******************************************************
She watched as the students trooped away from the castle, professors in the front, rear, and on the sides. Like an undersized army they huddled together as they walked, fearful of the openness of the outdoors. They were perfectly safe, of course, with both professors and Order members at full alert, but everyone’s confidence had waned since the attack. The security they had felt in the authority of the Headmaster had been stripped away.
A gust of cool air lifted her hair from her neck and she shivered as it whipped behind her, making a hollow rushing sound in the open entranceway behind her. That’s how all of Hogwarts will be now, she thought. Empty. Cold. It would be enough to sustain her to have her family and closest friends with her, but Hogwarts just wouldn’t be the comforting fortress it once was without the usual bustle of students, the chatter in the great hall, the crowded classes.
But then again, nothing would ever really be the same after this—war was upon them, and it would be a long while until order was restored. A knot settled in her stomach.
“Gin, let’s go,” Ron said gently, tugging at the sleeve of her robe. Harry and Hermione stood behind him, waiting. With one last glance at the departing clump of students, she closed the door, silently bidding farewell to her classmates and all that she knew.
The Gryffindor common room was mercifully warm. With nothing to presently obligate their time, the four friends settled into the plush furniture surrounding the fireplace, Ginny and Harry choosing armchairs on opposite sides of the couch. Things were a bit awkward between them since they had separated—not to the point of being conspicuously uncomfortable, but enough to warrant a certain amount of physical distance. At least for a while. Besides, the couch was only comfortable for two, and Ginny and Harry grinned devilishly as Hermione and Ron blushingly arranged themselves on it side by side.
Since the funeral, it had become known that Ron and Hermione were a couple—at least to those who were acquainted with them. At first Ginny thought they refrained from public displays of affection out of consideration for her and Harry’s situation. But several days had passed and they still would hardly touch. Perhaps, she thought with relief, they wouldn’t be such a lovey-dovey couple after all, what with Hermione being such a practical person and Ron’s ears turning scarlet if she even just looked at him.
“I s’pose mum and the rest of the family will be here soon,” Ron commented.
“They’re all coming, then?” Harry asked.
“All of them but Percy,” Ron said darkly. “Dad said it would be safer not to tell him… you never know what he’ll say to the ministry. Besides, it’s not like he would notice the Burrow being empty anyway.”
“Now Ron, don’t underestimate the power of the war,” Ginny said dryly, “you know that Mum’s hoping Percy comes running home the minute the ministry realizes they’ve lost control.”
Ron snorted. “I think Mum’s underestimating the power of Percy’s ego.”
It really was remarkable that any of them had much to say—grief and recent commotion might have killed their desire for company—but as they sat in the common room, four friends who knew each other, conversation came easily. Until, without warning, the porthole slid open and McGonagall entered.
The Professor smiled thinly in greeting and stepped to where the foursome was seated. Ginny thought she looked more tired than she had ever seen her. And older. For the first time, Ginny considered how much of a burden had recently been placed upon the
New Headmistress.
“There is a small matter I would like to discuss with the lot of you,” McGonagall said, though Ginny thought the she sounded rather uneager.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Professor?”
“First of all, I must inform you that a great deal of trust is being placed in you by allowing you to remain at Hogwarts with the Order.”
They nodded. They were well aware of their privilege. After spending the previous summer at Grimmauld Place, Ginny understood the security and secrecy that was required for the Order of the Pheonix, and had been more than a little surprised when she, as well as Ron, Hermione, and Harry, had been told they were allowed to stay at the Order’s new headquarters. Of course, she suspected it was only because of her family’s prominent involvement—what would she and Ron have done at home with their parents at Hogwarts? And Harry, of course, was an honorary member of the Weasley family. Hermione… well, everyone knew that the trio would not be separated, and so she was permitted to stay as well. Her Muggle parents had been oblivious enough to agree to the arrangement.
McGonagall continued. “And I would like to thank you for your loyalty and enthusiasm. We are coming upon very difficult times, and it is indeed encouraging to know that there are young witches and wizards who are dedicated to the Order. Please understand that you are being treated as near-adults, and so you are also expected to act with equal maturity.”
