Part Two - War Declared
June 9, 2007
Luna Lovegood was on a quest, not unlike the one Albus Dumbledore had begun years and years ago, though the completion of her quest did not hold the fate of the world at stake. In fact, of the possible outcomes of her quest, the direst would be the absence of a wedding gift from the maid of honor, an unforgivable offense, surely. Luna carried out her mission as if the fate of the world did depend on its completion. It was that important to her.
What Luna sought were memories—very special, very rare memories that she knew only a few people either owned or were willing to acknowledge existed.
She had tracked down a very important memory, which had led her to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office to intrude upon the work of Arthur Weasley. She did not plan to leave without this memory in hand, but she knew Mr. Weasley to be affable enough to be willing to give it to her, which would have been a comfort to him if he had only known how serious she was.
Luna had to be directed to Mr. Weasley’s office door. He seemed surprised to see her when he answered her knock.
“Luna! What are you doing here?”
“I sent you an owl earlier today.”
“Ah, I must have missed it. Please, come in!”
The office, a room hardly bigger than a broom closet, could barely contain the two desks that had been shoved inside it. Innocuous Muggle knick-knacks, most of which Luna recognized only from certain articles that her father had published in the Quibbler, cluttered Mr. Weasley’s half of the space. An advertisement for a travel agency adorned the wall behind his chair like a poster; its bright blue sky, blue-green sea, and colorful airplane contrasted significantly with the office’s dark interior.
Luna sat down in the only available chair, behind the second desk, and informed Mr. Weasley of her quest and her intentions.
“You will get your memory back, of course. No reason to turn you into one of those All Timers.”
“All Timers?” Mr. Weasley repeated concernedly.
“People who remove so many memories that they have no more left and forget to put them all back in. It is very common in Muggles. Daddy covered a story about it in his latest issue.”
Mr. Weasley appeared enthralled. “That’s fascinating! How do Muggles get their memories out? Tell your father to send me a copy of that issue, will you?” Luna agreed to do just that. “Now, which memory is it that you would like to see?”
“Ginny and Draco’s first meeting, if you don’t mind.” As she spoke, Luna placed a strange briefcase on her lap. Instead of latching closed on one of the sides, it opened from the center of the top. She opened her case and removed a stone bowl decorated with carvings of runes along its edges. Mr. Weasley recognized the Pensieve and stared at in amusement.
“Came prepared, I see.”
Luna smiled at him mysteriously as he pulled out his wand from his robes and placed the tip to his temple. A second later, a long, silver strand of thought dangled from his wand. He gently shook it into the Pensieve, and they both watched for a moment as the memory swirled around the smoke-like essence.
“Let’s take a look-see, shall we?” Luna grabbed Mr. Weasley’s hand and dragged him into the depths of his past.
* * * * *
May 15, 1987
Ginny Weasley, only a few weeks short of meeting Luna, walked behind her father through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, as proud of herself as she could be. She had managed to convince her father to convince her mother to let her go to work with him rather than accompany Mrs. Weasley to St. Mungo’s to visit some old lady she had never met. It was only right. None of Ginny’s brothers had been made to go, but, because Ginny was the youngest and the only girl, she had not been allowed to stay at home with the boys. Mr. Weasley had persuaded his wife to let Ginny tag along with him to work, and though she had been reluctant to agree, agree she finally had.
Ginny was so pleased with herself she did not notice when her father stopped walking until she bumped into his legs. She meant to apologize when she noticed his attention was focused on the man before him and the young boy at his side.
“Lucius Malfoy,” Mr. Weasley greeted reluctantly, his tone cool. The man, Lucius, had long, shining hair, such a fine blond it appeared nearly silver. He was taller than Mr. Weasley was and looked down on him with dust-colored eyes set into a pale and pointed face. His mouth was set at an angle that Ginny didn’t like. Her brother Percy wore the same expression on occasions when he outsmarted his siblings, condescending and superior.
“Arthur Weasley… imagine meeting you here.”
“I work here,” Mr. Weasley replied shortly. Ginny had never witnessed such outright dislike radiating from her father, who was normally very playful and amiable to offset his wife’s intermittent severity.
“Ah, yes. In the Muggle Lover’s Office, is that correct?” Before Mr. Weasley could correct him, Lucius had spotted Ginny and turned his attention to her. “Is this one of the brood?”
“My daughter, Ginny.” Mr. Weasley placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer to his body. Lucius’s hand settled upon the shoulder of the boy, who looked like a copy of him in miniature.
