A/N – I’m back! Haha I finally wrapped up my other projects, and this plot bunny has been running rampant in my head for ages, so I’m finally following up on it. I hope you like it!
Things to know…
Title: Not Quite Fate
Summary: Destiny knew better than to bring these two together. One man, determined to draw back an errant Malfoy, is not so wise, and Ginny soon finds herself caught up in events that are not quite Fate.
Rating: PG-13 (for occasional swearing)
Spoilers: This does actually follow HBP, so be forewarned.
Disclaimer: I really don’t think these things are necessary, but no, I am not J.K. Rowling, and no, I’m not getting paid for this. And that covers the entire story.
Okey-dokey, without further ado…
- - - - -
Prologue
Guttering torches provided the only light for the underground complex, filling the space with forbidding shadows. Large stone blocks lined the walls, and here and there whole chunks bore large cracks, so bad in some places that entire sections had fallen away, piling up as rubble on the floor and exposing the raw earth beneath. It was cold, damp, and smelled distinctly of mildew and age. Jonathon Pierce decided that he much preferred the last hideout over this new one, more secure or no.
“I can handle my own son.” Lucius Malfoy’s voice was as controlled as ever, his face the perfect mask of calm, but Pierce didn’t miss the angry glint in the man’s pale eyes.
Lord Voldemort, sitting erect in his chair at the head of the long table, regarded Lucius through unreadable eyes the color of blood. “The incident this summer would say otherwise, Lucius.”
There was a definite flash of rage in Lucius’s gaze this time. “I assure you, my Lord—that matter has been dealt with. Thoroughly.”
A cruel smile curled the corners of Voldemort’s thin lips. “I do not doubt that, Lucius. Nevertheless, I cannot take the chance.”
A hush fell over the table, and Pierce glanced around at his fellow Death Eaters, seeing the same disbelieving look on each and every face.
“So he’s to die?” Lucius finally asked, shattering the quiet with the low-spoken question. “My only heir is to be forfeit?”
Lord Voldemort laughed unexpectedly, the sound mirthless and cold. “Be realistic, Lucius! Too much work has gone into the boy to give up so easily.”
Lucius wore the same confused look Pierce felt. “Lord, forgive me, but I don’t understand. If Draco isn’t…disposed of, and he isn’t willing….”
“Isn’t currently willing,” Voldemort corrected, folding long, ghostly hands before him on the rough wood. “I believe you’ll find that every man can change his mind, and every boy as well.”
Lucius shook his head. “I’ve already tried, my Lord. He’s too stubborn to see reason, no matter what I say or do.”
“Precisely why you will not be handling the matter, as I believe I have already made clear.”
Pierce was quite proud of how well he managed to hold back his smirk at the look of utter frustration on Lucius Malfoy’s normally impassive features. This meeting was proving rather entertaining after all, he thought.
“May I ask,” Lucius began in a deliberately even voice, “who, then, will?”
Lord Voldemort inclined his head ever so slightly, then abruptly shifted his eyes over to Pierce’s, making his heart skip painfully. “Jonathon.”
Pierce’s shock could not have been more complete, and over Lucius’s sputtering he asked, “Me, Lord?”
“But he just got initiated! He’s hardly one of us!” Lucius raged before Voldemort could answer, little pink splotches marring the marble complexion of his cheekbones. “You would place my son’s fate with him?”
“I suggest,” Voldemort murmured, crimson eyes narrowed, “you learn some restraint, Lucius. Before I see fit to teach you.” The color rapidly drained from Lucius’s face, and he clamped his mouth shut with a short nod. Voldemort turned to Pierce. “And yes, Jonathon, you.”
Pierce wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about that, but he did know that he now balanced on a very thin wire indeed and chose his words carefully. “I do not question your judgment, Lord, and I am only too happy to do as you wish. But, I have to wonder…why me? I’ve never even seen the boy.”
“Your expertise lies in the manipulation of others, Jonathon,” Voldemort explained, serpentine gaze taking in all assembled, “and perhaps even more importantly, you are new. No one suspects your allegiance to me yet.”
“What does that matter?” Lucius spat, then seeming to realize his less than respectful tone, added a meak, “My Lord.”
Voldemort stared hard at him for a long moment, causing the other man to squirm uncomfortably. “Two reasons, Lucius. One, Draco will not listen to anyone he suspects associated with me.” He turned to address Pierce. “That means you must act discreetly and with absolute subtlety at all costs. I doubt that will be a problem for you.” Pierce shook his head that it would not—the Dark Lord’s earlier statement that manipulation was his special talent was no exaggeration. Voldemort nodded and turned his attention back to Lucius. “Second, Jonathon will need to remain in near constant contact with Draco without raising suspicion. No rumored Death Eater could achieve that.”
Before Lucius could open his mouth, Pierce asked, “How exactly will I manage that?”
Lord Voldemort looked to a Death Eater sitting further down the table, and the other man’s dark eyes stared back from behind a tangled curtain of greasy black hair. A smirk pulled at Voldemort’s mouth, and he said, “Severus, your old job still needs filling, does it not?”
- - - - -
Chapter 1 – Things Change, Life Goes On
Ginny Weasley stood on tiptoe and gave her mother one last hug goodbye, forcing herself to smile when she pulled away.
“You’re sure you’ve got everything, then?” Molly asked for perhaps the hundredth time.
“As sure as I can be,” Ginny said, eyes lowering to the trunk at her feet.
Molly tilted Ginny’s face back up to hers with a finger hooked under her chin, smiling sadly. “I know you don’t want to go back alone, Ginny dear, but you understand why you must, don’t you?”
Ginny pulled free of Molly’s loose grasp on her chin, staring at a point over the woman’s left shoulder. “I could have helped them.”
Molly gave a great sigh. “We’ve been over this, Ginny—”
“But Ron—”
“Will still be completing his education with a tutor and taking his NEWTS as soon as he, Harry, and Hermione all come home,” Molly interrupted firmly.
“And I still don’t see why I couldn’t have just done that too!”
“Because I already had to let one of my children walk into danger,” Molly snapped, tears swimming in her eyes. “I won’t let my baby girl run off too.”
A wave of guilt flooded Ginny at the sight of her mother’s distress, but it couldn’t quite wash away all of her lingering frustration. “Hogwarts wasn’t so safe last year! And that was with Dumbledore alive!”
She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them, and a rush of shame had her casting her eyes downward. To her shock, though, Molly made no admonishment, and a long period of silence drifted between the two Weasley women. These silences were a common occurrence for everyone since Albus Dumbledore’s death—a time of reliving painful memories, mostly.
Finally, Molly said softly, “There’s nowhere left that’s completely safe anymore, Ginny. Hogwarts is as good a place as any, certainly safer than where your brother and Harry are going, and you need to learn all you can. Especially now. Please, Ginny, I’m asking you—just go, and behave.”
Ginny’s eyes slid shut, and she took a slow breath before nodding. “I will, Mum, I promise. I’m sorry.”
Molly folded her youngest daughter into another tight embrace, squeezing the air from her lungs. “You won’t be the only one going back,” Molly promised. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll make some new friends now.”
Ginny knew what Molly really meant by ‘make some new friends.’ She was referring to Harry. The two of them were separated now, for her own safety and for Harry’s peace of mind, but they had sworn to one another before he left in search of the final Horcrux that the moment things settled down, they would pick up right where they left off. For some reason, though, Molly always seemed uncertain where their romance was concerned, and had dropped subtle hints all summer that perhaps it was time for Ginny to move on. Ginny pointedly ignored every one of them—she was in love with Harry, always had been, and she would wait for him to the end of the world.