Her eyes narrowed and the quartet exchanged glances. Ginny sensed that something unpleasant was coming.
“As you well know, Draco Malfoy has pledged his allegiance to the Order in exchange for protection. I am aware of your past history with the boy, but in light of recent events, I would ask you to put aside any of your old prejudices and start afresh… I’m sure he intends to do the same.”
Harry appeared skeptical, Hermione cocked her head, and Ron looked like he’d gotten the rotten end of a box of Bertie Botts. Ginny was only mildly interested.
“The boy has been through a lot—much more than you know—and I expect he has rough times ahead of him as well. His situation is very delicate indeed, and I foresee that he could have a difficult time adjusting to it. I trust that you will not make it any more difficult for him than necessary.”
“His mother, Professor?” Harry cut in. “Dumbledore promised her protection, too…”
Ginny felt a surge of appreciation for Harry—the first since he had broken up with her. Sometimes his compassion surprised her, especially now, when it was being bestowed upon an undeserving enemy.
McGonagall sighed. “I am afraid she couldn’t be located. Of course, the Order immediately Apparated to Malfoy Manor, but she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she has gone into hiding on her own accord, or has joined full ranks with the Death Eaters. In either case, it is doubtful she even knows that Draco is not dead—and at this point it could be dangerous for her to know otherwise. Of course,” she hesitated, “it is also possible that the Dark Lord has seen fit to punish her for Draco’s failure.”
Harry nodded, looking oddly troubled at this bit of news. “Does Malfoy know?”
“He does, and I presume he will not be inclined to discuss it. At any rate, I expect you all to be civil with one another, and I implore you to give the boy a chance. I expect that he is in need of support and a few good friends. So given the situation—Harry, Ron—I’m sure that you will not object to him sharing your dormitory.”
Harry simply looked stunned, but Ron’s protest was both loud and instant. “But—what?! Share our dormitory?! Professor—you can’t possibly—I mean, he… it’s Malfoy!” He went on, spluttering about Death Eaters and Slytherin scum and arrogant prats, and when Hermione put her hand on his arm to try to shush him he grew all the more flustered.
“Professor,” Harry said warily, “are you sure this is such a good idea? After all he’s done?”
“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said firmly but not unkindly, “I assure you that my judgment is not unsound. I am very aware of Malfoy’s offenses, but I also have more knowledge about the situation than you have, and I believe the boy to be essentially harmless. The members of the Order and I have discussed it at length. Of course, we will still take extra security precautions with him. And I’m sure that sharing a dormitory will be very convenient for you to keep an eye on him.” The Professor’s eyes twinkled and Ginny half expected her to wink confidentially.
“Professor,” Ron finally groaned in defeat, “why does he have to stay with us? I mean here, at Hogwarts?”
McGonagall’s gaze softened and she spoke with tenderness. “My dear,” she said, “he has nowhere else to go.”
********************************************************
“Things are going to be different now, Ron,” Hermione said cautiously, “we’re all going to have to make some adjustments.”
Ron continued to brood. “But everything that’s happened is all Malfoy’s fault,” he huffed. “I don’t see why we have to share our bloody room with him.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. Honestly, her brother could be so dramatic at times. “Oh, come off it, Ron. It’s not such a bad deal… like McGonagall said, it will be much easier to monitor him this way. And weren’t you listening when she said they’ve put anti-hex wards around the room? It’s not as if he’ll be able to hex you while you sleep.”
“Yes, but then neither can we,” he said glumly.
A moment passed in which no one said anything, so Ron added, “This whole bloody war is his fault... he should be our prisoner, not our roommate .”
“Ron,” Hermione scoffed, “don’t you think you’re giving him a little too much credit? If it didn’t start at Hogwarts it would have just started somewhere else. It was only a matter of time.”
Ron growled. “But if it weren’t for that prat, we might have been ready for it.”
Harry furrowed his brow.
“What?” Ron sighed.