“My son, Draco,” he replied as if showing off a superior object, a more valuable collectible. His tone was not one of fatherly pride, but confidence.
Draco smirked at Mr. Weasley and Ginny, who observed his pointed face and slicked back hair and concluded that he looked like a drowned cat. She almost wanted to give him some milk and pet him.
Despite her dislike of Lucius Malfoy, and the strange name and appearance of his son, Ginny could not help but be enchanted by the pair of them. They had a different aura around them, a different way of carrying themselves that other people didn’t have. Their clothing suggested great wealth, while they emitted confidence out of every pore and cavity. They wore their robes as if they were kings, and they wore them well. Young Ginny could tell that they were in want of nothing, and at that moment, she envied Draco Malfoy, in his olive-colored silk robes and polished black shoes. She had never been more ashamed of her father’s shabby appearance or her own.
As she studied him, Draco scrutinized her. Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, causing him to frown in confusion.
“Let’s go, Ginny,” Mr. Weasley said. He guided her away from the Malfoys down the corridor.
They hadn’t made it far before Draco ran after them, calling, “Excuse me, sir!” In his hand, he carried an old coin purse that hung so limply, Ginny could tell it was practically empty. “You dropped this.”
Mr. Weasley’s ears turned red in embarrassment, and she felt ashamed for him. The bottom of his pocket had developed a hole, and the bag had fallen right out.
“Thank you,” he said shortly, barely meeting the boy’s eyes. “Come on, Ginny.”
Draco winked at her, causing her to flush with pleasure. He turned back to meet up with his father and she stared after him, completely and irrationally smitten.
* * * * *
“I didn’t see him wink at her! Who did that little bugger think he was? And I knew Lucius tore my pocket on purpose!” Mr. Weasley cried upon exiting the Pensieve, after witnessing events he had not noticed the first time through nearly twenty years ago. “I could never prove it, but it seemed like something he would do to embarrass me!” Luna noted how his ears had turned red just witnessing the scene. She let him rant and ramble as she removed two glass vials from her Pensieve case and placed Mr. Weasley’s memory into one of them, muttering a spell that effectively copied the thought, then deposited the copy into the second vial. Stoppering both, she handed the original to Mr. Weasley, who accepted it with affronted thanks.
“Which will you look for next?” he asked, overcoming his mortification for curiosity.
“The break up,” Luna replied with a smile.
* * * * *
Not many people knew the history behind Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley’s relationship. Luna, one of the trusted few, was privileged enough to know the whole story from the day the two met to the moment Draco commanded Ginny to marry him. Knowing the story was not enough for Luna. She wanted to see it. The advantage of knowing the details of the relationship meant that she knew which memories to look for and approximately who had them. Some people were unwilling to share their memories. Some memories were difficult to track down. Luna had persevered, but mostly she had been very persuasive.
The work and time involved with her search was worth every challenge. She loved Ginny as a sister, and she wanted to give her sister the best wedding gift imaginable.
* * * * *
July 17, 1987
One tradition that the Ministry of Magic had done away with, and that no one felt sorry to see gone, was the annual employee family picnic. Once a year, Ministry workers put off their usual work to plan and put together a week of activities meant to honor and support the employees and their families. This tradition lasted six years, until a new Minister of Magic took office and abolished it, claiming that picnics and frivolity were the cause of the lax quality of work. From then on, the Ministry of Magic never hosted another family picnic torture event again, and everyone was much happier for it.
In this memory, a new Minister of Magic was still years away and the Weasley family was one of the few families that actually enjoyed attending. The children, all except for the three eldest, Bill, Charlie, and Percy, took delight in declaring war against the children of employees in other departments.
The twins, Fred and George, fought with weapons they purchased from joke shops, but Ginny and her brother Ron liked to improvise with sticks, used as fake wands or ammunition, and mud, if available.
Ginny liked this week best of any all year (excepting Christmas and her birthday, of course, two events she and her brothers tried to stretch out as long as possible, if they were able). She rarely had the opportunity to play with other children, and, for some reason, employee family picnic week was the only week of the year that her brothers ever considered her presence an asset rather than a burden. She had the best aim of Fred, George, and Ron, and her brothers utilized that completely to attack those sneaky devils whose fathers or mothers worked at Auror Headquarters.
The picnic was traditionally held in the countryside near a pond. The days had been uncharacteristically hot this summer, causing the pond to dry up some and reveal the excellent mud that usually stayed hidden underwater. Ginny wasn’t interested in mud in the least this year; her heart could not be less concerned with the war raging around her.