She didn’t feel like picking another fight just now, though, when only minutes remained before the train left and she wouldn’t see her mum again for months, so she simply smiled and gave a small nod. “Maybe,” she said, then, “Bye, Mum,” and she bent down for her trunk and started off. Just before disappearing through Platform Nine and Three-quarters, she turned, gave a little wave, blew a kiss that Molly returned, and then she was gone.
The platform wasn’t quite what she always remembered from the past, more subdued now, less a bustle of activity. The change didn’t surprise her in the least, though. She knew full well that many of Hogwarts’s former students would not be returning after what happened last year. Even so, the place was still crowded with teenagers hunting down friends or struggling to climb aboard. Shouts and laughter floated through the air, and the smell of the train’s exhaust reached her nostrils. Despite herself, Ginny felt a warm rush of nostalgia at the familiar sensations, and a smile found its way to her lips of its own accord. Taking a moment to breathe it all in and prepare herself, Ginny took the first step, and then the next, and soon she was heaving her trunk up the stairs and flopping into an empty compartment. The Creevey brothers were the only ones to eventually share her compartment, and after a brief greeting the two of them pretty much kept to themselves. It made for a boring ride, but Ginny supposed there were worse things.
They arrived at Hogwarts that evening without a hitch, and the Creevey brothers decided to ride with her in the carriages up to the school, as well, if she didn’t mind. She didn’t, and a short while later the yawning mouth of the Entrance Hall was swallowing them up as they stepped into its warm glow. Following the stream of students, she turned right and made her way to the Great Hall.
The room was entirely different yet blessedly the same all at once. Familiar decorations still adorned the walls and tables, all of which were exactly where they should be, and minus a handful here and there, a surprising number of students sat catching up, their excited chatter flooding the air. It was only when Ginny examined the Head table that the awful difference struck her.
Dumbledore was absent. Instead, Minerva McGonagall sat in the Headmaster’s chair, though Ginny supposed that now it would be called the Headmistress’s chair. Professor Slughorn still occupied the Potions professor’s seat, but someone new resided in the infamous Defense Against the Dark Arts chair, and Ginny studied the man with more than a little curiosity.
Her first thought was that he didn’t look the part at all. He looked almost comical, in fact, though still attractive in an unconventional sort of way. He was really very gangly, tall and thin and slightly awkward, all of his features exaggerated and framed by longish, sandy-blond hair that Molly Weasley would have condemned as exceedingly unkempt. Ginny thought it quite fetching, actually—the tousled, in-need-of-a-trim look suited him. His eyes were round and open, a friendly warm hazel shade that complimented his sand-colored hair nicely.
“All right, settle down!” McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the din, and instantly the Hall fell silent. Her stern gaze swept over the assembly, ensuring its full attention before beginning. “As you all know, some changes have been made to the staff this year. To begin with, I am, of course, now Headmistress. However, I will still be teaching Transfiguration and acting as Head of Gryffindor House, at least until a suitable replacement can be found.”
A quiet murmur rippled through the students at that, and Ginny felt her own admiration for the tough old woman grow. Shouldering both responsibilities would be no easy task.
McGonagall gave the noise a second to die down before she went on. “Secondly, I would like to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Mr. Jonathon Pierce.” The man waved, a boyish grin worn easily on his mouth, and was met with polite applause. “Professor Pierce,” McGonagall continued, “will also be Slytherin’s new Head of House.”
This time even Ginny’s quiet exclamation joined the surprised whispers erupting through the room. If she didn’t think he looked like the type to be defending against any Dark Arts, he certainly didn’t look like a Slytherin of all things. He was smiling, for Merlin’s sake!
A pointed clearing of McGonagall’s throat and an arch look calmed the gossip—for the time being—and she said in a notably quieter tone, “I don’t think I need remind you of what sort of times we are in. The rules will be strictly enforced, and I expect each and every one of you to honor them to the letter. No leniency will be granted, on any grounds, under any circumstances. Curfew is at nine o’clock sharp, no exceptions, and passwords will be changed at least every other day…and never written down for any reason.” Her hawk-like eyes passed over a flushing Neville Longbottom at that. Then she looked back over the Hall, and something in her seemed to grow weary and strengthen all at once. “I understand that the events of last year are still with all of you—as well they should. We must never forget; we must always keep the memory of Albus Dumbledore alive. For simply returning, I commend you. It is my firm belief that we can make this year a good one. Hogwarts will not be so easily defeated.”
She was quiet a long time then, and not even the rustle of fabric could be heard in the huge room. Finally, she nodded firmly and said, “Well, I believe I’ve kept you from your meal long enough! Enjoy the feast!” Her hands clapped together once, and a dozen, mouth-watering scents exploded into the air as every table was instantly laden with food. Ginny’s stomach rumbled loudly in recognition of a plate of steaks, but her fork froze just short of the destination. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of something that instantly claimed her appetite—a flash of platinum hair at the Slytherin table.
Colin Creevey, still by her side since the carriages, looked from her hand, white-knuckled around the fork and hovering over a steak, to her face, which was quickly escalating from shock into something like rage. “Uh, Ginny?”
She didn’t immediately respond.
Colin glanced to Dennis, who merely shrugged and suggested, “Poke her.”
Colin rolled his eyes and tried more loudly, “All right there, Ginny?”
Her fork suddenly slammed down into the steak, splattering everyone within a three-foot radius. “Malfoy?” she spluttered, dark eyes blazing.
Colin winced, wiping away little droplets of spray from the steak’s vicious stabbing. “Ah, Ginny...”
“Draco Malfoy?” she continued to rage, completely oblivious to her rising volume, or anything else but a certain white-blond head across the room. She was fast gaining an audience, and not just from the Gryffindors, either. The Hufflepuffs were already twisting around in their seats to see what the commotion was, and Colin knew if he didn’t act soon, the Ravenclaws would be next, followed by the Slytherins. And considering the source of Ginny’s ire, he knew that once the Slytherins were involved, all Hell would break loose.
“All right, Ginny, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, laying a hand on her forearm.
She wrenched free, banging her fist on the table. “No, it bloody well is not okay!” she nearly shouted.
Colin knew full well what could happen if the Weasley temper reached its full potential, and hers seemed to be climbing steadily by the second. He was just beginning to grow frantic when Dean Thomas jumped up and strode over, gripping Ginny firmly by the arms and dragging her off the bench.
“Come on, Gin-girl,” he said, “Time to go.” He turned his body so that he blocked her view of Malfoy, and she twisted around wildly in an attempt to see again. Dean’s superior size won out, though, and he managed to get her out of the door. Colin hesitated just a second, then told Dennis, “Stay here,” and hurried after the pair, feeling countless eyes on his back as he did.
He slipped through the doors into the Entrance Hall just in time to hear Ginny yell, “That was Draco Malfoy, Dean!” and she pounded a fist against the boy’s chest for emphasis.
“You mentioned that,” Dean remarked, firmly steering her towards the staircase.
“And it doesn’t bother you? That’s Dumbledore’s murderer in there!”
Dean kept his features impassive, his voice even. “That was Snape, Ginny, not Malfoy.”
