A/N – thanks so much for the reviews everyone!
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Chapter 11 — Answers…Sort Of
Ginny propped her chin on her hand with a sigh and scowled down at the text in front of her tired eyes. Her robe hung carelessly off the back of her chair, her tie loosened and her whole appearance in a general state of disarray. She had been poring over the same books in the library all morning, and frustration was finally getting the better of determination.
Harry was fading. It started exactly a week ago when she visited the candle — also the night of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw match. Harry’s face appeared out of the mists of oblivion, then grew almost watery and slipped away again. No one else replaced him this time, but it still disturbed her.
Then, the next night, it happened again, only this time she could have sworn a lock of whitish hair streaked through Harry’s jet black tangle. She remembered her stomach lurching unpleasantly, afraid that Malfoy would invade this one sanctuary a second time. He didn’t, though, as the picture simply flickered out along with the candle’s flame.
Each night continued in this vein, growing progressively worse until Malfoy’s entire visage appeared two nights in a row. Last night she didn’t see Harry at all; instead, Malfoy materialized right away, and Ginny decided enough was enough — she needed answers, and she needed them now. That or risk insanity.
It didn’t help that the whole time this drama unfolded around her, Malfoy himself refused to stop pestering her. It was like he actually tried to seek her out. At first she just shrugged it off because he mostly just wanted to finish the Portable Garden project, which was understandable enough, but that was long since completed and he still persisted.
Sometimes they talked — though Ginny could never figure out afterwards how he managed to cajole her into conversation every time — but many times he just walked silently alongside her. It was a tiny bit unnerving and made her insanely curious. He resisted all her attempts at procuring an explanation with typical, cool nonchalance though, and after awhile she just gave up.
The rather large coincidence of Malfoy’s inexplicable attentions and the candle’s new behavior didn’t escape her, and so with her earlier resolution for answers firmly in mind, she devoted the entire day to research in the library. So far, she had discovered exactly nothing.
She slammed the tome shut with a hollow thump, earning a warning glare from Madam Pince. She feigned the best guilty look she could muster and was just about to reach for a new book when a swirl of dark robes flashed at the corners of her eyes. Her scowl deepened when she looked up.
“Not now, Malfoy,” she snapped before he got the chance to open his mouth. “I’m busy.”
Malfoy claimed the chair across the table, ignoring her impatient glare, and leaned on one elbow to study her. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
She fidgeted awkwardly under his frank gaze, getting the unsettling impression that he could see right through her, then caught herself doing it and drew her shoulders back stubbornly. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, then before she could stop him, swiped the top volume off the stack nearest him. “The Encyclopedia of Everything Enchanted,” he read aloud. “Sounds thrilling.”
She snatched the book out of his hands. “I’m researching,” she snapped.
“Researching what?”
“It’s none of your business, is it?”
“Well I won’t know until you tell me what it is you’re researching, will I?” he returned with a lazy smile.
“Malfoy, please, I’m begging you to just go away.” He cocked his head thoughtfully, and Ginny sighed in exasperation. “What now?”
“I was just trying to remember if you’ve ever actually begged for anything before.” He smirked. “I kind of like it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I never have, so that just shows you how much I mean it.” She indicated the exit pointedly.
Malfoy ignored the gesture. “I take it that means you’re not having much luck.”
“Malfoy….”
He only settled back comfortably, lacing his hands over his stomach.
She groaned in frustration, letting her head drop to the table. “If you must know,” she grumbled without lifting her face, “no, I’m having no luck at all.”
“You know, if you told me what you’re looking for, I might be able to help.”
She snorted. “Nice try.”
His deep chuckle floated down to her, and she lifted herself up in time for him to say, “Well, if you’re that bent on keeping it a secret, it’s no wonder you’re not having any luck.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“Obviously there’s a reason you’re being so paranoid about it, so it’s probably not your average, every day topic,” he reasoned. “Which means, chances are, you’re not going to find it in your average, every day library.”
Her heart sank. She had begun to suspect just that. “Fantastic,” she muttered.
“Don’t look so depressed.”
She shot him a nasty look. “Excuse me, but this is sort of important, so if I’m not just chipper when you tell me that there’s no hope — ”
“Who said there was no hope?” he interrupted.
“You!”
He shook his head. “I said no such thing. I said you wouldn’t find it in your average, every day library. I didn’t say anything about the Restricted Section.”
She didn’t really care that her mouth was hanging open as the truth of his words smacked her. Of course, why didn’t she think of the Restricted Section? It was so obvious. Except for one thing. “I’m never going to convince any of the professors to give me permission,” she mumbled, more to herself than Malfoy.
His lips quirked a little. “Who said anything about permission?”
“You know it’s practically impossible to get in there without Madam Pince seeing. Now that things are so much stricter this year, anyway. And Harry took his invisibility cloak with him. How else do you expect me to do it?”
“That’s your problem,” he informed her. “You’re not thinking like a Slytherin.”
She was annoyed with his arrogance, but knew better than to dismiss him. “Oh? And how would a Slytherin handle this?”
“I don’t know. What’s so important that a Gryffindor would take advice from a Slytherin in the first place?”
“Malfoy!” Ginny cried, then immediately clamped her mouth shut at Madam Pince’s hiss to settle down. “Malfoy,” she tried again in a whisper, “can you please just tell me?”
“Funny thing about me,” he commented. “The word ‘please’ really has absolutely no effect. And I’m still curious.”
Ginny massaged her temples. “Why are you even here?”
He seemed to debate whether or not to pursue the matter of her mystery research, then shrugged and said, “I left my broom after the match.”
She laughed quietly. “I was wondering when you would realize that. A week?”
“Not everyone practices as obsessively as you,” he retorted shortly. “And I realized it was missing sooner. I just couldn’t remember where I lost it. I was a little distracted at the time.”
The question that had been eating away at Ginny the entire week flared up in her again, and she decided to voice it out loud. “What happened, anyway? I mean, why did you stomp off like that? You looked about ready to kill.”
“Do you have the broom or not, Weasley?”
She sighed. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to discuss it. “Yes, I have it.”
He stared a moment. “And you just planned on, what, keeping it indefinitely?”
“I told you — I wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well now you know, so I’ll thank you to give it back.”
She considered him a moment, a brilliant idea slowly occurring to her. “No, I rather think not.”
Incredulity flashed through his eyes. “You rather think not?”
“You heard me. I’m quite attached, you see. It really is a very nice broom. But…” she grinned mischievously, “I might be willing to make a deal.”
“A deal.” Disbelief echoed through his voice.
“That’s right. Get me into the Restricted Section — and back out again — without getting caught, and you get your broom back.”
He raised his pale eyebrows in surprise, then smiled slowly. “Well, well, well. Little Weasley has a sly streak after all. Bravo.” He considered her a moment longer, then said, “Fine, it’s a deal. Now where’s my broom?”
She laughed outright. “Please, I’m not thick. You don’t get your broom until after.”
He nodded almost approvingly. “Now you’re thinking like a Slytherin.” If Ginny didn’t know any better, she would swear that his eyes glittered with amusement…and something else, perhaps. “All right. After, then. Meet me at the base of the stairs in the Entrance Hall, six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock?”
“Something wrong?”
She frowned slightly. “No, just…I would have thought we would go after curfew.”