Wide brown eyes searched the crowd of employees for a certain head of platinum blond hair. She thought Draco would shine like a beacon in the noonday sun, but she hadn’t spotted him yet, and she grew more anxious the longer she looked for him. She knew he wouldn’t be participating in the children’s war. After meeting him once, it was obvious to her that he would never stoop so low as to play silly games with common people, and she hadn’t expected him to. Part of the reason she had chosen not to participate in the game this year was to keep her clothes and hair, shabby as they usually were, as tidy as possible. She couldn’t possibly meet Draco again, with his impeccable robes, his neat, glossy hair, and shiny shoes, covered in mud and sweat.
“Come on, Gin, you can’t stay neutral!” Fred complained, clapping her on the shoulder. She shoved his hand away in vain; he put it right back and smiled wider because he knew it bothered her.
“We need our Cannon!” George said.
“I don’t want to be The Cannon anymore,” Ginny lied. The title had made her extremely proud when they had bestowed it upon her a couple of picnics ago. It signified her worth in their eyes, but right now, she was growing impatient with her brothers. Searching for Draco became impossible while the twins bounced around her.
“Women,” Fred said in disgust when it became apparent that Ginny was not going to join in this year.
George rolled his eyes, equally disgusted. “What fickle fiends.”
The twins finally left her alone just as she spotted Draco standing between his father and an exceptionally beautiful, although rather snotty-looking, woman. She shared the same ash blond hair with her son and her husband, and the haughty look of distaste she wore revealed just how much she was enjoying the picnic.
Draco caught Ginny’s eye before speaking to his father briefly, and then Ginny was alarmed to see him walking directly towards her. Smirking must have been his default expression upon birth, she thought, like some people were prone to smiling. He did it often enough.
“Ginny Weasley, is it?” he asked when he reached her. Ginny blushed, thrilled that he had remembered her name, and nodded.
“Draco Malfoy,” he said with an air of imparting privileged knowledge.
“I remember,” she replied nervously.
He looked her over once, a quick tilt of his head down and then up.
“My father told me the Weasleys are poorer than dirt. He said your parents look forward to these picnics every year because normally you can’t afford to eat. I saw your mum earlier. Does she eat all of your food? Is that why she’s so fat and the rest of you are so thin?”
Ginny was speechless! Shocked and horrified! For the past few weeks she had been unable to think of much else besides Draco Malfoy and the power that he emanated. She understood now where his power came from: belittling others, trying to make them feel small and insignificant compared to him, doing what he could to make himself feel more important than everyone else.
He smirked at her as if he knew exactly how much regard she had had for him and delighted in crushing her expectations and admiration. Her ears and face burned with the intensity of a flaming phoenix, in embarrassment that quickly turned into fury.
“Do you always listen to what your father says?” she asked through a clenched jaw.
“Of course,” he replied pompously. He obviously thought very highly of his father, while she thought very little.
Suddenly, Ginny’s temper cooled. She had always mastered her anger better than her brothers, and this instance was no different. Somehow, the right words came to her and she knew exactly what to say. She couldn’t tell it, but the abrupt grasp of her composure unnerved Draco, who thrived on pushing peoples’ buttons and getting reactions out of doing so.
“I feel so sorry for your mother,” she said pityingly, adding an exaggerated sigh to the act for extra effect.
“What for?” he asked, outraged by the very notion that his mother, a Malfoy, should be pitied for any reason.
“It must smell at your house. Just look at the expression on her face!” Both she and Draco watched Mr. Malfoy as he spoke to a man in burgundy robes. Mrs. Malfoy stood at his side though looking away, her nose wrinkled with revulsion.
“Oh!” Ginny continued, covering her mouth as if just realizing something. “Maybe it’s your father who stinks so terribly. I’m sure I’m right, I can smell him from here!” Ginny hoped her own mother would never hear these words uttered from her lips or she’d be dragon food for sure.
That remark brought some color to Draco’s pale cheeks. He held his fists tightly at his sides, ready to fight.
“At least I know for certain that I’m an only child,” he snarled.
“What?” Ginny asked in confusion.
“For all you know, you had ten more brothers and your mother ate them all!”
Ginny’s body shook with rage. She tried to control herself, tried to stop her face from turning red, but the smug, satisfied sneer on his face told her that she failed, and soon, words exploded from her mouth.
“I DECLARE WAR, DRACO MALFOY! WAR!” She ran off screaming, “The Cannon is back in business!” Draco stared after her as if she was insane. Perhaps she was, for all he knew.
Barely a minute later, Ginny had returned with Fred, George, Ron, and several children from Auror Headquarters, each child’s hand loaded with a fistful of mud from the pond.