“It might as well have been!” she cried. “It’s all his fault—all of it! And besides, it’s not for lack of trying that he didn’t actually do it himself! He nearly killed my brother trying!”
“I know, Ginny. I know.”
“No, you don’t!” It seemed to Colin that she was getting more hysterical by the second, and he was very grateful Dean was there to pull her along. “You don’t, or you wouldn’t be so calm about it!”
Dean suddenly stopped right there on the middle of the stairs, gripping her by the shoulders and spinning her around to face him. “What do you want me to do, Ginny? Don’t you think I’m as angry as you? Don’t you think I hate him just as much? Well, I am and I do, but come on Ginny, use your head! The only proof anyone really has that Malfoy actually was responsible for last year is Harry’s word, and when you have the kind of money and power that Malfoy does, one person’s word doesn’t mean a damned thing.”
Ginny’s eyes were bright and fierce, her jaw set. “It isn’t fair.”
“It isn’t,” he agreed. “But that’s just how it goes, and we’ll have to deal with it. All right?”
She stared at him hard for a long time, then seemed to sag as if under a huge weight. “Yeah.”
He studied her a moment. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and repeated, “Yeah.” A pause, then she murmured, “Thank you, Dean.”
He sighed, looking away from her face, and noticed Colin standing a few steps down for the first time. “D’you want to take her up the rest of the way, mate?” he asked.
Colin blinked. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, sure, I can do that.” As he stepped up and moved to stand somewhat uncertainly on her other side, he hoped that he could.
“I can take myself there, you know,” Ginny grumbled, pulling her arm out of Dean’s grip.
“Get some sleep, Gin-girl,” was all he said in reply, then with a short nod to Colin, jogged down the steps to go rejoin the feast.
Ginny watched him go, blowing out a great huffing breath. Then she turned back to Colin and said, “I mean it—you don’t have to walk me.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t mind. I ate too much on the train to enjoy the feast anyway.”
She managed a smile, though her heart wasn’t really in the gesture. “Suit yourself.” Not bothering to wait for the boy, she started up the stairs once more, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off a nonexistent chill in the muggy summer air. They made the relatively long trip in silence, Ginny lost in her thoughts and Colin content not to disturb her.
When they finally reached the portrait entrance, the Fat Lady regarded them with no little curiosity. “You dears are a bit early, aren’t you?”
Colin darted a look to Ginny, but she didn’t even flinch. “I wasn’t feeling well,” she lied easily. “Too many sweets on the train, I think. Colin was making sure I made it up all right.”
The Fat Lady shook her head disapprovingly. “Tut, tut,” she clucked. “Why, I remember a time when sweets were a treat, not something children could just gorge themselves on whenever the fancy struck them! That’s the problem wi—”
“I’m really not feeling well,” Ginny interrupted, making a show of holding her midsection.
The Fat Lady harrumphed. “Well? What’s the password, then?”
“Peruvian Vipertooth.”
The portrait swung open to admit them, and the Fat Lady’s grumbling over the vices of today’s youth followed them all the way through until she slammed the painting shut again.
“Bloody difficult woman,” Ginny mumbled, collapsing heavily onto her back in a great squishy sofa and throwing an arm over her face.
Colin shifted uneasily on his feet. “Do you want to talk?”
“What about?” Her voice came out muffled by the crook of her elbow.
“Anything.” He eased himself into a chair. “Whatever’s upsetting you.”
Her arm came away. “Malfoy is what’s upsetting me.”
“Okay. Do you want to talk about that, then?”
She regarded him a moment, then brought her arm up over her eyes again. “I think…I think I’d just like to be alone right now, actually. If that’s all right.”
He hesitated just a moment, then stood up. “Yeah, of course. I’ll just be in the dormitory. If you need anything….”
She nodded without looking at him. “Thank you, Colin.”
He waited a moment longer, just to be sure, then moved off towards the stairs leading to the boys’ dormitories. Ginny waited until the sound of his footsteps receded completely before letting her arm fall to her side, eyes staring up at the ceiling. She really did want time alone, but it only seemed like a few minutes passed before the portrait was creaking open a second time and a stream of Gryffindors began trickling in. She could feel their curious stares, and uncomfortable with the attention, got up and wandered into her dormitory.
The circular room was still empty but for the trunks, and she went through the motions of finding hers and unpacking the things she would need without enthusiasm. It just wasn’t right at all. She knew the world wasn’t fair, but this went beyond that. She was suddenly very glad Harry decided not to return after all—she didn’t want to know how he would react to Malfoy’s presence.
“Hi, Ginny!”
Ginny, on the floor retrieving a dropped jar of ink from under her bed, jerked up and smacked her head with a crack.
“Oh! Sorry!” the same voice cried.
Ginny crawled out from beneath the bed, rubbing at her head with one hand, and forced a smile for Audrey Hamilton, one of her other three roommates. “Hey, Audrey.”
The petite girl cocked her head to the side, straight brunette hair slipping over one shoulder. “Why’d you leave the feast so early?”
Ginny turned around to stuff her ink back in the trunk. “I just got a bit upset.” A quick glance over her shoulder told Ginny that Audrey was considering pressing her further, but then the door opened again and the other two girls of their year barged in on a wave of laughter. Ginny took advantage of the distraction by slipping off her uniform and donning her nightgown, promptly crawling into bed and closing the curtains around her. She knew she should be making an effort to catch up with the girls, but she just could not bear the thought of faking good spirits.
Audrey and that lot stayed up for what felt like ages, but finally their laughter and whispering died down and the sounds of bed curtains being pulled tight reached Ginny’s ears. She exhaled gratefully, thinking she would be able to get some sleep, but after several minutes’ of tossing and turning, she realized the girls’ noise hadn’t been the cause of her restlessness after all. She groaned into her pillow to muffle the noise, then pushed herself up and noiselessly slipped out of bed, grabbing up her robe and carefully easing her way through the door.
The common room was deathly silent, an unusual occurrence Ginny knew, but there was still a warmth to the place. She arranged herself cross-legged in the middle of the sofa, hands folded over her robe in her lap, and gazed around the familiar surroundings. The fireplace was banked tonight, the hot summer air needing no encouragement, so that the only light originated from the moonlight outside the window. By that cool, silvery light, Ginny could see the chairs that the Golden Trio had almost always occupied before the fire. She remembered sitting in the one on the right with Harry, his arms strong and secure around her. She remembered the teasing brush of his lips against her ear or neck when Ron wasn’t looking, and the little patterns he used to trace on her back where no one could see.
A wet sensation trailing down her cheek jarred her from her trance, and she wiped away the tear stubbornly. For Merlin’s sake, she was acting like it was all over or something! He was just doing what he had to do, and when he came back she would still be here waiting for him, and it would be like nothing ever happened. They would pick up right where they left off, just like they promised.
It was a comforting thought, but it couldn’t ease the pain of separation completely, and this empty room was only bringing back memories better left buried until Harry’s return. Besides, her stomach was beginning to complain, reminding her that she never did end up eating anything. She looked to the time—ten thirty—and frowned, remembering McGonagall’s warning about strict rule enforcement and curfew at nine sharp in particular. For another minute Ginny debated what to do, but then an especially loud growl from her stomach decided the matter. Covering her nightclothes with the robe as she went, she snuck through the portrait hole.