He smiled, just barely. “There’s that Gryffindor mentality again. Nasty, that. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.” Then he got up and, with no further words of farewell, strolled out of the room, whistling quietly under his breath.
Ginny shook her head as she watched him leave. “Nutters, that one,” she muttered under her breath.
But damned if she wasn’t waiting by the base of the stairs come six o’clock.
Malfoy was not quite so punctual, arriving at least ten minutes late by her estimation. He walked easily up from the stairs to the dungeon, looking wholly unconcerned by his tardiness, and stopped a few feet away where he leaned against the elaborate banister.
“You look miffed,” he observed.
“Can’t imagine why,” she said sarcastically. “I’ve only been waiting ten minutes for your sorry arse.”
Malfoy arched an eyebrow in response.
She took a deep breath, willing down her temper, and gritted out, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just a little tense at the moment.”
“I’d noticed,” he said dryly, then pushing off the banister, started off toward the library. “Come on, then,” he called over his shoulder.
Ginny ran to catch up, forced to take nearly two steps for every one of his long, even strides. She refused to ask him to slow down, though. “You never did tell me what exactly you have planned,” she reminded him.
“You’re right.”
“Okay, let me rephrase that: tell me what you’re planning.”
He shook his head. “Not a chance.”
She shot him a disbelieving look. “Why not?”
“Because knowing you, your expression will just give everything away, and I’m not risking my arse getting thrown in detention just because you don’t know how to control your emotions.”
She made a face. “What do you mean, give everything away? It’s not like anyone’s going to see us anyway, right?”
He remained silent, keeping his gaze steadfastly forward.
“Malfoy? Right?” she tried again.
He glanced her way impatiently. “Sure. If it makes you feel better.”
Oddly enough, that didn’t entirely comfort her.
They reached the library with no further conversation, Malfoy looking a cross between determined and bored while Ginny’s apprehension swelled by the second. She knew by now to appreciate — grudgingly — his intelligence, but that didn’t comfort her when it came to the boy’s quicksilver loyalties.
He stepped forward and momentarily stunned her by holding the door open for her. Her suspicions immediately flared, but she managed to squelch them when he only inclined his head slightly to indicate she go in. Curiosity would not go down so easily, however, but buzzed around insistently inside her mind. The door closed with a nearly inaudible click, but in the silence of the library, her senses heightened by an odd mix of anxiety and excitement, it seemed to slam.
Malfoy brushed past her, muttering, “Do try and look natural, Weasley.” Then he did what, in Ginny’s mind, finally established his insanity — he made a straight line for Madam Pince.
“Mr. Malfoy,” the librarian acknowledged curtly, lips pursed.
“Madam,” Malfoy returned politely. “Weasley and I are ready now, if that’s all right.”
The woman frowned, pursing her lips even further so that it looked like she tasted something particularly sour. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Ready for what, exactly?”
Malfoy’s brow wrinkled slightly, his head cocking just a bit to one side. “To look for our book,” he answered as if it should have been obvious.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pince said, clearly growing frustrated now, “I’ll ask you to please explain to me precisely what you are referring to, because I haven’t a clue.”
Malfoy rubbed a hand at the back of his head, seeming for all the world like someone not quite sure what to do. Ginny, having a time simply looking natural, sincerely hoped it was a put on. “Didn’t Professor Vector speak to you?”
Madam Pince’s features immediately transformed, turning hard and a little angry. “No, I’m afraid she hasn’t,” she said tightly.
Malfoy’s face fell. “Odd. She promised she would...” he trailed off.
“In reference to what?”
Malfoy blinked as if her question dragged him out of deep concentration. “Hmm? Oh, right. I — well, Weasley and myself — need access to the Restricted Section. We’re both doing projects on Arithmancy’s application to real Wizarding life, outside academia, but the book we wanted has some equations that could be dangerous if applied to the wrong sorts of spells. Not good for the younger years.” Malfoy adopted a look of confusion and murmured more to himself, “Still can’t believe she didn’t talk to you….”
“You and Miss Weasley have the same project?” Madam Pince asked suspiciously. “You’re a year older, aren’t you?”
Malfoy ducked his head a bit. “I, err, sort of took a break from Arithmancy last year.”
An odd, disapproving little “humph” emitted from the librarian. “Laziness,” she concluded.
Malfoy had the grace to look a little ashamed, though Ginny knew it was all acting. “We really do need to see that book. The project is due tomorrow, and this is the last bit of information we need.”
“Well I can’t let you in without a pass,” Madam Pince declared firmly.
“Oh, of course. It’s right here.” And with that, Malfoy pulled a small slip of parchment from his robes and handed it over.
Madam Pince’s eyes darted over the handwriting, then reluctantly said, “Very well, then. You have one hour. If you need more time, I’m afraid you’ll have to get another pass. Rules.”
“Thank you, Madam,” Malfoy said, showing a small but still charming smile. The woman only sniffed and stalked off; Malfoy made a face at her retreating back as soon as it turned. “You old bat,” he muttered under his breath, then turned and made towards the back of the library.
Ginny, looking back and forth between Madam Pince and Malfoy, stood shocked for a minute before regaining her senses and hurrying after the blond. “Well, that was stupid!” she hissed.
He glanced down disbelievingly. “I just got you permission to go in the Restricted Section. A free hour to do whatever without having to worry about getting caught.” He stuck his nose up a little. “I expected a little gratitude.”
“Gratitude? We’re sure to get caught eventually,” she fumed. “Maybe not today, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“How do you figure?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just get this funny feeling that when Madam Pince asks Professor Vector about our ‘project,’ Vector won’t know what she’s talking about!”
Malfoy flashed a smug grin. “Ah, therein lies the brilliance of the plan, Weasley. Do you honestly think I chose Professor Vector at random?”
Ginny’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
While unhooking the rope that blocked off the Restricted Section, he explained, “The two hate each other. Some old grudge from their school days, I think. Anyway, they can barely stand to hear the other’s name, let alone sit down for a chat. They won’t be discussing it anytime soon.”
Ginny mulled this over as she walked past him, so absorbed she hardly noticed that he again acted the gentleman by holding the rope back for her to go first. “I never heard about that.”
“The staff doesn’t exactly like to advertise divisions. Makes ‘em look weak. They’re supposed to be a united front and all that rot, you know.” He re-secured the rope behind them as spoke.
“So how do you know about it?”
A corner of his mouth tipped up. “Let’s just say I have my sources.” Detecting her annoyed expression, he said, “It’s better that you don’t know. You wouldn’t approve.”
“Slytherin-ish?” she inquired.
He shrugged. “So what are we looking for, exactly?”
“Sorry, ‘it’s better that you don’t know,’” she mimicked.
He rolled his eyes. “Fine; be childish. Just lead on then.”
She looked up at him. “You’re going to follow?”
“I got us in here. If you think I’m going to just stand around like some lackey, you’re mad.”
Ginny didn’t like that idea at all, but she also recognized that he was possibly the most stubborn human on the planet (after herself, of course) and her time was limited. “Fine. Just don’t be a nuisance.”
He just waved her on.
Ginny started walking through the stacks, trying to find a section devoted to enchanted items. Her mind wandered as she moved through the silence of the books, and something else occurred to her. “Hey, how did you get a pass?”
“What?” Some title on Black magic currently held his attention.
“You actually gave her a pass to get in here. How did you manage that?”