“FIRE!” Ginny yelled, and shot the first bullet, which landed dead center in the middle of Draco’s stunned chest.
They didn’t call her The Cannon for nothing.
* * * * *
After the first wave of attacks, in which Percy had been hit by a stray glob of mud as he sat reading under a nearby tree, Draco had sought his friends for help, and an all-out battle had soon commenced.
By the end of the day, every child engaged in the Weasley-Malfoy War had been covered nearly head to toe in dripping muck. Not a single child’s parents were happy about this at all. Mrs. Weasley and the Malfoys were more outraged than most.
“Just look at the state of your clothes, Ginevra Weasley!” Ginny’s mum screamed as she used her wand to try to clean the mud off her daughter.
“…acting like an animal! This is not acceptable behavior for a Malfoy!” Mrs. Malfoy scolded her son coldly, being careful not to touch him or have her expensive robes come in contact with his muddy ones, as she also cleaned her child. “A fine set of robes ruined.”
Ginny met Draco’s eye over the attentions of their mothers. She stuck her tongue out at him, which he returned by making a disgusting gesture with his hand, or, to be accurate, a finger.
Mrs. Malfoy got Draco as clean as she could with magic and turned to apologize to the mother of a rat-faced boy on his behalf as Mrs. Weasley finally set Ginny free to scold and clean her other children. They examined each other critically before Ginny said, “I thought I liked you at first, but it turns out you’re my worst enemy.”
“And you are mine,” he confirmed.
“Same time next year?” Ginny asked.
“And any time between now and then,” Draco agreed.
The Malfoys left soon after. As the Weasleys were leaving the picnic grounds, Mr. Weasley put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and muttered, “Don’t tell your mother—I should be scolding you as well, you know—but well done.” He smiled down at her, causing her to beam with happiness and pride.
“Thank you, Percy. That will do,” Luna said to her companion. The memory disappeared into a swirl of gas as the inconspicuous lookers-on exited the Pensieve.
Less than ten minutes later, Luna had copied the memory, packed up her precious cargo, and was on her way, one more memory under her belt and a self-satisfied smile on her face.
* * * * *
June 14, 2007
“Bill,” Luna greeted as she seated herself in Bill Weasley’s living room at Shell Cottage. She carefully set down her Pensieve case on the coffee table in front of her as Bill sat in an armchair close by.
“Luna.”
“You know why I’m here,” she said seriously, gazing at him with her wide eyes, which would have made him uncomfortable if he hadn’t grown so used to her absurdities.
“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “And I think it’s brilliant, what you are doing. I’ll give you whatever you need.”
Luna grinned widely to match the wideness of her eyes. “Oh, good. I’d be glad to use anything you can contribute.”
“What have you got so far?” She briefly described the memories she had collected until that point. “I think I might have one for you.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Bill performed the ritual of removing his memories from his temple as Luna unpacked the Pensieve. A moment later, they had entered the unalterable past.
* * * * *
July 20, 1988
Ginny knew that the Ministry of Magic employee family picnic wasn’t going to be any fun this year. As Bill and Charlie had grown older, they had become boring, worrying about dull things such as summer jobs, girlfriends, and school. Charlie hadn’t even come to the picnic this year, and Ginny could see Bill chatting up a girl not twenty feet away. Percy was always a bore; that was a given. He sat under the same tree he had sat under the year before, his face buried behind a book.
Once again, it was up to Ginny, Ron, and the twins to carry on the war. One difference between this year’s picnic and the last was Draco Malfoy. Just like last year, Ginny anxiously searched through the crowd of attendees for his snotty, stuck-up face, except this time, she didn’t fancy herself in love with him. She wanted to catch him off his guard and strike him with the Dungbomb she had smuggled along, before he got her.
“Looking for someone?”
Ginny spun around; her target had somehow snuck up behind her. He looked the same as the last time she’d seen him a year ago. The same pointed face featuring the same supercilious sneer; the same platinum blond hair slicked back in the same style. He was a bit taller, but that was to be expected.
“Yes, actually. I’ve got a gift for you,” Ginny said, clutching the Dungbomb carefully behind her back.
Draco examined his fingernails indifferently. “I don’t want it.”
“That’s just too bad,” she sneered, and launched her ammunition straight at his chest. The Dungbomb bounced off leaving not a mark on his still-impeccable clothes. Bewildered, Ginny picked it up and tried again. It bounced off, and Draco Malfoy remained untouched by it.
“It won’t work. My mother charmed my clothes this time. We had to burn those robes after last year. They were filthy, just like you.”
