Three – Truce
“Ow – Merlin’s balls!”
Ginny gritted her teeth and slowly pushed herself back up from where she had fallen onto the stone floor. Her ankle, which had turned inwards as she was hobbling down an unusually steep flight of stairs, had turned a nasty shade of purple and was swelling rapidly, not unlike a Bobotuber filling with pus. Crabbe had been feeling particularly vindictive tonight at detention, and Ginny’s head ached so much from his curses that she had not been paying attention to where she was going before she lost her step and tumbled down the steps.
Wearily, she pulled herself onto her feet, gripping the rough stones jutting out of the wall with bleeding fingers. She had gotten more cuts, bruises and broken bones in the past month than she had ever gotten in the rest of her life – which is saying something when a girl has six brothers. The nightly detentions with the Carrows’ band of vindictive minions were beginning to take their toll. But she couldn’t stop. Someone had to stand up against those vicious creeps, and if Harry wasn’t here to do it, well, then Dumbledore’s Army was going to have to carry on without him. And Neville was right: it did give all of the other students hope when someone stood up against those repulsive Death Eaters, so what were a few chunks of missing flesh here and there?
Besides, the pain was – well, not satisfying – but dulling, in a way. It numbed the anguish she carried inside, the torment of knowing there was so little she could do. The angry gashes scattered across her skin meant that she must be doing something right if her actions caused the Carrows such rage. And the others agreed that it was well worth the blood and the risk. It made them all feel a little less helpless, like they were accomplishing something other than sitting there and getting brainwashed while wizards and Muggles alike suffered outside the castle walls. The pain was worth the defiance, however small of a contribution they made.
Moving slowly, Ginny half-dragged, half-crawled her way down the rest of the stairs. This is going to take a while, she thought to herself, wincing slightly as her raw skin scraped across the rough surface of the wall.
It was silent here in the darkened hallway, the only source of light coming from the guttering torches that lined the castle walls. The windows were black and their wide glass panes reflected nothing but her own battered face back at her, her own drained expression. She could do nothing but trudge onwards, her slow footsteps echoing across the still and silent stone.
Keeping her head down to check how her ankle was holding her weight, Ginny turned the corner and didn’t notice the boy with the pale, blond hair sitting there until she tripped over him and tumbled – again – onto the cold, stone floor.
Draco scowled at the redhead sprawled out in front of him and swore under his breath, rubbing his arm where one of her flailing limbs had kicked him on her way down.
“Is it really so hard to watch where you’re going, Weasley?” he snapped, getting to his feet, the obligatory sneer already in place.
Ginny groaned, not moving from where she had fallen. The worn stone felt cool against her burning skin. “Go away, Malfoy,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fact that her nose was buried into the floor. “I feel like crap and am not in the mood to exchange barbs or whatever so, yes, I am just that stupid and incompetent to not know where I’m walking and trip over you. My family is poor, Gryffindor sucks, etcetera, etcetera. Leave now, please.”
Draco raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, but did not move away. A condescending snort escaped his lips. “So, have the Carrows broken little Weasley so soon? What’s it been – four, five weeks? I knew you wouldn’t last.”
At that, Ginny forgot about her throbbing ankle and wrenched herself to her feet, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. “No, they did not break me, you arrogant, insufferable twat,” she snapped, biting back the urge to punch him in the jaw – it hadn’t turned out so well last time. “How about we subject you to three straight hours of the Cruciatus Curse? We’ll see how lively you are then.”
She spun on her heel and marched away, making it about six feet before her ankle gave out again. She caught herself on the wall, breathing heavily, trying to gather herself together. This was humiliating. She was going to have to crawl back to the Tower.
A hushed, shuffling noise came from behind her – the sound of retreating footsteps. She did not turn around. Good riddance, Malfoy, Ginny thought. At least he did nothing more – had it been Zabini or Parkinson she had tripped over in the hallway, well, she wouldn’t be standing up right now, that was for sure.