The cool stone floor felt good under her bare feet, and after a quick inspection proved the hallway deserted, she ran to the stairs. The quiet slap, slap of her feet was the only mark of her passage, and she managed to make it to the Entrance Hall undetected, only forced to hide once somewhere around the third floor when a patrolling Prefect trudged by. From there she found another staircase leading down, the one the Weasley twins had long ago showed her went to the painting of a bowl of fruit that she came upon moments later. She reached up and tickled the pear, smiling when it giggled, and grasped the handle when it appeared.
At first glance the place seemed totally void of life, so taking care not to disturb anything, she tip-toed forward. Then a sudden burst of blinding white light exploded in front of her dark-accustomed eyes, and she only just managed to hold in her startled scream. Clutching at her chest, she found herself staring into the wide, watery eyes of Winky.
Ginny took a deep breath. “Winky—”
“Miss Weasley isn’t being allowed down here!” the house-elf shrilled, waving a half-emptied bottle of butter beer around angrily.
“I know, I know, but look—”
Winky shook her head emphatically, floppy ears slapping at her face. “No! No buts! You isn’t being allowed!” she insisted.
Ginny was just starting to panic when another miniature figure appeared from around the corner. “Dobby,” she breathed in relief.
“Miss Weasley!” he squealed, clapping his hands together in delight. “You came to see Dobby?”
“Er,” she glanced from Winky’s irate face to Dobby’s joyful one, “yeah. I wanted to say hello,” she lied.
“She is not being allowed here!” Winky snapped to Dobby, pointing an accusing finger Ginny’s way. Ginny was beginning to wonder if the elf was capable of saying anything else.
Dobby frowned. “But it is only being Harry Potter’s friend…”
“No!” Winky declared firmly, which came out rather comical in her high-pitched squeak. “Headmistress is saying no students allowed! No students,” she repeated triumphantly.
Dobby’s frown deepened, and he pulled Ginny aside while Winky took a healthy swallow from her butter beer bottle. “Winky is being right,” he whispered conspiratorially, “but if Miss Weasley is leaving right now, Dobby can distract her before she is tattling.”
“Oh, would you? Thank you, Dobby!” Ginny whispered, then she bent down and brushed a kiss over his head before sprinting to the door, belly still empty or no. The painting serving as a door swung open easily, and she continued running right on through it—and right on into someone else.
They both went down heavily, though Ginny didn’t suffer much harm since the stranger cushioned her fall. The other person, however—a boy, Ginny realized—hit the floor with a thud that had Ginny wincing in sympathy, the breath whooshing from his lungs from both the impact on his back and Ginny’s weight on his chest.
“Oh my, God!” Ginny cried. “I am so sor—” but the apology died on her lips because when she pushed herself up onto her arms, she saw who she was laying on top of, and time froze as she stared into lifeless gray eyes. Ginny thought rather wildly that this was the closest she’d ever been to Draco Malfoy, and wondered if his eyes always looked so hopeless and dead.
In the end it was Malfoy who gathered his wits first, grasping her waist and shoving her roughly off of him so that she sprawled gracelessly to the floor. He rolled up to a sitting position and lowered his head to his bent knees, where he spent a good half-minute coughing and trying to regain his breath. If it were anyone else, Ginny knew she’d be feeling terrible right now—it wasn’t anyone else, though, and instead she was frankly quite pleased with herself. She stood and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest.
“Gods, Weasley,” he gasped, “watch where the bloody hell you’re going!” He rose carefully to his feet, unable to hold back the occasional grimace of pain. Ginny could only imagine the black and blue mess his back would be tomorrow. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was one massive bruise. Despite everything, she found she was actually experiencing a tiny trickle of guilt after all.
“Well maybe you shouldn’t have been out past curfew!” she retorted, ignoring her annoying conscious…and the fact that she was out late as well.
He paused in the task of brushing imaginary dirt from his robes, raising his eyebrows at her. “I’m on patrol,” he said, indicating the Prefect’s badge gleaming on his breast. “You, on the other hand….”
Ginny glared, feeling such a rage boil up within her like nothing she had ever known before, not even when the twins had singed off half her hair during their fireworks experimentation. This spoiled rotten little boy was the reason that Dumbledore was dead, that Harry was not here, and now he was going to get her in trouble and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it because, damn it all, he was right.
To her absolute shock, though, he simply walked past her without another word. She stood staring incredulously at the empty spot he’d just occupied, then spun around to continuing staring with just as much disbelief at his retreating back.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, the back of her mind screaming, Stop it! What’s the matter with you?, but unable to listen to that particular voice due to the sheer level of fury and confusion whirling around up there.
He looked over his shoulder without turning. “I’m finishing my rounds, Weasley, what does it look like?”
“You’re not taking me to McGonagall? Or at least deducting points or something?” That little voice in the back of her mind was shrieking at a fever pitch now, calling her all sorts of insulting names that she knew were all completely true.
Now he did turn, his expression a cross between incredulity, annoyance, and mild amusement. But—understandably—mostly incredulity. “Would you like me to?”
“No. I just can’t believe an evil git like yourself would pass this up,” she snapped.
He crossed his arms and studied her a long, tense moment, expression inscrutable. “Let me get this straight,” he finally said, slowly, “you’re insulting me for letting you off the hook? Gods Weasley, I knew you didn’t have much in the way of brains, but how thick can you get?”
Even as that one, logical part of her hollered, He’s right, you idiot!, the other part seethed. “What are you doing here, anyway?” she practically snarled.
His eyebrows rose at the degree of hostility in her voice. “We’ve covered this—my rounds.”
“I mean in the castle,” she clarified through clenched teeth. “At school at all.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, you see, there’s this tradition where you go for seven years, and—”
“You know what I mean, you bastard!” she interrupted, whipping out her wand with tears of pent up frustration standing in her eyes. The wand trained at his head, she whispered hoarsely, “You killed him.”
Malfoy’s entire body seemed to tense up at once, fists curling, so that he resembled something on the verge of exploding. His eyes darkened a few shades, and a muscle near his jaw twitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…and neither do you,” he said at last, voice very quiet.
A tear slipped down her cheek now, but her face was hard and her wand arm remained steady. “I think we both do, Malfoy, even if they can’t prove it. He’s dead, and it’s all your fault—”
“Turn around, and go back to bed, Weasley,” he warned, voice so low Ginny felt a touch of cold fear at her spine. The knuckles of his fists were turning white, the muscle at his jaw jumping erratically, and he took a menacing step forward.
She ignored the danger signs, the flood gates opened and her words spilling forth beyond her control. “You’re the one who deserves to be dead! You’re nothing but a rotten Death Eater, and you’re not even a good one!” Dimly, she was aware that twin spots of pink were rising on his pale cheeks, his face clouding with rage, and that he was advancing on her. But months of pain and built-up anger were being released, and she was powerless to cut short her outburst now. “Where do you belong, huh? You don’t have enough morals to be on our side, and you’re too much of a sniveling coward to do a decent job of being evil! You’re all talk, and—”
Malfoy was right in front of her. His wand flashed out and pointed right between her eyes as he roared, “Enough!”
And then it was a stalemate. Both stood with wands drawn and trained on the other’s face, arms crossing each other just a hair’s width apart. Malfoy was breathing heavily with barely controlled fury, and Ginny’s dark eyes still shone with tears even as every other line in her face and body stood strong and unyielding. Neither would back down, they both knew it, and it only remained a matter of who would make the first move.
Then a third voice came from behind them. “Well. What do we have here?”