Ginny didn’t like this Draco at all. She hadn’t liked him the previous year either, but this year his demeanor was ultimately different. His indifference aggravated her. He acted as if he was more mature than she was, as if she was a child and he too old for her games. At the last picnic, he had been fun because he had played with them all like a child. He had thrown as many globs of mud as she had, but he had turned into Percy’s twin between now and then.
“You used to be fun,” she said as she tried to keep the tears from forming in her eyes. That was impossible, so she vowed not to let them spill over, at least.
“You don’t know anything about me. You never have and you never will. My mother says I am not allowed to play with Weasleys ever again. In fact, I hate them—all of them.”
Ginny fought as hard as she could, but this was one battle she knew she would lose. The tears fell down her young cheeks and obscured her vision enough that she couldn’t see the split-second look of regret that crossed Draco’s face.
“Well, I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” she cried passionately, and then turned and fled before he could hurt her feelings more.
She found Bill sitting at a picnic table close by.
“Bill! Bill!” she sobbed, launching herself into her favorite brother’s lap.
“Ginny! What is it?” The alarm in his voice calmed her, though she couldn’t stop the tears. Bill loved her, and he always would. He listened to her when she felt troubled, and he didn’t laugh at her, as Fred and George did, or dismiss her impatiently, like Ron and Percy.
Through her sobs, she eventually got the whole story out. His kindness and his tenderness soothed her as nothing else could, until she could sit composedly at his side. Bill couldn’t offer her any advice. She was seven years old, and quarrels between children occurred often enough. They usually worked themselves out in due time.
Ginny had different thoughts than her brother. She never wanted to make up with Draco Malfoy. She had liked him, even though he was a nasty snot, even though he insulted her family and humiliated her dad. Some part of her had admired his rude straightforwardness, while another had been envious of his obvious wealth and attracted by his self-confidence.
He had hurt her deeply, and she never wanted to let it happen again. She vowed to hate him for as long as she lived.
Bill looked down at his sister in concern. She looked downhearted and fierce at the same time; it wasn’t natural for his spunky little sister to be so serious. Then she turned her face up to him and smiled as brightly as ever, and, taken in by her faux-cheerfulness, he was appeased.
* * * * *
September 1, 1991
From an obscure bystander who happened to be present, though her attention had remained completely on the child who was leaving her for Hogwarts—
Fred and George, now third years at Hogwarts, helped the black-haired, speccy boy get his trunk onto the train as Ginny watched tearfully. This year, every one of her brothers would be gone from the Burrow. The emptiness of the year ahead stretched out in front of her like a nightmare. She wanted to go to Hogwarts with Ron, Fred, George, and Percy! Even Bill and Charlie were too busy to bother with her. They were working in Egypt and Romania, of all places! She rarely saw them anymore.
As she lamented internally, her eye caught a familiar shine about three cars down. As she turned, the crowd parted, and who but the Malfoys became visible to her?
Ginny had kept the promise she had made to herself three years previous—to hate Draco Malfoy for the rest of her life—but she couldn’t help but admit that he made it difficult.
The Malfoys attracted the attention of the people around them in the same way that a flame attracts moths. The acquaintance of one with the other burned just the same; she, of course, knew from experience.
Ginny couldn’t stop herself from looking or even smiling. Draco looked the same as always, she thought. He had grown taller, but not by much. His face had become leaner, giving him a pointed, pinched appearance. She still thought he looked like a drowned cat—especially with his hair styled just the way she remembered it—but this time, he looked quite starved too.
If he ever set foot in the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley would remedy that immediately by feeding him several helpings of whatever she had on the stove, but, with a sinking feeling, Ginny remembered that no Malfoy would ever set foot in her house. Draco hated her, and her whole family, because his parents told him to, and she knew her father was no fan of the Malfoys either.
Draco spotted her watching him and smirked at her, causing her to blush and look away, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest. Maybe she’d developed that disease Luna had told her about a few days ago, the one contracted from the bite of gooberbies. She didn’t know why her heart would be racing, otherwise.
Why did he have to smirk at her that way if he hated her so much? Shouldn’t he have just ignored her? Cruelly pretended not to see her? Why did she even care? She planned to hate him until the day she died. How much of his attention she attracted shouldn't have mattered.
All of this had happened in seconds, and Ginny’s brothers had already returned to say goodbye.
“Hey, mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?” asked Fred. “You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?”
“Who?” Mrs. Weasley asked.
“Harry Potter!”
That caught Ginny’s attention because of course she knew Harry Potter; everyone did.