Harry shook his head. “Nothing… I don’t know. I was just thinking that if it weren’t for Malfoy, we wouldn’t have even had as much notice as we did. It was only because he was acting so oddly that we were even paying attention at all, and if I hadn’t thought he was up to something I would have never given you the Felix Felicis potion. And then who knows what would have happened.”
“Harry’s right,” Hermione piped. “If Malfoy hadn’t been so reckless we would have never suspected a thing.”
Ron glowered a bit and opened his mouth to retort when Ginny abruptly spoke.
“Do you think he wanted to do it, Harry?”
“Do what?” he asked.
“Kill Dumbledore… bring in the Death Eaters… everything. Do you think he ever really wanted to do it? Even in the beginning?”
Harry looked troubled and was silent for a moment. He stared into the fire, contemplating her question, and when he finally looked up at her his eyes were unusually bright as he said, “No, I don’t.”
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Draco looked around him at the red tapestries and bedding. It looked overpowering and lavish compared to the cool green of his dormitory. But he had to admit, the air was fresher up here than in the dungeons. He sat on the bed—excessively plush, as he had expected—and contemplated how on earth the Weasel would cope with having to share his dormitory with a Slytherin. If Draco hadn’t been just as disgusted with the situation, he might have grinned wryly.
McGonagall and Lupin had lectured him endlessly about the importance of cooperation and preventing conflict. “You don’t have to be nice, per se,” the werewolf had said, “but do make it a point to avoid insulting your roommates,” to which McGonagall had added that it may also help to be nice. Of course, they had taken his wand, so the damage Draco could do was limited.
But then, so were his defenses. And he was not safe; he knew that. Aside from the threats that came with sharing a dormitory with his two most detested rivals, submitting himself to the will of the Order of the Phoenix, and being stripped of his most valuable weapon, there was still the matter of the Dark Lord. If certain people found out that he was still alive—and connected with the Order at that—he would not be safe until the Dark Lord was dead.
Or until Draco himself was dead.
The thought of death immediately brought his mother to mind and he felt a familiar flood of panic. He fought to keep it down, forcing his breathing to remain steady—he would not lose control again. If there was one thing that would be sure to ruin him it was weakness, and he had vowed from the moment he swore allegiance to the Order that he would maintain his poise. As much as he had essentially denounced the Malfoy name, he adhered to its pride.
Besides, he thought, his mother was fine—she would not have been foolish enough to return to the Dark Lord. His mother was not stupid. Powerless, maybe, but not stupid. Most likely she had gone into hiding.
“Do you think he’s in here already?”
The voices floated in from the hallway and Draco cringed, bracing himself for what would be the first of many awkward and excruciating nights.
“Probably, Dobby brought his trunk up earlier when I was in here.”
The pair stopped short in the door when they saw Draco sitting on his bed, nonchalantly untying his shoes and completely ignoring their presence. He heard Weasley scowl quietly, but otherwise they said nothing and each went to their respective beds. There was silence as the two Gryffindors changed out of their robes and Draco valiantly swallowed a snicker as Weasley donned Chuddley Cannon pajamas. A dozen snide comments flitted through his head, but—Merlin, it killed him—he suppressed them.
Draco flopped back onto his bed, and Weasley was just about to charm the lights out when Potter spoke quietly, “Ron, Ginny’s not sleeping alone, is she?”
“No, she moved in with Hermione.”
Draco could not resist himself. “The Mudblood’s still here? Merlin, I thought the Order would have had a better filtering system.”
For just a moment, Draco felt an appreciated sense of relief, a sense of normalcy and order. But glancing at Weasley’s red, distorted face, he realized with a sinking feeling that if this arrangement was to work whatsoever, he would have to purge that term from his vocabulary.
Weasley’s chest heaved and he gritted his teeth, and in an incredible display of maturity and self-control, he sent a death glare at Draco and stomped out of the room.
Harry looked at Draco in disgust. “I thought you’d be above that at this point,” he spat, and jerked the tapestries of his bed shut.
Draco frowned. He had at least expected a battle of witticisms. It seemed as if entertainment was going to be sparse.