“Oh. That was the easy bit.” He tossed a smirk in her direction before going back to the array of banned books. “I could forge with the best of them before I ever started attending this sad excuse for a school. I’m a natural. Self-taught, you know.”
“Your parents must be so proud,” she mumbled.
A dark, closed-off expression fell like a curtain over his face. It didn’t escape her, but the ever-present time shortage loomed over her, and she doubted he would open up even if she did dare to ask. So, choosing to dismiss yet another of his oddities, she turned her attention back to the search.
The task daunted her just a little. How was she supposed to find what she was looking for in just an hour when she had no idea which volume she might find it in? And a shortage of books would certainly be no problem—the shelves stretched on further than she ever imagined the Restricted Section had room for.
Her eyes never stopped moving, darting from title to title, her feet occasionally stopping so she could pick out a book, and then starting back up again when the pages revealed nothing. Desperation started to ruffle the edges of her conscious.
At least Malfoy stayed quiet the entire time. He moved as silently as if he walked on clouds, and she kept finding herself glancing back to see if he was still there. Every time she did he followed just behind, though, his focus always completely absorbed by the buffet of forbidden literature. Ginny mused that this must practically be heaven to someone like him.
She finally spotted the book she didn’t know she was looking for during one of those compulsive checks on Malfoy. She turned her head to look back, and right by his face a title in brilliant gold leafing leapt away from its neighbors. It read simply, The Hidden Mind. It mentioned nothing of enchantments, and could really refer to a whole slew of topics. But somehow she knew it harbored the explanations she craved.
Her feet veered towards it almost before her mind made the decision to do so. The tome weighed a considerable lot, and she needed both hands to lift its battered, leather-bound pages from the bookcase. The entire thing appeared rather worn, really, aside from that brilliant gold lettering. Malfoy leaned against the shelf, folding his arms to watch silently. She blocked him out.
The introduction inside explained that the monstrous text covered all aspects of the subconscious — the awareness most would not or could not acknowledge. She flipped back to the index and sure enough, the entire middle section was devoted to magically enchanted things. Heart pounding, excitement so unaccountably high that it felt like an energy thrumming through the pages into her fingertips, she plopped down right there and balanced the book on her lap.
“You can look around,” she told Malfoy. “I might be awhile.”
He made a noncommittal noise, but began perusing the shelves anyway.
Ginny turned to the correct page — six hundred seventy-two — and skimmed her finger lightly down the faded old text. She didn’t find what she wanted until page six hundred ninety, but when she did it reared up and hit her like a slap across the face. Right smack in the middle of the page:
Candle von Interesse:
An atypical device for revealing the hidden mind, it does not necessarily reveal one’s desires as most enchanted instruments tend towards. The German Wizard Mr. Henrik Lichtman invented the Candle von Interesse for a different purpose — to reveal one’s preoccupations as they are at the exact moment of the viewing.
Lichtman noted on many occasions that his dreams — or nightmares, as was often the case — featured aspects of his life that he never realized concerned him until after he awoke. Curious, he spent a year and a half inventing the spell that would make a seemingly simple candle a window to the subconscious.
Again, the candle’s goal was not to reveal secret desires (though Lichtman admits that may be an unintentional side-effect). Rather, its function is to show the holder what he or she spends the great majority of time thinking about, whether the subject be good, bad, or a little of both.
Ginny re-read the passage several times with mixed emotions. For one, she felt a profound relief like nothing else that the candle wasn’t telling her she suddenly desired Malfoy. The short article stated quite clearly that this Candle von Interesse did not perform that function.
On the other hand, it meant Harry was fading out of her mind as surely as he was from the candle. Not even a full year of his absence, and already she was moving on. That thought alone disturbed her immensely, but even worse, Malfoy was taking his place? Of all the things she had to worry and obsess over — the war, upcoming NEWTs next year, careers — Malfoy claimed the largest chunk of her concern?
Out of reflex, she lifted her head to search out Malfoy. She found him raised on his toes, reaching up to pull down some book. He studied the cover a moment, wearing an uncommon (for him) expression of rapt interest, then flipped open to a random page towards the center. The thing immediately let out a shrieking, ear-splitting racket, and Malfoy, giving a startled shout of his own, quickly snapped the book shut and replaced it, eyes wide with surprise. Ginny couldn’t help but giggle, fisting her hand at her mouth to try and stifle the noise.
Malfoy heard her anyway and looked over sharply, scowling. “Found what you were looking for yet?” he demanded testily, straightening his shoulders in an attempt to regain lost dignity.
Her gaze fell to the book still open in her lap. “Yes,” she sighed.
“Don’t sound so excited.”
Ginny allowed a half-smile. “It’s just that my answer sort of brought up even more questions than I started out with.”
“Hmm.” His silver eyes landed on her, weighing down heavily for several seconds. She knew he was trying to figure out what was going on. “Well,” he finally declared, “concerned as I sincerely am about all that, the fact remains that I got you in here, you found what you wanted, and now it’s my turn. Broom, if you don’t mind.” And he held out his hand as if she had it stashed in her back pocket.
She rolled her eyes, closing the book and struggling to her feet with the thing tucked under one arm. “You never change, do you?”
He crossed his arms. “Meaning…?”
“Meaning,” she heaved the book back into its spot with a grunt, “that all you ever think about is yourself.”
“And that’s a bad thing.”
She laughed lightly. “Yes, that’s definitely a bad thing.”
He seemed to consider that a moment. “I can’t say that I really agree, Weasley,” he said at last.
“You think it’s a good thing?”
He waved the words off. “No, that’s not what I meant. ‘Good’ and ‘bad’ is all relative anyhow.”
“Spoken like a true Slytherin,” she muttered as she started making her way towards the normal section of the library again.
He ignored her comment. “I mean I don’t only think of myself.”
She looked over at him, lips quirked. “You don’t think so, do you?”
“I caught you when you fell off your broom, didn’t I? I’ll have you know I got quite bruised from that little stunt.”
“That doesn’t count. If you’d have let me fall, you would be a complete and utter git.”
A slow smirk appeared on his lips. “So you’re saying I’m not a complete and utter git now?”
Ginny stuttered out a few incoherent syllables, trapped by her own words. Finally, she scowled and snapped, “You know what I meant.”
He nodded sagely. “Yes, yes I do. You have secret feelings of affection for me, that’s all.”
Combined with the paranoia and guilt she already felt over the Candle von Interesse, his tease ignited an explosive display of the Weasley temper before she could think to control it. She whirled on him so fast that he stumbled back in surprise, his back hitting the bookcase. Stepping up to him until they were practically touching, she jabbed a finger sharply in his chest and snapped, “I suggest you get over yourself, Malfoy, because you’re only fooling yourself.”
Something deep in his eyes lashed out, and his hand reached up to wrap around her wrist, pulling her the last remaining inches closer so that they were touching, and he towered over her. “I was only joking,” he said quietly, “but now that you bring it up, I’ve got something to say myself.”
She gave a futile tug at her captive wrist, but it was more a token effort than anything since she stayed caught despite his fairly loose grip. “Let go.”
He went on, disregarding the command. “I just get so sick of you hypocritical Gryffindors sometimes. You say Slytherins are prejudiced? You think we’re the egotistical ones?” His fingers tightened just barely, his eyes intense as they burned into hers. “You’re the stuck up one, Ginny Weasley. You’re the one who just can’t fathom a Slytherin changing, and you delude yourself into assuming that your morals make you better.”