“Oh, mum, can I go on the train and see him, mum, oh please….” she begged as she tugged on Mrs. Weasley’s sleeve.
“You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo,” she answered reproachfully. “Is he really, Fred? How do you know?”
“Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there—like lightning.”
Ginny lost interest in the conversation, too disappointed to listen to Mrs. Weasley warning the twins against acts of mischief. She tried as hard as she could to remember every detail of the boy before he’d gotten on the train, but all she could recall was that he was only slightly taller than she was, wore baggy Muggle clothes, and had round glasses and black hair. She tried to imagine his lighting bolt scar and almost convinced herself that she had seen it.
Then the train began to pull away, taking her brothers with it. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she chased after the Hogwarts Express, crying, laughing, and waving to those onboard. Harry Potter was on there. She had seen him for a few brief moments; Luna would never believe it.
Ginny tried one more time to imagine Harry Potter’s face. She couldn’t picture it, other than general features: two eyes behind Spellotaped glasses, a mouth, and a nose. His appearance was too unremarkable to remember without knowing his identity first, because, certainly, had she known who he was beforehand, she would have made a greater effort to get a look at him. Disappointment suddenly filled her once again. He was Harry Potter! He should have radiated some kind of power, like… like… she stopped in her tracks, staring after the train she so wished she could have boarded, until it disappeared around a corner.
Why was Draco Malfoy a more impressive figure than the Harry Potter?
At that moment, Ginny became more determined to hate Draco, or if possible, to forget he existed, and planned to throw all of her energy into making Harry Potter fall in love with her when she attended Hogwarts with him next year.
June 9, 2007
Luna Lovegood was on a quest, not unlike the one Albus Dumbledore had begun years and years ago, though the completion of her quest did not hold the fate of the world at stake. In fact, of the possible outcomes of her quest, the direst would be the absence of a wedding gift from the maid of honor, an unforgivable offense, surely. Luna carried out her mission as if the fate of the world did depend on its completion. It was that important to her.
What Luna sought were memories—very special, very rare memories that she knew only a few people either owned or were willing to acknowledge existed.
She had tracked down a very important memory, which had led her to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office to intrude upon the work of Arthur Weasley. She did not plan to leave without this memory in hand, but she knew Mr. Weasley to be affable enough to be willing to give it to her, which would have been a comfort to him if he had only known how serious she was.
Luna had to be directed to Mr. Weasley’s office door. He seemed surprised to see her when he answered her knock.
“Luna! What are you doing here?”
“I sent you an owl earlier today.”
“Ah, I must have missed it. Please, come in!”
The office, a room hardly bigger than a broom closet, could barely contain the two desks that had been shoved inside it. Innocuous Muggle knick-knacks, most of which Luna recognized only from certain articles that her father had published in the Quibbler, cluttered Mr. Weasley’s half of the space. An advertisement for a travel agency adorned the wall behind his chair like a poster; its bright blue sky, blue-green sea, and colorful airplane contrasted significantly with the office’s dark interior.
Luna sat down in the only available chair, behind the second desk, and informed Mr. Weasley of her quest and her intentions.
“You will get your memory back, of course. No reason to turn you into one of those All Timers.”
“All Timers?” Mr. Weasley repeated concernedly.
“People who remove so many memories that they have no more left and forget to put them all back in. It is very common in Muggles. Daddy covered a story about it in his latest issue.”
Mr. Weasley appeared enthralled. “That’s fascinating! How do Muggles get their memories out? Tell your father to send me a copy of that issue, will you?” Luna agreed to do just that. “Now, which memory is it that you would like to see?”
“Ginny and Draco’s first meeting, if you don’t mind.” As she spoke, Luna placed a strange briefcase on her lap. Instead of latching closed on one of the sides, it opened from the center of the top. She opened her case and removed a stone bowl decorated with carvings of runes along its edges. Mr. Weasley recognized the Pensieve and stared at in amusement.
“Came prepared, I see.”
Luna smiled at him mysteriously as he pulled out his wand from his robes and placed the tip to his temple. A second later, a long, silver strand of thought dangled from his wand. He gently shook it into the Pensieve, and they both watched for a moment as the memory swirled around the smoke-like essence.
“Let’s take a look-see, shall we?” Luna grabbed Mr. Weasley’s hand and dragged him into the depths of his past.
