and misses the quick, sharp look of comprehension that flits across Ginny’s face. When she turns back, Ginny has already started to get up from the bed, and looks rather decidedly awake.
‘Well, I’ll wait for you at the Common Room, then we’ll walk to the Great Hall together,’ says Hermione, smiling at the younger girl.
~
‘You weren’t in the dorm last night, Malfoy.’
Inwardly, he sighs – why, in all hells, must the first voice to greet him at the Common Room have to be Potter’s?
‘I didn’t know you were keeping such close watch on my bed, Potter,’ he bites out, sneering.
Potter glowers at him, ‘You did enough last year, Malfoy, to warrant your being put in – ’
‘Draco was up talking to my brother, Brett,’ another voice interrupts; Draco recognizes it as Brone’s – the taller boy walks into Common Room, but he has come in from the corridor leading into the Slytherin dungeons rather than from the dorm. In his hand is his customized Firebolt; he is in what appears to be his older brother’s old Montrose Magpies practice robes. Brone might be the only Slytherin Draco knows to willingly and openly wear someone else’s hand-me-downs, but no one would tease him for it. Ron Weasley, who is standing next to Potter, casts an envious look in Brone’s direction.
‘Draco’s quite a fan of the Magpies, and he’s known Brett for some years,’ continues Brone smoothly, and spares Potter an easy, even sunny smile. Draco shoots him a grateful look.
When Brone quickly passes him on the way to his dorm, however, he says, in a low, fierce whisper, ‘You had better have been doing something innocuous, Draco.’
When he turns back, Potter is still looking at him suspiciously. ‘I hardly think anyone appointed you my guard, Potter,’ he manages, rather bitterly, ‘So why don’t you go and – ’
‘Let’s go for breakfast, Draco,’ cuts in Blaise, who steps out into the Common Room just as Brone disappears into the corridor leading to the dorms. ‘I hardly think this is worth sniping about, Potter.’
‘What’s going on?’ asks Granger. She too, has just come into the Common Room, from the corridor leading to the girls’ dorms.
‘I was just asking Malfoy why he wasn’t in his bed for most of the night,’ answers Potter, who still looks rather irritated. ‘Vaisey claims that Malfoy spent the night talking to Vaisey’s older brother.’
‘Malfoy wasn’t in his bed too?’ says Granger, and her brow begins to furrow.
‘What d’you mean…’ starts Potter, then he turns, and begins to smile as Ginny Weasley appears at the threshold of the corridor leading to the Common Room.
Ginny Weasley. He catches her eye, briefly, before she greets Potter, Granger and her brother. Despite what he had told her to do herself, he had not slept in the two hours since he had left her – he had spent the time thinking, of what she had shown him, of what he would have to face, but also of her telling him to call her by her name.
‘Draco,’ he hears Blaise hiss, and he realizes, looking at Blaise and at the irritated tone of his voice, that it must not have been the first time he has tried to catch his attention. ‘If you’re quite done staring at Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, I suggest that we leave for breakfast before Potter notices what you’re doing.’
‘Oh, yes – and I wasn’t – ’ starts Draco, and he gives Blaise an annoyed look; Blaise returns him an infuriatingly superior one, and it takes all of Draco’s self-control not to hit him.
~
‘I somehow doubt Vaisey would’ve lied for you if he knew that you had spent the night with Ginny Weasley,’ says Blaise in a low voice; his features are alight with mischief.
‘What d’you mean by that?’ Draco shoots back irritably, stabbing his sausage rather viciously; he does not bother to protest that Blaise has gotten it wrong – Blaise is no idiot, and any such effort would be entirely futile, and only appear more worthy of suspicion and examination. This morning, Blaise sits with Draco – even Draco knows that Blaise’s mother never rises before eleven in the morning.
Even without needing to look up at the boy opposite him he knows that he is rolling his eyes as he answers, ‘Vaisey’s a bit soft on Weasley, don’t you know, Draco?’
Draco stops his attack on his sausage long enough to cast a full glare at the other boy. ‘No, why would I know that, and why would I care anyway?’
Blaise sighs, ‘Apparently Vaisey has been rather protective of Weasley’s virtue in the Slytherin Quidditch locker room one too many times in the past year, so there’s been some talk going around about what he thinks of her. You would’ve known of this too, Draco.’
‘Except that I was rather preoccupied, and not on the Quidditch team in the past year, Blaise,’ replies Draco with exaggerated patience. He ignores the slight distaste in his mouth at the kind of conversation which could have been conducted in the Slytherin Quidditch locker room with respect to Ginny, and also what could have driven Vaisey to have stood up for her – then again, Vaisey has always had a mind of his own. Perhaps that includes acting like a gentleman even when it is inconvenient – Draco cannot imagine why.
‘And anyway, you would care, since apparently you cared enough to spend an entire night out with her,’ continues Blaise unperturbed. ‘And you’re eating, today.’
‘I eat everyday, Blaise,’ he retorts, trying to keep his temper in check and ignoring his insinuation with respect to Ginny, ‘it’s not a particularly remarkable thing.’
‘You weren’t doing a very good job of it last evening, mate – I saw you, you weren’t very far from where my mum and I were having dinner,’ Blaise replies sweetly, ‘I suppose Miss Ginny Weasley is a convincing girl.’
Draco glowers at him.
‘It’s good though, you’ll need your strength…’ continues Blaise.
‘What for?’ Draco interrupts, rudely.