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She watched as the students trooped away from the castle, professors in the front, rear, and on the sides. Like an undersized army they huddled together as they walked, fearful of the openness of the outdoors. They were perfectly safe, of course, with both professors and Order members at full alert, but everyone’s confidence had waned since the attack. The security they had felt in the authority of the Headmaster had been stripped away.
A gust of cool air lifted her hair from her neck and she shivered as it whipped behind her, making a hollow rushing sound in the open entranceway behind her. That’s how all of Hogwarts will be now, she thought. Empty. Cold. It would be enough to sustain her to have her family and closest friends with her, but Hogwarts just wouldn’t be the comforting fortress it once was without the usual bustle of students, the chatter in the great hall, the crowded classes.
But then again, nothing would ever really be the same after this—war was upon them, and it would be a long while until order was restored. A knot settled in her stomach.
“Gin, let’s go,” Ron said gently, tugging at the sleeve of her robe. Harry and Hermione stood behind him, waiting. With one last glance at the departing clump of students, she closed the door, silently bidding farewell to her classmates and all that she knew.
The Gryffindor common room was mercifully warm. With nothing to presently obligate their time, the four friends settled into the plush furniture surrounding the fireplace, Ginny and Harry choosing armchairs on opposite sides of the couch. Things were a bit awkward between them since they had separated—not to the point of being conspicuously uncomfortable, but enough to warrant a certain amount of physical distance. At least for a while. Besides, the couch was only comfortable for two, and Ginny and Harry grinned devilishly as Hermione and Ron blushingly arranged themselves on it side by side.
Since the funeral, it had become known that Ron and Hermione were a couple—at least to those who were acquainted with them. At first Ginny thought they refrained from public displays of affection out of consideration for her and Harry’s situation. But several days had passed and they still would hardly touch. Perhaps, she thought with relief, they wouldn’t be such a lovey-dovey couple after all, what with Hermione being such a practical person and Ron’s ears turning scarlet if she even just looked at him.
“I s’pose mum and the rest of the family will be here soon,” Ron commented.
“They’re all coming, then?” Harry asked.
“All of them but Percy,” Ron said darkly. “Dad said it would be safer not to tell him… you never know what he’ll say to the ministry. Besides, it’s not like he would notice the Burrow being empty anyway.”
“Now Ron, don’t underestimate the power of the war,” Ginny said dryly, “you know that Mum’s hoping Percy comes running home the minute the ministry realizes they’ve lost control.”
Ron snorted. “I think Mum’s underestimating the power of Percy’s ego.”
It really was remarkable that any of them had much to say—grief and recent commotion might have killed their desire for company—but as they sat in the common room, four friends who knew each other, conversation came easily. Until, without warning, the porthole slid open and McGonagall entered.
The Professor smiled thinly in greeting and stepped to where the foursome was seated. Ginny thought she looked more tired than she had ever seen her. And older. For the first time, Ginny considered how much of a burden had recently been placed upon the
New Headmistress.
“There is a small matter I would like to discuss with the lot of you,” McGonagall said, though Ginny thought the she sounded rather uneager.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “Professor?”
“First of all, I must inform you that a great deal of trust is being placed in you by allowing you to remain at Hogwarts with the Order.”
They nodded. They were well aware of their privilege. After spending the previous summer at Grimmauld Place, Ginny understood the security and secrecy that was required for the Order of the Pheonix, and had been more than a little surprised when she, as well as Ron, Hermione, and Harry, had been told they were allowed to stay at the Order’s new headquarters. Of course, she suspected it was only because of her family’s prominent involvement—what would she and Ron have done at home with their parents at Hogwarts? And Harry, of course, was an honorary member of the Weasley family. Hermione… well, everyone knew that the trio would not be separated, and so she was permitted to stay as well. Her Muggle parents had been oblivious enough to agree to the arrangement.
McGonagall continued. “And I would like to thank you for your loyalty and enthusiasm. We are coming upon very difficult times, and it is indeed encouraging to know that there are young witches and wizards who are dedicated to the Order. Please understand that you are being treated as near-adults, and so you are also expected to act with equal maturity.”