Things to know…
Title: Not Quite Fate
Summary: Destiny knew better than to bring these two together. One man, determined to draw back an errant Malfoy, is not so wise, and Ginny soon finds herself caught up in events that are not quite Fate.
Rating: PG-13 (for occasional swearing)
Spoilers: This does actually follow HBP, so be forewarned.
Disclaimer: I really don’t think these things are necessary, but no, I am not J.K. Rowling, and no, I’m not getting paid for this. And that covers the entire story.
Okey-dokey, without further ado…
- - - - -
Prologue
Guttering torches provided the only light for the underground complex, filling the space with forbidding shadows. Large stone blocks lined the walls, and here and there whole chunks bore large cracks, so bad in some places that entire sections had fallen away, piling up as rubble on the floor and exposing the raw earth beneath. It was cold, damp, and smelled distinctly of mildew and age. Jonathon Pierce decided that he much preferred the last hideout over this new one, more secure or no.
“I can handle my own son.” Lucius Malfoy’s voice was as controlled as ever, his face the perfect mask of calm, but Pierce didn’t miss the angry glint in the man’s pale eyes.
Lord Voldemort, sitting erect in his chair at the head of the long table, regarded Lucius through unreadable eyes the color of blood. “The incident this summer would say otherwise, Lucius.”
There was a definite flash of rage in Lucius’s gaze this time. “I assure you, my Lord—that matter has been dealt with. Thoroughly.”
A cruel smile curled the corners of Voldemort’s thin lips. “I do not doubt that, Lucius. Nevertheless, I cannot take the chance.”
A hush fell over the table, and Pierce glanced around at his fellow Death Eaters, seeing the same disbelieving look on each and every face.
“So he’s to die?” Lucius finally asked, shattering the quiet with the low-spoken question. “My only heir is to be forfeit?”
Lord Voldemort laughed unexpectedly, the sound mirthless and cold. “Be realistic, Lucius! Too much work has gone into the boy to give up so easily.”
Lucius wore the same confused look Pierce felt. “Lord, forgive me, but I don’t understand. If Draco isn’t…disposed of, and he isn’t willing….”
“Isn’t currently willing,” Voldemort corrected, folding long, ghostly hands before him on the rough wood. “I believe you’ll find that every man can change his mind, and every boy as well.”
Lucius shook his head. “I’ve already tried, my Lord. He’s too stubborn to see reason, no matter what I say or do.”
“Precisely why you will not be handling the matter, as I believe I have already made clear.”
Pierce was quite proud of how well he managed to hold back his smirk at the look of utter frustration on Lucius Malfoy’s normally impassive features. This meeting was proving rather entertaining after all, he thought.
“May I ask,” Lucius began in a deliberately even voice, “who, then, will?”
Lord Voldemort inclined his head ever so slightly, then abruptly shifted his eyes over to Pierce’s, making his heart skip painfully. “Jonathon.”
Pierce’s shock could not have been more complete, and over Lucius’s sputtering he asked, “Me, Lord?”
“But he just got initiated! He’s hardly one of us!” Lucius raged before Voldemort could answer, little pink splotches marring the marble complexion of his cheekbones. “You would place my son’s fate with him?”
“I suggest,” Voldemort murmured, crimson eyes narrowed, “you learn some restraint, Lucius. Before I see fit to teach you.” The color rapidly drained from Lucius’s face, and he clamped his mouth shut with a short nod. Voldemort turned to Pierce. “And yes, Jonathon, you.”
Pierce wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about that, but he did know that he now balanced on a very thin wire indeed and chose his words carefully. “I do not question your judgment, Lord, and I am only too happy to do as you wish. But, I have to wonder…why me? I’ve never even seen the boy.”
“Your expertise lies in the manipulation of others, Jonathon,” Voldemort explained, serpentine gaze taking in all assembled, “and perhaps even more importantly, you are new. No one suspects your allegiance to me yet.”
“What does that matter?” Lucius spat, then seeming to realize his less than respectful tone, added a meak, “My Lord.”
Voldemort stared hard at him for a long moment, causing the other man to squirm uncomfortably. “Two reasons, Lucius. One, Draco will not listen to anyone he suspects associated with me.” He turned to address Pierce. “That means you must act discreetly and with absolute subtlety at all costs. I doubt that will be a problem for you.” Pierce shook his head that it would not—the Dark Lord’s earlier statement that manipulation was his special talent was no exaggeration. Voldemort nodded and turned his attention back to Lucius. “Second, Jonathon will need to remain in near constant contact with Draco without raising suspicion. No rumored Death Eater could achieve that.”
Before Lucius could open his mouth, Pierce asked, “How exactly will I manage that?”
Lord Voldemort looked to a Death Eater sitting further down the table, and the other man’s dark eyes stared back from behind a tangled curtain of greasy black hair. A smirk pulled at Voldemort’s mouth, and he said, “Severus, your old job still needs filling, does it not?”
- - - - -
Chapter 1 – Things Change, Life Goes On
Ginny Weasley stood on tiptoe and gave her mother one last hug goodbye, forcing herself to smile when she pulled away.
“You’re sure you’ve got everything, then?” Molly asked for perhaps the hundredth time.
“As sure as I can be,” Ginny said, eyes lowering to the trunk at her feet.
Molly tilted Ginny’s face back up to hers with a finger hooked under her chin, smiling sadly. “I know you don’t want to go back alone, Ginny dear, but you understand why you must, don’t you?”
Ginny pulled free of Molly’s loose grasp on her chin, staring at a point over the woman’s left shoulder. “I could have helped them.”
Molly gave a great sigh. “We’ve been over this, Ginny—”
“But Ron—”
“Will still be completing his education with a tutor and taking his NEWTS as soon as he, Harry, and Hermione all come home,” Molly interrupted firmly.
“And I still don’t see why I couldn’t have just done that too!”
“Because I already had to let one of my children walk into danger,” Molly snapped, tears swimming in her eyes. “I won’t let my baby girl run off too.”
A wave of guilt flooded Ginny at the sight of her mother’s distress, but it couldn’t quite wash away all of her lingering frustration. “Hogwarts wasn’t so safe last year! And that was with Dumbledore alive!”
She regretted the words as soon as she spoke them, and a rush of shame had her casting her eyes downward. To her shock, though, Molly made no admonishment, and a long period of silence drifted between the two Weasley women. These silences were a common occurrence for everyone since Albus Dumbledore’s death—a time of reliving painful memories, mostly.
Finally, Molly said softly, “There’s nowhere left that’s completely safe anymore, Ginny. Hogwarts is as good a place as any, certainly safer than where your brother and Harry are going, and you need to learn all you can. Especially now. Please, Ginny, I’m asking you—just go, and behave.”
Ginny’s eyes slid shut, and she took a slow breath before nodding. “I will, Mum, I promise. I’m sorry.”
Molly folded her youngest daughter into another tight embrace, squeezing the air from her lungs. “You won’t be the only one going back,” Molly promised. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll make some new friends now.”
Ginny knew what Molly really meant by ‘make some new friends.’ She was referring to Harry. The two of them were separated now, for her own safety and for Harry’s peace of mind, but they had sworn to one another before he left in search of the final Horcrux that the moment things settled down, they would pick up right where they left off. For some reason, though, Molly always seemed uncertain where their romance was concerned, and had dropped subtle hints all summer that perhaps it was time for Ginny to move on. Ginny pointedly ignored every one of them—she was in love with Harry, always had been, and she would wait for him to the end of the world.