Ginny pushed herself off the wall, unable to keep a quiet whimper from escaping her lips as the jagged stone dug into a deep gouge on the heel of her left palm. Her ankle gave a sharp throb. Ginny sighed, and slowly began to limp her way back to the dormitories.
________________________________________
The next time she left detention, picking her way slowly across the empty corridors back to the portrait hole, she found him waiting for her at the foot of the stairs that led upwards, a winding ascension out of the gloom of the dungeons.
“What do you want?” she scoffed, trying her best to sound menacing. It was a futile attempt – her skin was nearly transparent and her lips were peeled back in pain from a bleeding gash that ran from her cheekbone to her collarbone. The last thing Ginny Weasley looked like at the moment was someone threatening.
Draco pushed himself up from where he was leaning against the wall and approached her. Ginny couldn’t help but flinch when he took out his wand, but she did not step back. Her gaze was steady, brown eyes unwavering as they stared into grey. There was really nothing more that they could do to her.
“Hold still,” he said in that flat voice, raising the tip of his wand to her collarbone and muttering some words under his breath as he traced the wound up towards her face.
Ginny lifted her hand and felt nothing but unbroken skin – a tiny ridge forming a faint scar across her face, but nothing more. “But how – no, why did you –”
“Sorry about the scar,” he interrupted, tucking his wand back underneath his robes, “I never really was any good with healing spells.”
“But –”
“Don’t,” he said sharply, startling her into silence. “Don’t make a big deal about this, all right?” He turned and stalked back into the shadows, leaving her behind, smoothing her fingertips over that faintly raised scar running across her skin.
________________________________________
A gust of wind swept across the barley field, stirring the golden stalks, making them bend back and forth, little by little, until Ginny looked out upon a writhing, rippling sea of gold.
She lifted her hand and again traced the faded scar that wound across her skin, cheekbone to collarbone. She never understood what had made him come back to help her that first night – she doubted that he did either. Everything that came to pass in the last year – they couldn’t explain any of it. Things just happened. It was like there was some other force – greater than the two of them, greater than magic, greater than the universe – and it was out there, pulling people apart and, other times, thrusting them together.
“Ow – Merlin’s balls!”
Ginny gritted her teeth and slowly pushed herself back up from where she had fallen onto the stone floor. Her ankle, which had turned inwards as she was hobbling down an unusually steep flight of stairs, had turned a nasty shade of purple and was swelling rapidly, not unlike a Bobotuber filling with pus. Crabbe had been feeling particularly vindictive tonight at detention, and Ginny’s head ached so much from his curses that she had not been paying attention to where she was going before she lost her step and tumbled down the steps.
Wearily, she pulled herself onto her feet, gripping the rough stones jutting out of the wall with bleeding fingers. She had gotten more cuts, bruises and broken bones in the past month than she had ever gotten in the rest of her life – which is saying something when a girl has six brothers. The nightly detentions with the Carrows’ band of vindictive minions were beginning to take their toll. But she couldn’t stop. Someone had to stand up against those vicious creeps, and if Harry wasn’t here to do it, well, then Dumbledore’s Army was going to have to carry on without him. And Neville was right: it did give all of the other students hope when someone stood up against those repulsive Death Eaters, so what were a few chunks of missing flesh here and there?
Besides, the pain was – well, not satisfying – but dulling, in a way. It numbed the anguish she carried inside, the torment of knowing there was so little she could do. The angry gashes scattered across her skin meant that she must be doing something right if her actions caused the Carrows such rage. And the others agreed that it was well worth the blood and the risk. It made them all feel a little less helpless, like they were accomplishing something other than sitting there and getting brainwashed while wizards and Muggles alike suffered outside the castle walls. The pain was worth the defiance, however small of a contribution they made.
Moving slowly, Ginny half-dragged, half-crawled her way down the rest of the stairs. This is going to take a while, she thought to herself, wincing slightly as her raw skin scraped across the rough surface of the wall.
It was silent here in the darkened hallway, the only source of light coming from the guttering torches that lined the castle walls. The windows were black and their wide glass panes reflected nothing but her own battered face back at her, her own drained expression. She could do nothing but trudge onwards, her slow footsteps echoing across the still and silent stone.