Her eyes narrowed and the quartet exchanged glances. Ginny sensed that something unpleasant was coming.
“As you well know, Draco Malfoy has pledged his allegiance to the Order in exchange for protection. I am aware of your past history with the boy, but in light of recent events, I would ask you to put aside any of your old prejudices and start afresh… I’m sure he intends to do the same.”
Harry appeared skeptical, Hermione cocked her head, and Ron looked like he’d gotten the rotten end of a box of Bertie Botts. Ginny was only mildly interested.
“The boy has been through a lot—much more than you know—and I expect he has rough times ahead of him as well. His situation is very delicate indeed, and I foresee that he could have a difficult time adjusting to it. I trust that you will not make it any more difficult for him than necessary.”
“His mother, Professor?” Harry cut in. “Dumbledore promised her protection, too…”
Ginny felt a surge of appreciation for Harry—the first since he had broken up with her. Sometimes his compassion surprised her, especially now, when it was being bestowed upon an undeserving enemy.
McGonagall sighed. “I am afraid she couldn’t be located. Of course, the Order immediately Apparated to Malfoy Manor, but she was nowhere to be found. Perhaps she has gone into hiding on her own accord, or has joined full ranks with the Death Eaters. In either case, it is doubtful she even knows that Draco is not dead—and at this point it could be dangerous for her to know otherwise. Of course,” she hesitated, “it is also possible that the Dark Lord has seen fit to punish her for Draco’s failure.”
Harry nodded, looking oddly troubled at this bit of news. “Does Malfoy know?”
“He does, and I presume he will not be inclined to discuss it. At any rate, I expect you all to be civil with one another, and I implore you to give the boy a chance. I expect that he is in need of support and a few good friends. So given the situation—Harry, Ron—I’m sure that you will not object to him sharing your dormitory.”
Harry simply looked stunned, but Ron’s protest was both loud and instant. “But—what?! Share our dormitory?! Professor—you can’t possibly—I mean, he… it’s Malfoy!” He went on, spluttering about Death Eaters and Slytherin scum and arrogant prats, and when Hermione put her hand on his arm to try to shush him he grew all the more flustered.
“Professor,” Harry said warily, “are you sure this is such a good idea? After all he’s done?”
“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said firmly but not unkindly, “I assure you that my judgment is not unsound. I am very aware of Malfoy’s offenses, but I also have more knowledge about the situation than you have, and I believe the boy to be essentially harmless. The members of the Order and I have discussed it at length. Of course, we will still take extra security precautions with him. And I’m sure that sharing a dormitory will be very convenient for you to keep an eye on him.” The Professor’s eyes twinkled and Ginny half expected her to wink confidentially.
“Professor,” Ron finally groaned in defeat, “why does he have to stay with us? I mean here, at Hogwarts?”
McGonagall’s gaze softened and she spoke with tenderness. “My dear,” she said, “he has nowhere else to go.”
********************************************************
“Things are going to be different now, Ron,” Hermione said cautiously, “we’re all going to have to make some adjustments.”
Ron continued to brood. “But everything that’s happened is all Malfoy’s fault,” he huffed. “I don’t see why we have to share our bloody room with him.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. Honestly, her brother could be so dramatic at times. “Oh, come off it, Ron. It’s not such a bad deal… like McGonagall said, it will be much easier to monitor him this way. And weren’t you listening when she said they’ve put anti-hex wards around the room? It’s not as if he’ll be able to hex you while you sleep.”
“Yes, but then neither can we,” he said glumly.
A moment passed in which no one said anything, so Ron added, “This whole bloody war is his fault... he should be our prisoner, not our roommate .”
“Ron,” Hermione scoffed, “don’t you think you’re giving him a little too much credit? If it didn’t start at Hogwarts it would have just started somewhere else. It was only a matter of time.”
Ron growled. “But if it weren’t for that prat, we might have been ready for it.”
Harry furrowed his brow.
“What?” Ron sighed.