She didn’t feel like picking another fight just now, though, when only minutes remained before the train left and she wouldn’t see her mum again for months, so she simply smiled and gave a small nod. “Maybe,” she said, then, “Bye, Mum,” and she bent down for her trunk and started off. Just before disappearing through Platform Nine and Three-quarters, she turned, gave a little wave, blew a kiss that Molly returned, and then she was gone.
The platform wasn’t quite what she always remembered from the past, more subdued now, less a bustle of activity. The change didn’t surprise her in the least, though. She knew full well that many of Hogwarts’s former students would not be returning after what happened last year. Even so, the place was still crowded with teenagers hunting down friends or struggling to climb aboard. Shouts and laughter floated through the air, and the smell of the train’s exhaust reached her nostrils. Despite herself, Ginny felt a warm rush of nostalgia at the familiar sensations, and a smile found its way to her lips of its own accord. Taking a moment to breathe it all in and prepare herself, Ginny took the first step, and then the next, and soon she was heaving her trunk up the stairs and flopping into an empty compartment. The Creevey brothers were the only ones to eventually share her compartment, and after a brief greeting the two of them pretty much kept to themselves. It made for a boring ride, but Ginny supposed there were worse things.
They arrived at Hogwarts that evening without a hitch, and the Creevey brothers decided to ride with her in the carriages up to the school, as well, if she didn’t mind. She didn’t, and a short while later the yawning mouth of the Entrance Hall was swallowing them up as they stepped into its warm glow. Following the stream of students, she turned right and made her way to the Great Hall.
The room was entirely different yet blessedly the same all at once. Familiar decorations still adorned the walls and tables, all of which were exactly where they should be, and minus a handful here and there, a surprising number of students sat catching up, their excited chatter flooding the air. It was only when Ginny examined the Head table that the awful difference struck her.
Dumbledore was absent. Instead, Minerva McGonagall sat in the Headmaster’s chair, though Ginny supposed that now it would be called the Headmistress’s chair. Professor Slughorn still occupied the Potions professor’s seat, but someone new resided in the infamous Defense Against the Dark Arts chair, and Ginny studied the man with more than a little curiosity.
Her first thought was that he didn’t look the part at all. He looked almost comical, in fact, though still attractive in an unconventional sort of way. He was really very gangly, tall and thin and slightly awkward, all of his features exaggerated and framed by longish, sandy-blond hair that Molly Weasley would have condemned as exceedingly unkempt. Ginny thought it quite fetching, actually—the tousled, in-need-of-a-trim look suited him. His eyes were round and open, a friendly warm hazel shade that complimented his sand-colored hair nicely.
“All right, settle down!” McGonagall’s sharp voice cut through the din, and instantly the Hall fell silent. Her stern gaze swept over the assembly, ensuring its full attention before beginning. “As you all know, some changes have been made to the staff this year. To begin with, I am, of course, now Headmistress. However, I will still be teaching Transfiguration and acting as Head of Gryffindor House, at least until a suitable replacement can be found.”
A quiet murmur rippled through the students at that, and Ginny felt her own admiration for the tough old woman grow. Shouldering both responsibilities would be no easy task.
McGonagall gave the noise a second to die down before she went on. “Secondly, I would like to introduce you to your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Mr. Jonathon Pierce.” The man waved, a boyish grin worn easily on his mouth, and was met with polite applause. “Professor Pierce,” McGonagall continued, “will also be Slytherin’s new Head of House.”
This time even Ginny’s quiet exclamation joined the surprised whispers erupting through the room. If she didn’t think he looked like the type to be defending against any Dark Arts, he certainly didn’t look like a Slytherin of all things. He was smiling, for Merlin’s sake!
A pointed clearing of McGonagall’s throat and an arch look calmed the gossip—for the time being—and she said in a notably quieter tone, “I don’t think I need remind you of what sort of times we are in. The rules will be strictly enforced, and I expect each and every one of you to honor them to the letter. No leniency will be granted, on any grounds, under any circumstances. Curfew is at nine o’clock sharp, no exceptions, and passwords will be changed at least every other day…and never written down for any reason.” Her hawk-like eyes passed over a flushing Neville Longbottom at that. Then she looked back over the Hall, and something in her seemed to grow weary and strengthen all at once. “I understand that the events of last year are still with all of you—as well they should. We must never forget; we must always keep the memory of Albus Dumbledore alive. For simply returning, I commend you. It is my firm belief that we can make this year a good one. Hogwarts will not be so easily defeated.”
She was quiet a long time then, and not even the rustle of fabric could be heard in the huge room. Finally, she nodded firmly and said, “Well, I believe I’ve kept you from your meal long enough! Enjoy the feast!” Her hands clapped together once, and a dozen, mouth-watering scents exploded into the air as every table was instantly laden with food. Ginny’s stomach rumbled loudly in recognition of a plate of steaks, but her fork froze just short of the destination. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of something that instantly claimed her appetite—a flash of platinum hair at the Slytherin table.
Colin Creevey, still by her side since the carriages, looked from her hand, white-knuckled around the fork and hovering over a steak, to her face, which was quickly escalating from shock into something like rage. “Uh, Ginny?”
She didn’t immediately respond.
Colin glanced to Dennis, who merely shrugged and suggested, “Poke her.”
Colin rolled his eyes and tried more loudly, “All right there, Ginny?”
Her fork suddenly slammed down into the steak, splattering everyone within a three-foot radius. “Malfoy?” she spluttered, dark eyes blazing.
Colin winced, wiping away little droplets of spray from the steak’s vicious stabbing. “Ah, Ginny...”
“Draco Malfoy?” she continued to rage, completely oblivious to her rising volume, or anything else but a certain white-blond head across the room. She was fast gaining an audience, and not just from the Gryffindors, either. The Hufflepuffs were already twisting around in their seats to see what the commotion was, and Colin knew if he didn’t act soon, the Ravenclaws would be next, followed by the Slytherins. And considering the source of Ginny’s ire, he knew that once the Slytherins were involved, all Hell would break loose.
“All right, Ginny, it’s okay,” he said soothingly, laying a hand on her forearm.
She wrenched free, banging her fist on the table. “No, it bloody well is not okay!” she nearly shouted.
Colin knew full well what could happen if the Weasley temper reached its full potential, and hers seemed to be climbing steadily by the second. He was just beginning to grow frantic when Dean Thomas jumped up and strode over, gripping Ginny firmly by the arms and dragging her off the bench.
“Come on, Gin-girl,” he said, “Time to go.” He turned his body so that he blocked her view of Malfoy, and she twisted around wildly in an attempt to see again. Dean’s superior size won out, though, and he managed to get her out of the door. Colin hesitated just a second, then told Dennis, “Stay here,” and hurried after the pair, feeling countless eyes on his back as he did.
He slipped through the doors into the Entrance Hall just in time to hear Ginny yell, “That was Draco Malfoy, Dean!” and she pounded a fist against the boy’s chest for emphasis.
“You mentioned that,” Dean remarked, firmly steering her towards the staircase.
“And it doesn’t bother you? That’s Dumbledore’s murderer in there!”
Dean kept his features impassive, his voice even. “That was Snape, Ginny, not Malfoy.”