He was on a roll now, and Ginny went from furious and a little frightened to totally fascinated. He hardly even seemed aware of her anymore, revealing a level of emotion she never dreamed he would let her see. The self-proclaimed master of control was slacking, and she got the distinct feeling that she was witnessing the release of months of pent up aggression and frustration.
“Well, you’re wrong. I may not have your bloody morals, and you can keep the damned things. I don’t want them. But that doesn’t put you on a pedestal compared to me, despite what you obviously think, and that doesn’t mean I’m the same as always like you’re so fond of informing me. I wish you could have been there this summer. I wish you would’ve seen me — ”
But he abruptly snapped his mouth shut, eyes clearing as reality firmly slammed down around him again. He dropped her wrist like it burned, setting his jaw and refusing to meet her eyes as he pushed past her.
Curiosity eating her alive, she rushed after him. For several moments she just walked silently alongside him, hoping to let him cool down, then speaking gently, she asked, “Where did that come from?”
“I could ask you the same,” he pointed out tersely. “You overreacted first.”
It was a good argument, so she switched topics. “What happened this summer?”
He suddenly stopped, facing her and actually gripping both of her shoulders, forcing her dark stare to meet his pale one. “Nothing happened. I didn’t say anything about this summer. You just must’ve heard wrong.” He paused meaningfully. “Understand?”
She wanted desperately to tell him to shove off and just tell her, but something in his face, in those mercurial gray eyes of his, held her back. “Okay,” she finally agreed, whispering.
He nodded once in satisfaction, slowly lowering his hands back to his sides, and they walked the rest of the way out of the library in silence. When they stepped out into the hall, he glanced over and asked tonelessly, “Where are you keeping it?”
She stared at him without comprehension, still completely absorbed by the unexpected outburst in the library. “What?”
“My broom,” he clarified impatiently. “Where is it?”
“Oh. It’s just up in my dormitory.” She glanced around uncertainly, then making up her mind, said, “You should probably wait here.”
Malfoy scoffed. “I don’t think so. Your dormitory is two floors up, and I don’t plan on standing around while you go all that way and back.”
“You know where my dormitory is?” For some reason, that knowledge unsettled Ginny.
He smiled without humor. “Seventh floor, beyond that horrid obese woman.”
She glowered at him. “How’s it going to look if I bring a Slytherin up there?” she protested.
Malfoy feigned shock. “Why, you wouldn’t be worrying about image would you? That’s a purely Slytherin trait, after all, if everything you and yours are so fond of spouting off is true.”
“Fine!” she snapped, exasperated. “Just…try not to talk.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve got a distinct voice,” she explained defensively.
He chuckled. “I’ll try and refrain.”
Huffing her annoyance, she spun around fast enough to make her long hair fan out and settle on the opposite shoulder. The sound of his expensive shoes clicking against the stone behind her echoed every step she took, making thoughts of anything else impossible. And she suffered no shortage of things to think about in the Draco Malfoy department.
Why in the seven circles of hell, or anywhere else for that matter, would he become the object of her…how did the book word it? Preoccupation? It made no sense. She didn’t care a whit about his life. So what if he did save her that day on the Quidditch pitch? It was just reaction. And yes, he laughed with her. That just proved he was human after all, nothing more. He was still the same, vile Malfoy.
She spared a split-second glance at him over her shoulder and frowned. Except he hinted that he had changed, and if she were honest with herself, she’d noticed more than a few rather strong testaments to that lately. The simple fact that he hadn’t planned on doling out a detention upon their first meeting this year showed that, and he only continued to transform as the days went on.
And now here popped up this nagging matter of some mystery summer incident. After wracking her brains for a possible explanation, the best she could come up with was that he finally got his Mark this summer. That seemed most likely, anyway. Last year, Harry intimated that Malfoy already had one, but maybe he’d been mistaken. He never actually saw it, after all.
To top it all off, she could no longer ignore the little things that seemed to set Malfoy off. His outburst today jumped to the forefront of her mind, but a hundred other times she witnessed subtler slips in his façade — a glint to his eyes, a tightening to his jaw or a general tensing up over seemingly random topics. Like her comment today about his parents being proud of his forging skills and his subsequent reaction, for instance.
Ginny sighed, defeated. It was all too much to process at one go.
They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady shortly after she gave up trying to muddle through the puzzle. Malfoy, having come up beside her at some point apparently, crossed his arms and regarded the painting with obvious distaste.
Trying not to smile at his expression, she cleared her throat and informed him in no uncertain terms, “You will wait here while I go fetch it. I let you come this far, but inside is pushing it.”
He glanced at her and shrugged. “Fine. Just don’t take too long.” He smirked. “One of your mates might see me hanging about, and I would be forced to explain who led me here.”
Ginny shook her head. “You’re insufferable.”
He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Better hurry along.”
Mind again plagued with the question of how that particular boy overrode Harry in her subconscious, she stomped off to the Fat Lady, whispering the password under her breath so he wouldn’t overhear. She reemerged from the portrait hole a few minutes later, his top-of-the-line broom in hand.
Malfoy wordlessly held out his hands. Ginny hesitated, giving the broom one last forlorn look and unconsciously cradling it just a little closer.
“Weasley?” Malfoy prompted, waggling his fingers.
Ginny sighed, and with a great deal of regret, turned the broom over to its rightful owner. “I should’ve told you I lost it and just transfigured it to look like mine,” she muttered.
He chuckled. “I do believe I’m having a bad influence on you, Weasley.”
Her eyes searched his face, finding no trace of a grudge (though reading his face was admittedly misleading) which she figured to mean he apparently already got over the incident in the library. He seemed back to his sarcastic, increasingly teasing self, something in and of itself a little strange. Really, sometimes she could only describe his behavior towards her as playful — yet another inexplicable change to add to the ever-expanding list, she noted.
It made her wonder what kind of person he might have been if not for the various influences all around him. Could Draco Malfoy have been a light-hearted, fun individual in another life, void of his father and Slytherin? For that matter…could he still?
“Weasley.”
She blinked, shaking her head to clear it. “Hmm?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You were staring.”
“Oh…sorry. Just thinking.”
He looked her over for a moment, and she waited for him to press her, but he simply completed his inspection, hefted his broom over one shoulder, and said, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.”
Ginny made no comment as he turned around and walked away, gait easy and fluid. She never felt so completely confounded in all her life; it felt like someone let loose an entire menagerie inside her head, and thinking over the resulting stampede was as difficult as it sounded.
One thing she knew for sure, though—she would be paying no more visits to that stupid candle anytime soon.
- - - - -
A/N – Woo wee, another pretty long chapter. I’m sort of apprehensive of what you guys thought of that one, but then I’m always at least a little nervous, so I decided to just go ahead and post anyway. Hope for the best and all that.
By the way, “von Interesse” from the “Candle von Interesse” just means “of concern” in German. At least, according to the online translator it does lol. I study Spanish, myself. Oh! And another thing I thought was neat, the inventor’s last name (Henrik “Lichtman”) actually means “candle-maker” haha. (I’m easily amused lol.)
Oh, oh! And I almost forgot, I saw the energizer bunny on TV the other day!!! He’s not dead after all! I was excited. (Lol if you read my last couple A/N’s, you know what I’m talking about. Otherwise…well, you just think I’m raving mad haha.)