Harry shook his head. “Nothing… I don’t know. I was just thinking that if it weren’t for Malfoy, we wouldn’t have even had as much notice as we did. It was only because he was acting so oddly that we were even paying attention at all, and if I hadn’t thought he was up to something I would have never given you the Felix Felicis potion. And then who knows what would have happened.”
“Harry’s right,” Hermione piped. “If Malfoy hadn’t been so reckless we would have never suspected a thing.”
Ron glowered a bit and opened his mouth to retort when Ginny abruptly spoke.
“Do you think he wanted to do it, Harry?”
“Do what?” he asked.
“Kill Dumbledore… bring in the Death Eaters… everything. Do you think he ever really wanted to do it? Even in the beginning?”
Harry looked troubled and was silent for a moment. He stared into the fire, contemplating her question, and when he finally looked up at her his eyes were unusually bright as he said, “No, I don’t.”
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Draco looked around him at the red tapestries and bedding. It looked overpowering and lavish compared to the cool green of his dormitory. But he had to admit, the air was fresher up here than in the dungeons. He sat on the bed—excessively plush, as he had expected—and contemplated how on earth the Weasel would cope with having to share his dormitory with a Slytherin. If Draco hadn’t been just as disgusted with the situation, he might have grinned wryly.
McGonagall and Lupin had lectured him endlessly about the importance of cooperation and preventing conflict. “You don’t have to be nice, per se,” the werewolf had said, “but do make it a point to avoid insulting your roommates,” to which McGonagall had added that it may also help to be nice. Of course, they had taken his wand, so the damage Draco could do was limited.
But then, so were his defenses. And he was not safe; he knew that. Aside from the threats that came with sharing a dormitory with his two most detested rivals, submitting himself to the will of the Order of the Phoenix, and being stripped of his most valuable weapon, there was still the matter of the Dark Lord. If certain people found out that he was still alive—and connected with the Order at that—he would not be safe until the Dark Lord was dead.
Or until Draco himself was dead.
The thought of death immediately brought his mother to mind and he felt a familiar flood of panic. He fought to keep it down, forcing his breathing to remain steady—he would not lose control again. If there was one thing that would be sure to ruin him it was weakness, and he had vowed from the moment he swore allegiance to the Order that he would maintain his poise. As much as he had essentially denounced the Malfoy name, he adhered to its pride.
Besides, he thought, his mother was fine—she would not have been foolish enough to return to the Dark Lord. His mother was not stupid. Powerless, maybe, but not stupid. Most likely she had gone into hiding.
“Do you think he’s in here already?”
The voices floated in from the hallway and Draco cringed, bracing himself for what would be the first of many awkward and excruciating nights.
“Probably, Dobby brought his trunk up earlier when I was in here.”
The pair stopped short in the door when they saw Draco sitting on his bed, nonchalantly untying his shoes and completely ignoring their presence. He heard Weasley scowl quietly, but otherwise they said nothing and each went to their respective beds. There was silence as the two Gryffindors changed out of their robes and Draco valiantly swallowed a snicker as Weasley donned Chuddley Cannon pajamas. A dozen snide comments flitted through his head, but—Merlin, it killed him—he suppressed them.
Draco flopped back onto his bed, and Weasley was just about to charm the lights out when Potter spoke quietly, “Ron, Ginny’s not sleeping alone, is she?”
“No, she moved in with Hermione.”
Draco could not resist himself. “The Mudblood’s still here? Merlin, I thought the Order would have had a better filtering system.”
For just a moment, Draco felt an appreciated sense of relief, a sense of normalcy and order. But glancing at Weasley’s red, distorted face, he realized with a sinking feeling that if this arrangement was to work whatsoever, he would have to purge that term from his vocabulary.
Weasley’s chest heaved and he gritted his teeth, and in an incredible display of maturity and self-control, he sent a death glare at Draco and stomped out of the room.
Harry looked at Draco in disgust. “I thought you’d be above that at this point,” he spat, and jerked the tapestries of his bed shut.
Draco frowned. He had at least expected a battle of witticisms. It seemed as if entertainment was going to be sparse.
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