* * * * *
May 15, 1987
Ginny Weasley, only a few weeks short of meeting Luna, walked behind her father through the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, as proud of herself as she could be. She had managed to convince her father to convince her mother to let her go to work with him rather than accompany Mrs. Weasley to St. Mungo’s to visit some old lady she had never met. It was only right. None of Ginny’s brothers had been made to go, but, because Ginny was the youngest and the only girl, she had not been allowed to stay at home with the boys. Mr. Weasley had persuaded his wife to let Ginny tag along with him to work, and though she had been reluctant to agree, agree she finally had.
Ginny was so pleased with herself she did not notice when her father stopped walking until she bumped into his legs. She meant to apologize when she noticed his attention was focused on the man before him and the young boy at his side.
“Lucius Malfoy,” Mr. Weasley greeted reluctantly, his tone cool. The man, Lucius, had long, shining hair, such a fine blond it appeared nearly silver. He was taller than Mr. Weasley was and looked down on him with dust-colored eyes set into a pale and pointed face. His mouth was set at an angle that Ginny didn’t like. Her brother Percy wore the same expression on occasions when he outsmarted his siblings, condescending and superior.
“Arthur Weasley… imagine meeting you here.”
“I work here,” Mr. Weasley replied shortly. Ginny had never witnessed such outright dislike radiating from her father, who was normally very playful and amiable to offset his wife’s intermittent severity.
“Ah, yes. In the Muggle Lover’s Office, is that correct?” Before Mr. Weasley could correct him, Lucius had spotted Ginny and turned his attention to her. “Is this one of the brood?”
“My daughter, Ginny.” Mr. Weasley placed his hand on her shoulder and pulled her closer to his body. Lucius’s hand settled upon the shoulder of the boy, who looked like a copy of him in miniature.
“My son, Draco,” he replied as if showing off a superior object, a more valuable collectible. His tone was not one of fatherly pride, but confidence.
Draco smirked at Mr. Weasley and Ginny, who observed his pointed face and slicked back hair and concluded that he looked like a drowned cat. She almost wanted to give him some milk and pet him.
Despite her dislike of Lucius Malfoy, and the strange name and appearance of his son, Ginny could not help but be enchanted by the pair of them. They had a different aura around them, a different way of carrying themselves that other people didn’t have. Their clothing suggested great wealth, while they emitted confidence out of every pore and cavity. They wore their robes as if they were kings, and they wore them well. Young Ginny could tell that they were in want of nothing, and at that moment, she envied Draco Malfoy, in his olive-colored silk robes and polished black shoes. She had never been more ashamed of her father’s shabby appearance or her own.
As she studied him, Draco scrutinized her. Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, causing him to frown in confusion.
“Let’s go, Ginny,” Mr. Weasley said. He guided her away from the Malfoys down the corridor.
They hadn’t made it far before Draco ran after them, calling, “Excuse me, sir!” In his hand, he carried an old coin purse that hung so limply, Ginny could tell it was practically empty. “You dropped this.”
Mr. Weasley’s ears turned red in embarrassment, and she felt ashamed for him. The bottom of his pocket had developed a hole, and the bag had fallen right out.
“Thank you,” he said shortly, barely meeting the boy’s eyes. “Come on, Ginny.”
Draco winked at her, causing her to flush with pleasure. He turned back to meet up with his father and she stared after him, completely and irrationally smitten.
* * * * *
“I didn’t see him wink at her! Who did that little bugger think he was? And I knew Lucius tore my pocket on purpose!” Mr. Weasley cried upon exiting the Pensieve, after witnessing events he had not noticed the first time through nearly twenty years ago. “I could never prove it, but it seemed like something he would do to embarrass me!” Luna noted how his ears had turned red just witnessing the scene. She let him rant and ramble as she removed two glass vials from her Pensieve case and placed Mr. Weasley’s memory into one of them, muttering a spell that effectively copied the thought, then deposited the copy into the second vial. Stoppering both, she handed the original to Mr. Weasley, who accepted it with affronted thanks.
“Which will you look for next?” he asked, overcoming his mortification for curiosity.
“The break up,” Luna replied with a smile.
* * * * *
Not many people knew the history behind Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley’s relationship. Luna, one of the trusted few, was privileged enough to know the whole story from the day the two met to the moment Draco commanded Ginny to marry him. Knowing the story was not enough for Luna. She wanted to see it. The advantage of knowing the details of the relationship meant that she knew which memories to look for and approximately who had them. Some people were unwilling to share their memories. Some memories were difficult to track down. Luna had persevered, but mostly she had been very persuasive.
The work and time involved with her search was worth every challenge. She loved Ginny as a sister, and she wanted to give her sister the best wedding gift imaginable.