ANYWHO, thanks for reading!
- - - - -
Chapter 11 — Answers…Sort Of
Ginny propped her chin on her hand with a sigh and scowled down at the text in front of her tired eyes. Her robe hung carelessly off the back of her chair, her tie loosened and her whole appearance in a general state of disarray. She had been poring over the same books in the library all morning, and frustration was finally getting the better of determination.
Harry was fading. It started exactly a week ago when she visited the candle — also the night of the Slytherin and Ravenclaw match. Harry’s face appeared out of the mists of oblivion, then grew almost watery and slipped away again. No one else replaced him this time, but it still disturbed her.
Then, the next night, it happened again, only this time she could have sworn a lock of whitish hair streaked through Harry’s jet black tangle. She remembered her stomach lurching unpleasantly, afraid that Malfoy would invade this one sanctuary a second time. He didn’t, though, as the picture simply flickered out along with the candle’s flame.
Each night continued in this vein, growing progressively worse until Malfoy’s entire visage appeared two nights in a row. Last night she didn’t see Harry at all; instead, Malfoy materialized right away, and Ginny decided enough was enough — she needed answers, and she needed them now. That or risk insanity.
It didn’t help that the whole time this drama unfolded around her, Malfoy himself refused to stop pestering her. It was like he actually tried to seek her out. At first she just shrugged it off because he mostly just wanted to finish the Portable Garden project, which was understandable enough, but that was long since completed and he still persisted.
Sometimes they talked — though Ginny could never figure out afterwards how he managed to cajole her into conversation every time — but many times he just walked silently alongside her. It was a tiny bit unnerving and made her insanely curious. He resisted all her attempts at procuring an explanation with typical, cool nonchalance though, and after awhile she just gave up.
The rather large coincidence of Malfoy’s inexplicable attentions and the candle’s new behavior didn’t escape her, and so with her earlier resolution for answers firmly in mind, she devoted the entire day to research in the library. So far, she had discovered exactly nothing.
She slammed the tome shut with a hollow thump, earning a warning glare from Madam Pince. She feigned the best guilty look she could muster and was just about to reach for a new book when a swirl of dark robes flashed at the corners of her eyes. Her scowl deepened when she looked up.
“Not now, Malfoy,” she snapped before he got the chance to open his mouth. “I’m busy.”
Malfoy claimed the chair across the table, ignoring her impatient glare, and leaned on one elbow to study her. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
She fidgeted awkwardly under his frank gaze, getting the unsettling impression that he could see right through her, then caught herself doing it and drew her shoulders back stubbornly. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, then before she could stop him, swiped the top volume off the stack nearest him. “The Encyclopedia of Everything Enchanted,” he read aloud. “Sounds thrilling.”
She snatched the book out of his hands. “I’m researching,” she snapped.
“Researching what?”
“It’s none of your business, is it?”
“Well I won’t know until you tell me what it is you’re researching, will I?” he returned with a lazy smile.
“Malfoy, please, I’m begging you to just go away.” He cocked his head thoughtfully, and Ginny sighed in exasperation. “What now?”
“I was just trying to remember if you’ve ever actually begged for anything before.” He smirked. “I kind of like it.”
She rolled her eyes. “I never have, so that just shows you how much I mean it.” She indicated the exit pointedly.
Malfoy ignored the gesture. “I take it that means you’re not having much luck.”
“Malfoy….”
He only settled back comfortably, lacing his hands over his stomach.
She groaned in frustration, letting her head drop to the table. “If you must know,” she grumbled without lifting her face, “no, I’m having no luck at all.”
“You know, if you told me what you’re looking for, I might be able to help.”
She snorted. “Nice try.”
His deep chuckle floated down to her, and she lifted herself up in time for him to say, “Well, if you’re that bent on keeping it a secret, it’s no wonder you’re not having any luck.”
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“Obviously there’s a reason you’re being so paranoid about it, so it’s probably not your average, every day topic,” he reasoned. “Which means, chances are, you’re not going to find it in your average, every day library.”
Her heart sank. She had begun to suspect just that. “Fantastic,” she muttered.
“Don’t look so depressed.”
She shot him a nasty look. “Excuse me, but this is sort of important, so if I’m not just chipper when you tell me that there’s no hope — ”
“Who said there was no hope?” he interrupted.
“You!”
He shook his head. “I said no such thing. I said you wouldn’t find it in your average, every day library. I didn’t say anything about the Restricted Section.”
She didn’t really care that her mouth was hanging open as the truth of his words smacked her. Of course, why didn’t she think of the Restricted Section? It was so obvious. Except for one thing. “I’m never going to convince any of the professors to give me permission,” she mumbled, more to herself than Malfoy.
His lips quirked a little. “Who said anything about permission?”
“You know it’s practically impossible to get in there without Madam Pince seeing. Now that things are so much stricter this year, anyway. And Harry took his invisibility cloak with him. How else do you expect me to do it?”
“That’s your problem,” he informed her. “You’re not thinking like a Slytherin.”
She was annoyed with his arrogance, but knew better than to dismiss him. “Oh? And how would a Slytherin handle this?”
“I don’t know. What’s so important that a Gryffindor would take advice from a Slytherin in the first place?”
“Malfoy!” Ginny cried, then immediately clamped her mouth shut at Madam Pince’s hiss to settle down. “Malfoy,” she tried again in a whisper, “can you please just tell me?”
“Funny thing about me,” he commented. “The word ‘please’ really has absolutely no effect. And I’m still curious.”
Ginny massaged her temples. “Why are you even here?”
He seemed to debate whether or not to pursue the matter of her mystery research, then shrugged and said, “I left my broom after the match.”
She laughed quietly. “I was wondering when you would realize that. A week?”
“Not everyone practices as obsessively as you,” he retorted shortly. “And I realized it was missing sooner. I just couldn’t remember where I lost it. I was a little distracted at the time.”
The question that had been eating away at Ginny the entire week flared up in her again, and she decided to voice it out loud. “What happened, anyway? I mean, why did you stomp off like that? You looked about ready to kill.”
“Do you have the broom or not, Weasley?”
She sighed. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to discuss it. “Yes, I have it.”
He stared a moment. “And you just planned on, what, keeping it indefinitely?”
“I told you — I wanted to see how long it would take you to figure it out.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well now you know, so I’ll thank you to give it back.”
She considered him a moment, a brilliant idea slowly occurring to her. “No, I rather think not.”
Incredulity flashed through his eyes. “You rather think not?”
“You heard me. I’m quite attached, you see. It really is a very nice broom. But…” she grinned mischievously, “I might be willing to make a deal.”
“A deal.” Disbelief echoed through his voice.
“That’s right. Get me into the Restricted Section — and back out again — without getting caught, and you get your broom back.”
He raised his pale eyebrows in surprise, then smiled slowly. “Well, well, well. Little Weasley has a sly streak after all. Bravo.” He considered her a moment longer, then said, “Fine, it’s a deal. Now where’s my broom?”
She laughed outright. “Please, I’m not thick. You don’t get your broom until after.”
He nodded almost approvingly. “Now you’re thinking like a Slytherin.” If Ginny didn’t know any better, she would swear that his eyes glittered with amusement…and something else, perhaps. “All right. After, then. Meet me at the base of the stairs in the Entrance Hall, six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock?”
“Something wrong?”
She frowned slightly. “No, just…I would have thought we would go after curfew.”