“It might as well have been!” she cried. “It’s all his fault—all of it! And besides, it’s not for lack of trying that he didn’t actually do it himself! He nearly killed my brother trying!”
“I know, Ginny. I know.”
“No, you don’t!” It seemed to Colin that she was getting more hysterical by the second, and he was very grateful Dean was there to pull her along. “You don’t, or you wouldn’t be so calm about it!”
Dean suddenly stopped right there on the middle of the stairs, gripping her by the shoulders and spinning her around to face him. “What do you want me to do, Ginny? Don’t you think I’m as angry as you? Don’t you think I hate him just as much? Well, I am and I do, but come on Ginny, use your head! The only proof anyone really has that Malfoy actually was responsible for last year is Harry’s word, and when you have the kind of money and power that Malfoy does, one person’s word doesn’t mean a damned thing.”
Ginny’s eyes were bright and fierce, her jaw set. “It isn’t fair.”
“It isn’t,” he agreed. “But that’s just how it goes, and we’ll have to deal with it. All right?”
She stared at him hard for a long time, then seemed to sag as if under a huge weight. “Yeah.”
He studied her a moment. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and repeated, “Yeah.” A pause, then she murmured, “Thank you, Dean.”
He sighed, looking away from her face, and noticed Colin standing a few steps down for the first time. “D’you want to take her up the rest of the way, mate?” he asked.
Colin blinked. “Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, sure, I can do that.” As he stepped up and moved to stand somewhat uncertainly on her other side, he hoped that he could.
“I can take myself there, you know,” Ginny grumbled, pulling her arm out of Dean’s grip.
“Get some sleep, Gin-girl,” was all he said in reply, then with a short nod to Colin, jogged down the steps to go rejoin the feast.
Ginny watched him go, blowing out a great huffing breath. Then she turned back to Colin and said, “I mean it—you don’t have to walk me.”
He shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t mind. I ate too much on the train to enjoy the feast anyway.”
She managed a smile, though her heart wasn’t really in the gesture. “Suit yourself.” Not bothering to wait for the boy, she started up the stairs once more, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off a nonexistent chill in the muggy summer air. They made the relatively long trip in silence, Ginny lost in her thoughts and Colin content not to disturb her.
When they finally reached the portrait entrance, the Fat Lady regarded them with no little curiosity. “You dears are a bit early, aren’t you?”
Colin darted a look to Ginny, but she didn’t even flinch. “I wasn’t feeling well,” she lied easily. “Too many sweets on the train, I think. Colin was making sure I made it up all right.”
The Fat Lady shook her head disapprovingly. “Tut, tut,” she clucked. “Why, I remember a time when sweets were a treat, not something children could just gorge themselves on whenever the fancy struck them! That’s the problem wi—”
“I’m really not feeling well,” Ginny interrupted, making a show of holding her midsection.
The Fat Lady harrumphed. “Well? What’s the password, then?”
“Peruvian Vipertooth.”
The portrait swung open to admit them, and the Fat Lady’s grumbling over the vices of today’s youth followed them all the way through until she slammed the painting shut again.
“Bloody difficult woman,” Ginny mumbled, collapsing heavily onto her back in a great squishy sofa and throwing an arm over her face.
Colin shifted uneasily on his feet. “Do you want to talk?”
“What about?” Her voice came out muffled by the crook of her elbow.
“Anything.” He eased himself into a chair. “Whatever’s upsetting you.”
Her arm came away. “Malfoy is what’s upsetting me.”
“Okay. Do you want to talk about that, then?”
She regarded him a moment, then brought her arm up over her eyes again. “I think…I think I’d just like to be alone right now, actually. If that’s all right.”
He hesitated just a moment, then stood up. “Yeah, of course. I’ll just be in the dormitory. If you need anything….”
She nodded without looking at him. “Thank you, Colin.”
He waited a moment longer, just to be sure, then moved off towards the stairs leading to the boys’ dormitories. Ginny waited until the sound of his footsteps receded completely before letting her arm fall to her side, eyes staring up at the ceiling. She really did want time alone, but it only seemed like a few minutes passed before the portrait was creaking open a second time and a stream of Gryffindors began trickling in. She could feel their curious stares, and uncomfortable with the attention, got up and wandered into her dormitory.
The circular room was still empty but for the trunks, and she went through the motions of finding hers and unpacking the things she would need without enthusiasm. It just wasn’t right at all. She knew the world wasn’t fair, but this went beyond that. She was suddenly very glad Harry decided not to return after all—she didn’t want to know how he would react to Malfoy’s presence.
“Hi, Ginny!”
Ginny, on the floor retrieving a dropped jar of ink from under her bed, jerked up and smacked her head with a crack.
“Oh! Sorry!” the same voice cried.
Ginny crawled out from beneath the bed, rubbing at her head with one hand, and forced a smile for Audrey Hamilton, one of her other three roommates. “Hey, Audrey.”
The petite girl cocked her head to the side, straight brunette hair slipping over one shoulder. “Why’d you leave the feast so early?”
Ginny turned around to stuff her ink back in the trunk. “I just got a bit upset.” A quick glance over her shoulder told Ginny that Audrey was considering pressing her further, but then the door opened again and the other two girls of their year barged in on a wave of laughter. Ginny took advantage of the distraction by slipping off her uniform and donning her nightgown, promptly crawling into bed and closing the curtains around her. She knew she should be making an effort to catch up with the girls, but she just could not bear the thought of faking good spirits.
Audrey and that lot stayed up for what felt like ages, but finally their laughter and whispering died down and the sounds of bed curtains being pulled tight reached Ginny’s ears. She exhaled gratefully, thinking she would be able to get some sleep, but after several minutes’ of tossing and turning, she realized the girls’ noise hadn’t been the cause of her restlessness after all. She groaned into her pillow to muffle the noise, then pushed herself up and noiselessly slipped out of bed, grabbing up her robe and carefully easing her way through the door.
The common room was deathly silent, an unusual occurrence Ginny knew, but there was still a warmth to the place. She arranged herself cross-legged in the middle of the sofa, hands folded over her robe in her lap, and gazed around the familiar surroundings. The fireplace was banked tonight, the hot summer air needing no encouragement, so that the only light originated from the moonlight outside the window. By that cool, silvery light, Ginny could see the chairs that the Golden Trio had almost always occupied before the fire. She remembered sitting in the one on the right with Harry, his arms strong and secure around her. She remembered the teasing brush of his lips against her ear or neck when Ron wasn’t looking, and the little patterns he used to trace on her back where no one could see.
A wet sensation trailing down her cheek jarred her from her trance, and she wiped away the tear stubbornly. For Merlin’s sake, she was acting like it was all over or something! He was just doing what he had to do, and when he came back she would still be here waiting for him, and it would be like nothing ever happened. They would pick up right where they left off, just like they promised.
It was a comforting thought, but it couldn’t ease the pain of separation completely, and this empty room was only bringing back memories better left buried until Harry’s return. Besides, her stomach was beginning to complain, reminding her that she never did end up eating anything. She looked to the time—ten thirty—and frowned, remembering McGonagall’s warning about strict rule enforcement and curfew at nine sharp in particular. For another minute Ginny debated what to do, but then an especially loud growl from her stomach decided the matter. Covering her nightclothes with the robe as she went, she snuck through the portrait hole.