‘I heard yesterday from Groan that you’re already part of their little research team, Draco,’ smiles Blaise, and Draco dearly wants to smack him. ‘I am rather certain that Granger’s rather a slave driver when it comes to these things. And you’ll need a good deal of strength to deal with Ron Weasley, and Harry Potter, if your friendship with Ginny Weasley is going to persist…’
‘What have they got to do with whether I’m friends with Ginny or not?’ bursts Draco, and it is a beat before he realizes his mistake.
Blaise leans back, almost as if admiring his handiwork.
‘Well, well, Draco Malfoy…’
~
She notices that Draco is going spare at Blaise Zabini, while the latter leans back, a devious smile on his lips, and cannot help but try to bite back a smile herself. It is a scene that she has seen a few times in the past years, and she can only infer that it has nevertheless never significantly jeopardized the boys’ relationship – and she cannot help but feel that it looks so very much like how Draco would normally be.
He already looks much better, this morning – and he is eating. He looked rather over-eager, in fact, with a sausage just a while ago…
‘Gin?’ asks Harry from next to her, he is sitting very close to her, she realizes; his body touches hers and she suddenly feels somewhat short of space, of breath. ‘You’re drifting,’ he continues. ‘Are you okay?’
Since his kissing her the night before last – he has been acting like they are together again. She cannot deny that his kiss had comforted her, had made her hope that perhaps she could persist in this, or that perhaps he does love her, outside of Hermione’s love potion. But she cannot help the fear either; thinking of what she shared with Draco the night before, she wonders if she can just live with it, if that would be enough for both her and Harry.
‘I’m fine, Harry,’ she manages, ‘Just fine.’
‘Who were you hanging out with, from Ravenclaw, yesterday?’ he asks. At Ginny’s surprised look, ‘Hermione just mentioned – you must have missed it – you weren’t in your bed for the most part of last night either, Gin. She said that Groan said that you were with your Ravenclaw friends.’
‘Oh,’ says Ginny, rather stupidly, but she quickly recovers, ‘I was with well, Michael Corner, and Terry Boot – Terry had arrived yesterday, after the fight, to see his family.’ She had certainly seen Michael last evening at dinner and had waved at him, and he had nudged Terry who was next to him, who had also directed a friendly smile in her direction – she supposes that Terry must have, indeed, come to Hogwarts after the fight. She would have to ask Michael to corroborate her story if it came to that, later. ‘I haven’t seen Michael in a really long time, so…’
‘I didn’t know that you and Michael were still close,’ says Harry, and she does not miss the note of jealousy in his voice.
‘Well, we started talking again more often ‘cos he wasn’t very happy when he and Cho broke up, and we were friends for months before we got together, and have been friends even after we broke up, Harry,’ says Ginny, before adding, in a softer voice, ‘and we were with Terry, and it oughtn’t mean anything to you, anyway.’
‘Gin…’ says Harry, and his voice speaks both of warning and tiredness. ‘I told you…’
‘And I told you, Harry, that I think it should be clearer between us; you asked if we could break up,’ Ginny says, afraid to hear more. ‘And – and I think you might want some time, to think about how you really feel about me…’
‘Gin, I know how I feel about you,’ says Harry, ‘And if Ron and Hermione and I can’t leave for a while now – perhaps I shouldn’t have broken things off with you…’
‘So when you can leave, you’ll break things off again?’ Ginny says softly. Surely there is something wrong with them, independently of Hermione’s love potion – which she is not sure is even in effect now, anyway, since Ginny had stopped Hermione from administering it for weeks now…
‘You kissed me back, the night before, when I kissed you,’ he says, almost accusingly. ‘You must know that I only want what’s best for us, Gin – when,’ he suddenly swallows, ‘when all this is over, we’ll be happy together, Ginny, and – and remember when we used to say – I could get an apartment, at Hogsmeade, and stay with you here while you finish your last year…and after that, you’ll be with me…’
She barely remembers having ever had this conversation – it feels like a lifetime ago, and she feels quite suddenly ill that he remembers. It must have been within the first week of their getting together – she must have teasingly asked him what he would do without her, when he graduates, in between kisses, and he must have answered her with this. She never expected him to mean it, or to remember – are the effects of the love potion supposed to be this lasting, and this serious?
‘Are you – are you quite yourself, Harry?’ she manages to whisper.
‘Gin – what are you – ’ he begins, almost sounding angry, and then he stops himself. ‘Ginny, if I had known you would be like this, I would never have broken things off with you. I thought you understood – and Ginny, I need you more than ever, I’ve known since that day when we came back from Godric’s Hollow after the Dementors attacked us, you were one of my most important memories…’
‘I’m – I’m sorry, Harry,’ she manages. Her fingers are cold; she feels as if she is not quite within herself, and it is as if her tongue continues to speak of its own accord. ‘But you don’t – you don’t really love me.’
‘Ginny, please,’ his voice has taken on a pleading quality, and his green eyes look over-bright.
‘No – Harry, it’s not – I’m not saying it’s your fault, it’s mine,’ she chokes, and she realizes belatedly that hot tears are already slowly sliding down her cheeks, and she feels acutely that something is breaking inside her. But suddenly she knows – she knows – that she must say it –
‘You don’t love me, Harry, because Hermione’d – we’d – given you a love potion, and what you think you feel for me – it’s not real.’
~
Author notes: Please do review! It would really help me a lot to know if I'm doing things right/wrong.
To Be Continued.
julian steerpike is the author of 2 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 27 members. Members who liked June also liked 1046 other stories.
This story is a favorite of 27 members. Members who liked June also liked 1046 other stories.
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