He smiled, just barely. “There’s that Gryffindor mentality again. Nasty, that. Six o’clock. Don’t be late.” Then he got up and, with no further words of farewell, strolled out of the room, whistling quietly under his breath.
Ginny shook her head as she watched him leave. “Nutters, that one,” she muttered under her breath.
But damned if she wasn’t waiting by the base of the stairs come six o’clock.
Malfoy was not quite so punctual, arriving at least ten minutes late by her estimation. He walked easily up from the stairs to the dungeon, looking wholly unconcerned by his tardiness, and stopped a few feet away where he leaned against the elaborate banister.
“You look miffed,” he observed.
“Can’t imagine why,” she said sarcastically. “I’ve only been waiting ten minutes for your sorry arse.”
Malfoy arched an eyebrow in response.
She took a deep breath, willing down her temper, and gritted out, “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just a little tense at the moment.”
“I’d noticed,” he said dryly, then pushing off the banister, started off toward the library. “Come on, then,” he called over his shoulder.
Ginny ran to catch up, forced to take nearly two steps for every one of his long, even strides. She refused to ask him to slow down, though. “You never did tell me what exactly you have planned,” she reminded him.
“You’re right.”
“Okay, let me rephrase that: tell me what you’re planning.”
He shook his head. “Not a chance.”
She shot him a disbelieving look. “Why not?”
“Because knowing you, your expression will just give everything away, and I’m not risking my arse getting thrown in detention just because you don’t know how to control your emotions.”
She made a face. “What do you mean, give everything away? It’s not like anyone’s going to see us anyway, right?”
He remained silent, keeping his gaze steadfastly forward.
“Malfoy? Right?” she tried again.
He glanced her way impatiently. “Sure. If it makes you feel better.”
Oddly enough, that didn’t entirely comfort her.
They reached the library with no further conversation, Malfoy looking a cross between determined and bored while Ginny’s apprehension swelled by the second. She knew by now to appreciate — grudgingly — his intelligence, but that didn’t comfort her when it came to the boy’s quicksilver loyalties.
He stepped forward and momentarily stunned her by holding the door open for her. Her suspicions immediately flared, but she managed to squelch them when he only inclined his head slightly to indicate she go in. Curiosity would not go down so easily, however, but buzzed around insistently inside her mind. The door closed with a nearly inaudible click, but in the silence of the library, her senses heightened by an odd mix of anxiety and excitement, it seemed to slam.
Malfoy brushed past her, muttering, “Do try and look natural, Weasley.” Then he did what, in Ginny’s mind, finally established his insanity — he made a straight line for Madam Pince.
“Mr. Malfoy,” the librarian acknowledged curtly, lips pursed.
“Madam,” Malfoy returned politely. “Weasley and I are ready now, if that’s all right.”
The woman frowned, pursing her lips even further so that it looked like she tasted something particularly sour. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Ready for what, exactly?”
Malfoy’s brow wrinkled slightly, his head cocking just a bit to one side. “To look for our book,” he answered as if it should have been obvious.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pince said, clearly growing frustrated now, “I’ll ask you to please explain to me precisely what you are referring to, because I haven’t a clue.”
Malfoy rubbed a hand at the back of his head, seeming for all the world like someone not quite sure what to do. Ginny, having a time simply looking natural, sincerely hoped it was a put on. “Didn’t Professor Vector speak to you?”
Madam Pince’s features immediately transformed, turning hard and a little angry. “No, I’m afraid she hasn’t,” she said tightly.
Malfoy’s face fell. “Odd. She promised she would...” he trailed off.
“In reference to what?”
Malfoy blinked as if her question dragged him out of deep concentration. “Hmm? Oh, right. I — well, Weasley and myself — need access to the Restricted Section. We’re both doing projects on Arithmancy’s application to real Wizarding life, outside academia, but the book we wanted has some equations that could be dangerous if applied to the wrong sorts of spells. Not good for the younger years.” Malfoy adopted a look of confusion and murmured more to himself, “Still can’t believe she didn’t talk to you….”
“You and Miss Weasley have the same project?” Madam Pince asked suspiciously. “You’re a year older, aren’t you?”
Malfoy ducked his head a bit. “I, err, sort of took a break from Arithmancy last year.”
An odd, disapproving little “humph” emitted from the librarian. “Laziness,” she concluded.
Malfoy had the grace to look a little ashamed, though Ginny knew it was all acting. “We really do need to see that book. The project is due tomorrow, and this is the last bit of information we need.”
“Well I can’t let you in without a pass,” Madam Pince declared firmly.
“Oh, of course. It’s right here.” And with that, Malfoy pulled a small slip of parchment from his robes and handed it over.
Madam Pince’s eyes darted over the handwriting, then reluctantly said, “Very well, then. You have one hour. If you need more time, I’m afraid you’ll have to get another pass. Rules.”
“Thank you, Madam,” Malfoy said, showing a small but still charming smile. The woman only sniffed and stalked off; Malfoy made a face at her retreating back as soon as it turned. “You old bat,” he muttered under his breath, then turned and made towards the back of the library.
Ginny, looking back and forth between Madam Pince and Malfoy, stood shocked for a minute before regaining her senses and hurrying after the blond. “Well, that was stupid!” she hissed.
He glanced down disbelievingly. “I just got you permission to go in the Restricted Section. A free hour to do whatever without having to worry about getting caught.” He stuck his nose up a little. “I expected a little gratitude.”
“Gratitude? We’re sure to get caught eventually,” she fumed. “Maybe not today, but it’s only a matter of time.”
“How do you figure?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I just get this funny feeling that when Madam Pince asks Professor Vector about our ‘project,’ Vector won’t know what she’s talking about!”
Malfoy flashed a smug grin. “Ah, therein lies the brilliance of the plan, Weasley. Do you honestly think I chose Professor Vector at random?”
Ginny’s forehead wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
While unhooking the rope that blocked off the Restricted Section, he explained, “The two hate each other. Some old grudge from their school days, I think. Anyway, they can barely stand to hear the other’s name, let alone sit down for a chat. They won’t be discussing it anytime soon.”
Ginny mulled this over as she walked past him, so absorbed she hardly noticed that he again acted the gentleman by holding the rope back for her to go first. “I never heard about that.”
“The staff doesn’t exactly like to advertise divisions. Makes ‘em look weak. They’re supposed to be a united front and all that rot, you know.” He re-secured the rope behind them as spoke.
“So how do you know about it?”
A corner of his mouth tipped up. “Let’s just say I have my sources.” Detecting her annoyed expression, he said, “It’s better that you don’t know. You wouldn’t approve.”
“Slytherin-ish?” she inquired.
He shrugged. “So what are we looking for, exactly?”
“Sorry, ‘it’s better that you don’t know,’” she mimicked.
He rolled his eyes. “Fine; be childish. Just lead on then.”
She looked up at him. “You’re going to follow?”
“I got us in here. If you think I’m going to just stand around like some lackey, you’re mad.”
Ginny didn’t like that idea at all, but she also recognized that he was possibly the most stubborn human on the planet (after herself, of course) and her time was limited. “Fine. Just don’t be a nuisance.”
He just waved her on.
Ginny started walking through the stacks, trying to find a section devoted to enchanted items. Her mind wandered as she moved through the silence of the books, and something else occurred to her. “Hey, how did you get a pass?”