The cool stone floor felt good under her bare feet, and after a quick inspection proved the hallway deserted, she ran to the stairs. The quiet slap, slap of her feet was the only mark of her passage, and she managed to make it to the Entrance Hall undetected, only forced to hide once somewhere around the third floor when a patrolling Prefect trudged by. From there she found another staircase leading down, the one the Weasley twins had long ago showed her went to the painting of a bowl of fruit that she came upon moments later. She reached up and tickled the pear, smiling when it giggled, and grasped the handle when it appeared.
At first glance the place seemed totally void of life, so taking care not to disturb anything, she tip-toed forward. Then a sudden burst of blinding white light exploded in front of her dark-accustomed eyes, and she only just managed to hold in her startled scream. Clutching at her chest, she found herself staring into the wide, watery eyes of Winky.
Ginny took a deep breath. “Winky—”
“Miss Weasley isn’t being allowed down here!” the house-elf shrilled, waving a half-emptied bottle of butter beer around angrily.
“I know, I know, but look—”
Winky shook her head emphatically, floppy ears slapping at her face. “No! No buts! You isn’t being allowed!” she insisted.
Ginny was just starting to panic when another miniature figure appeared from around the corner. “Dobby,” she breathed in relief.
“Miss Weasley!” he squealed, clapping his hands together in delight. “You came to see Dobby?”
“Er,” she glanced from Winky’s irate face to Dobby’s joyful one, “yeah. I wanted to say hello,” she lied.
“She is not being allowed here!” Winky snapped to Dobby, pointing an accusing finger Ginny’s way. Ginny was beginning to wonder if the elf was capable of saying anything else.
Dobby frowned. “But it is only being Harry Potter’s friend…”
“No!” Winky declared firmly, which came out rather comical in her high-pitched squeak. “Headmistress is saying no students allowed! No students,” she repeated triumphantly.
Dobby’s frown deepened, and he pulled Ginny aside while Winky took a healthy swallow from her butter beer bottle. “Winky is being right,” he whispered conspiratorially, “but if Miss Weasley is leaving right now, Dobby can distract her before she is tattling.”
“Oh, would you? Thank you, Dobby!” Ginny whispered, then she bent down and brushed a kiss over his head before sprinting to the door, belly still empty or no. The painting serving as a door swung open easily, and she continued running right on through it—and right on into someone else.
They both went down heavily, though Ginny didn’t suffer much harm since the stranger cushioned her fall. The other person, however—a boy, Ginny realized—hit the floor with a thud that had Ginny wincing in sympathy, the breath whooshing from his lungs from both the impact on his back and Ginny’s weight on his chest.
“Oh my, God!” Ginny cried. “I am so sor—” but the apology died on her lips because when she pushed herself up onto her arms, she saw who she was laying on top of, and time froze as she stared into lifeless gray eyes. Ginny thought rather wildly that this was the closest she’d ever been to Draco Malfoy, and wondered if his eyes always looked so hopeless and dead.
In the end it was Malfoy who gathered his wits first, grasping her waist and shoving her roughly off of him so that she sprawled gracelessly to the floor. He rolled up to a sitting position and lowered his head to his bent knees, where he spent a good half-minute coughing and trying to regain his breath. If it were anyone else, Ginny knew she’d be feeling terrible right now—it wasn’t anyone else, though, and instead she was frankly quite pleased with herself. She stood and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest.
“Gods, Weasley,” he gasped, “watch where the bloody hell you’re going!” He rose carefully to his feet, unable to hold back the occasional grimace of pain. Ginny could only imagine the black and blue mess his back would be tomorrow. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was one massive bruise. Despite everything, she found she was actually experiencing a tiny trickle of guilt after all.
“Well maybe you shouldn’t have been out past curfew!” she retorted, ignoring her annoying conscious…and the fact that she was out late as well.
He paused in the task of brushing imaginary dirt from his robes, raising his eyebrows at her. “I’m on patrol,” he said, indicating the Prefect’s badge gleaming on his breast. “You, on the other hand….”
Ginny glared, feeling such a rage boil up within her like nothing she had ever known before, not even when the twins had singed off half her hair during their fireworks experimentation. This spoiled rotten little boy was the reason that Dumbledore was dead, that Harry was not here, and now he was going to get her in trouble and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it because, damn it all, he was right.
To her absolute shock, though, he simply walked past her without another word. She stood staring incredulously at the empty spot he’d just occupied, then spun around to continuing staring with just as much disbelief at his retreating back.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, the back of her mind screaming, Stop it! What’s the matter with you?, but unable to listen to that particular voice due to the sheer level of fury and confusion whirling around up there.
He looked over his shoulder without turning. “I’m finishing my rounds, Weasley, what does it look like?”
“You’re not taking me to McGonagall? Or at least deducting points or something?” That little voice in the back of her mind was shrieking at a fever pitch now, calling her all sorts of insulting names that she knew were all completely true.
Now he did turn, his expression a cross between incredulity, annoyance, and mild amusement. But—understandably—mostly incredulity. “Would you like me to?”
“No. I just can’t believe an evil git like yourself would pass this up,” she snapped.
He crossed his arms and studied her a long, tense moment, expression inscrutable. “Let me get this straight,” he finally said, slowly, “you’re insulting me for letting you off the hook? Gods Weasley, I knew you didn’t have much in the way of brains, but how thick can you get?”
Even as that one, logical part of her hollered, He’s right, you idiot!, the other part seethed. “What are you doing here, anyway?” she practically snarled.
His eyebrows rose at the degree of hostility in her voice. “We’ve covered this—my rounds.”
“I mean in the castle,” she clarified through clenched teeth. “At school at all.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, you see, there’s this tradition where you go for seven years, and—”
“You know what I mean, you bastard!” she interrupted, whipping out her wand with tears of pent up frustration standing in her eyes. The wand trained at his head, she whispered hoarsely, “You killed him.”
Malfoy’s entire body seemed to tense up at once, fists curling, so that he resembled something on the verge of exploding. His eyes darkened a few shades, and a muscle near his jaw twitched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…and neither do you,” he said at last, voice very quiet.
A tear slipped down her cheek now, but her face was hard and her wand arm remained steady. “I think we both do, Malfoy, even if they can’t prove it. He’s dead, and it’s all your fault—”
“Turn around, and go back to bed, Weasley,” he warned, voice so low Ginny felt a touch of cold fear at her spine. The knuckles of his fists were turning white, the muscle at his jaw jumping erratically, and he took a menacing step forward.
She ignored the danger signs, the flood gates opened and her words spilling forth beyond her control. “You’re the one who deserves to be dead! You’re nothing but a rotten Death Eater, and you’re not even a good one!” Dimly, she was aware that twin spots of pink were rising on his pale cheeks, his face clouding with rage, and that he was advancing on her. But months of pain and built-up anger were being released, and she was powerless to cut short her outburst now. “Where do you belong, huh? You don’t have enough morals to be on our side, and you’re too much of a sniveling coward to do a decent job of being evil! You’re all talk, and—”
Malfoy was right in front of her. His wand flashed out and pointed right between her eyes as he roared, “Enough!”
And then it was a stalemate. Both stood with wands drawn and trained on the other’s face, arms crossing each other just a hair’s width apart. Malfoy was breathing heavily with barely controlled fury, and Ginny’s dark eyes still shone with tears even as every other line in her face and body stood strong and unyielding. Neither would back down, they both knew it, and it only remained a matter of who would make the first move.
Then a third voice came from behind them. “Well. What do we have here?”
Leave a Review