Keeping her head down to check how her ankle was holding her weight, Ginny turned the corner and didn’t notice the boy with the pale, blond hair sitting there until she tripped over him and tumbled – again – onto the cold, stone floor.
Draco scowled at the redhead sprawled out in front of him and swore under his breath, rubbing his arm where one of her flailing limbs had kicked him on her way down.
“Is it really so hard to watch where you’re going, Weasley?” he snapped, getting to his feet, the obligatory sneer already in place.
Ginny groaned, not moving from where she had fallen. The worn stone felt cool against her burning skin. “Go away, Malfoy,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the fact that her nose was buried into the floor. “I feel like crap and am not in the mood to exchange barbs or whatever so, yes, I am just that stupid and incompetent to not know where I’m walking and trip over you. My family is poor, Gryffindor sucks, etcetera, etcetera. Leave now, please.”
Draco raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, but did not move away. A condescending snort escaped his lips. “So, have the Carrows broken little Weasley so soon? What’s it been – four, five weeks? I knew you wouldn’t last.”
At that, Ginny forgot about her throbbing ankle and wrenched herself to her feet, jabbing an accusatory finger into his chest. “No, they did not break me, you arrogant, insufferable twat,” she snapped, biting back the urge to punch him in the jaw – it hadn’t turned out so well last time. “How about we subject you to three straight hours of the Cruciatus Curse? We’ll see how lively you are then.”
She spun on her heel and marched away, making it about six feet before her ankle gave out again. She caught herself on the wall, breathing heavily, trying to gather herself together. This was humiliating. She was going to have to crawl back to the Tower.
A hushed, shuffling noise came from behind her – the sound of retreating footsteps. She did not turn around. Good riddance, Malfoy, Ginny thought. At least he did nothing more – had it been Zabini or Parkinson she had tripped over in the hallway, well, she wouldn’t be standing up right now, that was for sure.
Ginny pushed herself off the wall, unable to keep a quiet whimper from escaping her lips as the jagged stone dug into a deep gouge on the heel of her left palm. Her ankle gave a sharp throb. Ginny sighed, and slowly began to limp her way back to the dormitories.
________________________________________
The next time she left detention, picking her way slowly across the empty corridors back to the portrait hole, she found him waiting for her at the foot of the stairs that led upwards, a winding ascension out of the gloom of the dungeons.
“What do you want?” she scoffed, trying her best to sound menacing. It was a futile attempt – her skin was nearly transparent and her lips were peeled back in pain from a bleeding gash that ran from her cheekbone to her collarbone. The last thing Ginny Weasley looked like at the moment was someone threatening.
Draco pushed himself up from where he was leaning against the wall and approached her. Ginny couldn’t help but flinch when he took out his wand, but she did not step back. Her gaze was steady, brown eyes unwavering as they stared into grey. There was really nothing more that they could do to her.
“Hold still,” he said in that flat voice, raising the tip of his wand to her collarbone and muttering some words under his breath as he traced the wound up towards her face.
Ginny lifted her hand and felt nothing but unbroken skin – a tiny ridge forming a faint scar across her face, but nothing more. “But how – no, why did you –”
“Sorry about the scar,” he interrupted, tucking his wand back underneath his robes, “I never really was any good with healing spells.”
“But –”
“Don’t,” he said sharply, startling her into silence. “Don’t make a big deal about this, all right?” He turned and stalked back into the shadows, leaving her behind, smoothing her fingertips over that faintly raised scar running across her skin.
________________________________________
A gust of wind swept across the barley field, stirring the golden stalks, making them bend back and forth, little by little, until Ginny looked out upon a writhing, rippling sea of gold.
She lifted her hand and again traced the faded scar that wound across her skin, cheekbone to collarbone. She never understood what had made him come back to help her that first night – she doubted that he did either. Everything that came to pass in the last year – they couldn’t explain any of it. Things just happened. It was like there was some other force – greater than the two of them, greater than magic, greater than the universe – and it was out there, pulling people apart and, other times, thrusting them together.
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