“What?” Some title on Black magic currently held his attention.
“You actually gave her a pass to get in here. How did you manage that?”
“Oh. That was the easy bit.” He tossed a smirk in her direction before going back to the array of banned books. “I could forge with the best of them before I ever started attending this sad excuse for a school. I’m a natural. Self-taught, you know.”
“Your parents must be so proud,” she mumbled.
A dark, closed-off expression fell like a curtain over his face. It didn’t escape her, but the ever-present time shortage loomed over her, and she doubted he would open up even if she did dare to ask. So, choosing to dismiss yet another of his oddities, she turned her attention back to the search.
The task daunted her just a little. How was she supposed to find what she was looking for in just an hour when she had no idea which volume she might find it in? And a shortage of books would certainly be no problem—the shelves stretched on further than she ever imagined the Restricted Section had room for.
Her eyes never stopped moving, darting from title to title, her feet occasionally stopping so she could pick out a book, and then starting back up again when the pages revealed nothing. Desperation started to ruffle the edges of her conscious.
At least Malfoy stayed quiet the entire time. He moved as silently as if he walked on clouds, and she kept finding herself glancing back to see if he was still there. Every time she did he followed just behind, though, his focus always completely absorbed by the buffet of forbidden literature. Ginny mused that this must practically be heaven to someone like him.
She finally spotted the book she didn’t know she was looking for during one of those compulsive checks on Malfoy. She turned her head to look back, and right by his face a title in brilliant gold leafing leapt away from its neighbors. It read simply, The Hidden Mind. It mentioned nothing of enchantments, and could really refer to a whole slew of topics. But somehow she knew it harbored the explanations she craved.
Her feet veered towards it almost before her mind made the decision to do so. The tome weighed a considerable lot, and she needed both hands to lift its battered, leather-bound pages from the bookcase. The entire thing appeared rather worn, really, aside from that brilliant gold lettering. Malfoy leaned against the shelf, folding his arms to watch silently. She blocked him out.
The introduction inside explained that the monstrous text covered all aspects of the subconscious — the awareness most would not or could not acknowledge. She flipped back to the index and sure enough, the entire middle section was devoted to magically enchanted things. Heart pounding, excitement so unaccountably high that it felt like an energy thrumming through the pages into her fingertips, she plopped down right there and balanced the book on her lap.
“You can look around,” she told Malfoy. “I might be awhile.”
He made a noncommittal noise, but began perusing the shelves anyway.
Ginny turned to the correct page — six hundred seventy-two — and skimmed her finger lightly down the faded old text. She didn’t find what she wanted until page six hundred ninety, but when she did it reared up and hit her like a slap across the face. Right smack in the middle of the page:
Candle von Interesse:
Lichtman noted on many occasions that his dreams — or nightmares, as was often the case — featured aspects of his life that he never realized concerned him until after he awoke. Curious, he spent a year and a half inventing the spell that would make a seemingly simple candle a window to the subconscious.
Again, the candle’s goal was not to reveal secret desires (though Lichtman admits that may be an unintentional side-effect). Rather, its function is to show the holder what he or she spends the great majority of time thinking about, whether the subject be good, bad, or a little of both.
Ginny re-read the passage several times with mixed emotions. For one, she felt a profound relief like nothing else that the candle wasn’t telling her she suddenly desired Malfoy. The short article stated quite clearly that this Candle von Interesse did not perform that function.
On the other hand, it meant Harry was fading out of her mind as surely as he was from the candle. Not even a full year of his absence, and already she was moving on. That thought alone disturbed her immensely, but even worse, Malfoy was taking his place? Of all the things she had to worry and obsess over — the war, upcoming NEWTs next year, careers — Malfoy claimed the largest chunk of her concern?
Out of reflex, she lifted her head to search out Malfoy. She found him raised on his toes, reaching up to pull down some book. He studied the cover a moment, wearing an uncommon (for him) expression of rapt interest, then flipped open to a random page towards the center. The thing immediately let out a shrieking, ear-splitting racket, and Malfoy, giving a startled shout of his own, quickly snapped the book shut and replaced it, eyes wide with surprise. Ginny couldn’t help but giggle, fisting her hand at her mouth to try and stifle the noise.
Malfoy heard her anyway and looked over sharply, scowling. “Found what you were looking for yet?” he demanded testily, straightening his shoulders in an attempt to regain lost dignity.
Her gaze fell to the book still open in her lap. “Yes,” she sighed.
“Don’t sound so excited.”
Ginny allowed a half-smile. “It’s just that my answer sort of brought up even more questions than I started out with.”
“Hmm.” His silver eyes landed on her, weighing down heavily for several seconds. She knew he was trying to figure out what was going on. “Well,” he finally declared, “concerned as I sincerely am about all that, the fact remains that I got you in here, you found what you wanted, and now it’s my turn. Broom, if you don’t mind.” And he held out his hand as if she had it stashed in her back pocket.
She rolled her eyes, closing the book and struggling to her feet with the thing tucked under one arm. “You never change, do you?”
He crossed his arms. “Meaning…?”
“Meaning,” she heaved the book back into its spot with a grunt, “that all you ever think about is yourself.”
“And that’s a bad thing.”
She laughed lightly. “Yes, that’s definitely a bad thing.”
He seemed to consider that a moment. “I can’t say that I really agree, Weasley,” he said at last.
“You think it’s a good thing?”
He waved the words off. “No, that’s not what I meant. ‘Good’ and ‘bad’ is all relative anyhow.”
“Spoken like a true Slytherin,” she muttered as she started making her way towards the normal section of the library again.
He ignored her comment. “I mean I don’t only think of myself.”
She looked over at him, lips quirked. “You don’t think so, do you?”
“I caught you when you fell off your broom, didn’t I? I’ll have you know I got quite bruised from that little stunt.”
“That doesn’t count. If you’d have let me fall, you would be a complete and utter git.”
A slow smirk appeared on his lips. “So you’re saying I’m not a complete and utter git now?”
Ginny stuttered out a few incoherent syllables, trapped by her own words. Finally, she scowled and snapped, “You know what I meant.”
He nodded sagely. “Yes, yes I do. You have secret feelings of affection for me, that’s all.”
Combined with the paranoia and guilt she already felt over the Candle von Interesse, his tease ignited an explosive display of the Weasley temper before she could think to control it. She whirled on him so fast that he stumbled back in surprise, his back hitting the bookcase. Stepping up to him until they were practically touching, she jabbed a finger sharply in his chest and snapped, “I suggest you get over yourself, Malfoy, because you’re only fooling yourself.”
Something deep in his eyes lashed out, and his hand reached up to wrap around her wrist, pulling her the last remaining inches closer so that they were touching, and he towered over her. “I was only joking,” he said quietly, “but now that you bring it up, I’ve got something to say myself.”
She gave a futile tug at her captive wrist, but it was more a token effort than anything since she stayed caught despite his fairly loose grip. “Let go.”
He went on, disregarding the command. “I just get so sick of you hypocritical Gryffindors sometimes. You say Slytherins are prejudiced? You think we’re the egotistical ones?” His fingers tightened just barely, his eyes intense as they burned into hers. “You’re the stuck up one, Ginny Weasley. You’re the one who just can’t fathom a Slytherin changing, and you delude yourself into assuming that your morals make you better.”
He was on a roll now, and Ginny went from furious and a little frightened to totally fascinated. He hardly even seemed aware of her anymore, revealing a level of emotion she never dreamed he would let her see. The self-proclaimed master of control was slacking, and she got the distinct feeling that she was witnessing the release of months of pent up aggression and frustration.
“Well, you’re wrong. I may not have your bloody morals, and you can keep the damned things. I don’t want them. But that doesn’t put you on a pedestal compared to me, despite what you obviously think, and that doesn’t mean I’m the same as always like you’re so fond of informing me. I wish you could have been there this summer. I wish you would’ve seen me — ”
But he abruptly snapped his mouth shut, eyes clearing as reality firmly slammed down around him again. He dropped her wrist like it burned, setting his jaw and refusing to meet her eyes as he pushed past her.
Curiosity eating her alive, she rushed after him. For several moments she just walked silently alongside him, hoping to let him cool down, then speaking gently, she asked, “Where did that come from?”
“I could ask you the same,” he pointed out tersely. “You overreacted first.”
It was a good argument, so she switched topics. “What happened this summer?”
He suddenly stopped, facing her and actually gripping both of her shoulders, forcing her dark stare to meet his pale one. “Nothing happened. I didn’t say anything about this summer. You just must’ve heard wrong.” He paused meaningfully. “Understand?”
She wanted desperately to tell him to shove off and just tell her, but something in his face, in those mercurial gray eyes of his, held her back. “Okay,” she finally agreed, whispering.
He nodded once in satisfaction, slowly lowering his hands back to his sides, and they walked the rest of the way out of the library in silence. When they stepped out into the hall, he glanced over and asked tonelessly, “Where are you keeping it?”
She stared at him without comprehension, still completely absorbed by the unexpected outburst in the library. “What?”
“My broom,” he clarified impatiently. “Where is it?”
“Oh. It’s just up in my dormitory.” She glanced around uncertainly, then making up her mind, said, “You should probably wait here.”
Malfoy scoffed. “I don’t think so. Your dormitory is two floors up, and I don’t plan on standing around while you go all that way and back.”
“You know where my dormitory is?” For some reason, that knowledge unsettled Ginny.
He smiled without humor. “Seventh floor, beyond that horrid obese woman.”
She glowered at him. “How’s it going to look if I bring a Slytherin up there?” she protested.
Malfoy feigned shock. “Why, you wouldn’t be worrying about image would you? That’s a purely Slytherin trait, after all, if everything you and yours are so fond of spouting off is true.”
“Fine!” she snapped, exasperated. “Just…try not to talk.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve got a distinct voice,” she explained defensively.
He chuckled. “I’ll try and refrain.”
Huffing her annoyance, she spun around fast enough to make her long hair fan out and settle on the opposite shoulder. The sound of his expensive shoes clicking against the stone behind her echoed every step she took, making thoughts of anything else impossible. And she suffered no shortage of things to think about in the Draco Malfoy department.
Why in the seven circles of hell, or anywhere else for that matter, would he become the object of her…how did the book word it? Preoccupation? It made no sense. She didn’t care a whit about his life. So what if he did save her that day on the Quidditch pitch? It was just reaction. And yes, he laughed with her. That just proved he was human after all, nothing more. He was still the same, vile Malfoy.
She spared a split-second glance at him over her shoulder and frowned. Except he hinted that he had changed, and if she were honest with herself, she’d noticed more than a few rather strong testaments to that lately. The simple fact that he hadn’t planned on doling out a detention upon their first meeting this year showed that, and he only continued to transform as the days went on.
And now here popped up this nagging matter of some mystery summer incident. After wracking her brains for a possible explanation, the best she could come up with was that he finally got his Mark this summer. That seemed most likely, anyway. Last year, Harry intimated that Malfoy already had one, but maybe he’d been mistaken. He never actually saw it, after all.
To top it all off, she could no longer ignore the little things that seemed to set Malfoy off. His outburst today jumped to the forefront of her mind, but a hundred other times she witnessed subtler slips in his façade — a glint to his eyes, a tightening to his jaw or a general tensing up over seemingly random topics. Like her comment today about his parents being proud of his forging skills and his subsequent reaction, for instance.
Ginny sighed, defeated. It was all too much to process at one go.
They reached the portrait of the Fat Lady shortly after she gave up trying to muddle through the puzzle. Malfoy, having come up beside her at some point apparently, crossed his arms and regarded the painting with obvious distaste.
Trying not to smile at his expression, she cleared her throat and informed him in no uncertain terms, “You will wait here while I go fetch it. I let you come this far, but inside is pushing it.”
He glanced at her and shrugged. “Fine. Just don’t take too long.” He smirked. “One of your mates might see me hanging about, and I would be forced to explain who led me here.”
Ginny shook her head. “You’re insufferable.”
He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Better hurry along.”
Mind again plagued with the question of how that particular boy overrode Harry in her subconscious, she stomped off to the Fat Lady, whispering the password under her breath so he wouldn’t overhear. She reemerged from the portrait hole a few minutes later, his top-of-the-line broom in hand.
Malfoy wordlessly held out his hands. Ginny hesitated, giving the broom one last forlorn look and unconsciously cradling it just a little closer.
“Weasley?” Malfoy prompted, waggling his fingers.
Ginny sighed, and with a great deal of regret, turned the broom over to its rightful owner. “I should’ve told you I lost it and just transfigured it to look like mine,” she muttered.
He chuckled. “I do believe I’m having a bad influence on you, Weasley.”
Her eyes searched his face, finding no trace of a grudge (though reading his face was admittedly misleading) which she figured to mean he apparently already got over the incident in the library. He seemed back to his sarcastic, increasingly teasing self, something in and of itself a little strange. Really, sometimes she could only describe his behavior towards her as playful — yet another inexplicable change to add to the ever-expanding list, she noted.
It made her wonder what kind of person he might have been if not for the various influences all around him. Could Draco Malfoy have been a light-hearted, fun individual in another life, void of his father and Slytherin? For that matter…could he still?
“Weasley.”
She blinked, shaking her head to clear it. “Hmm?”
He raised his eyebrows. “You were staring.”
“Oh…sorry. Just thinking.”
He looked her over for a moment, and she waited for him to press her, but he simply completed his inspection, hefted his broom over one shoulder, and said, “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you.”
Ginny made no comment as he turned around and walked away, gait easy and fluid. She never felt so completely confounded in all her life; it felt like someone let loose an entire menagerie inside her head, and thinking over the resulting stampede was as difficult as it sounded.
One thing she knew for sure, though—she would be paying no more visits to that stupid candle anytime soon.
- - - - -
A/N – Woo wee, another pretty long chapter. I’m sort of apprehensive of what you guys thought of that one, but then I’m always at least a little nervous, so I decided to just go ahead and post anyway. Hope for the best and all that.
By the way, “von Interesse” from the “Candle von Interesse” just means “of concern” in German. At least, according to the online translator it does lol. I study Spanish, myself. Oh! And another thing I thought was neat, the inventor’s last name (Henrik “Lichtman”) actually means “candle-maker” haha. (I’m easily amused lol.)
Oh, oh! And I almost forgot, I saw the energizer bunny on TV the other day!!! He’s not dead after all! I was excited. (Lol if you read my last couple A/N’s, you know what I’m talking about. Otherwise…well, you just think I’m raving mad haha.)
ANYWHO, thanks for reading!
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