* * * * *
July 17, 1987
One tradition that the Ministry of Magic had done away with, and that no one felt sorry to see gone, was the annual employee family picnic. Once a year, Ministry workers put off their usual work to plan and put together a week of activities meant to honor and support the employees and their families. This tradition lasted six years, until a new Minister of Magic took office and abolished it, claiming that picnics and frivolity were the cause of the lax quality of work. From then on, the Ministry of Magic never hosted another family picnic torture event again, and everyone was much happier for it.
In this memory, a new Minister of Magic was still years away and the Weasley family was one of the few families that actually enjoyed attending. The children, all except for the three eldest, Bill, Charlie, and Percy, took delight in declaring war against the children of employees in other departments.
The twins, Fred and George, fought with weapons they purchased from joke shops, but Ginny and her brother Ron liked to improvise with sticks, used as fake wands or ammunition, and mud, if available.
Ginny liked this week best of any all year (excepting Christmas and her birthday, of course, two events she and her brothers tried to stretch out as long as possible, if they were able). She rarely had the opportunity to play with other children, and, for some reason, employee family picnic week was the only week of the year that her brothers ever considered her presence an asset rather than a burden. She had the best aim of Fred, George, and Ron, and her brothers utilized that completely to attack those sneaky devils whose fathers or mothers worked at Auror Headquarters.
The picnic was traditionally held in the countryside near a pond. The days had been uncharacteristically hot this summer, causing the pond to dry up some and reveal the excellent mud that usually stayed hidden underwater. Ginny wasn’t interested in mud in the least this year; her heart could not be less concerned with the war raging around her.
Wide brown eyes searched the crowd of employees for a certain head of platinum blond hair. She thought Draco would shine like a beacon in the noonday sun, but she hadn’t spotted him yet, and she grew more anxious the longer she looked for him. She knew he wouldn’t be participating in the children’s war. After meeting him once, it was obvious to her that he would never stoop so low as to play silly games with common people, and she hadn’t expected him to. Part of the reason she had chosen not to participate in the game this year was to keep her clothes and hair, shabby as they usually were, as tidy as possible. She couldn’t possibly meet Draco again, with his impeccable robes, his neat, glossy hair, and shiny shoes, covered in mud and sweat.
“Come on, Gin, you can’t stay neutral!” Fred complained, clapping her on the shoulder. She shoved his hand away in vain; he put it right back and smiled wider because he knew it bothered her.
“We need our Cannon!” George said.
“I don’t want to be The Cannon anymore,” Ginny lied. The title had made her extremely proud when they had bestowed it upon her a couple of picnics ago. It signified her worth in their eyes, but right now, she was growing impatient with her brothers. Searching for Draco became impossible while the twins bounced around her.
“Women,” Fred said in disgust when it became apparent that Ginny was not going to join in this year.
George rolled his eyes, equally disgusted. “What fickle fiends.”
The twins finally left her alone just as she spotted Draco standing between his father and an exceptionally beautiful, although rather snotty-looking, woman. She shared the same ash blond hair with her son and her husband, and the haughty look of distaste she wore revealed just how much she was enjoying the picnic.
Draco caught Ginny’s eye before speaking to his father briefly, and then Ginny was alarmed to see him walking directly towards her. Smirking must have been his default expression upon birth, she thought, like some people were prone to smiling. He did it often enough.
“Ginny Weasley, is it?” he asked when he reached her. Ginny blushed, thrilled that he had remembered her name, and nodded.
“Draco Malfoy,” he said with an air of imparting privileged knowledge.
“I remember,” she replied nervously.
He looked her over once, a quick tilt of his head down and then up.
“My father told me the Weasleys are poorer than dirt. He said your parents look forward to these picnics every year because normally you can’t afford to eat. I saw your mum earlier. Does she eat all of your food? Is that why she’s so fat and the rest of you are so thin?”
Ginny was speechless! Shocked and horrified! For the past few weeks she had been unable to think of much else besides Draco Malfoy and the power that he emanated. She understood now where his power came from: belittling others, trying to make them feel small and insignificant compared to him, doing what he could to make himself feel more important than everyone else.
He smirked at her as if he knew exactly how much regard she had had for him and delighted in crushing her expectations and admiration. Her ears and face burned with the intensity of a flaming phoenix, in embarrassment that quickly turned into fury.
“Do you always listen to what your father says?” she asked through a clenched jaw.
“Of course,” he replied pompously. He obviously thought very highly of his father, while she thought very little.
Suddenly, Ginny’s temper cooled. She had always mastered her anger better than her brothers, and this instance was no different. Somehow, the right words came to her and she knew exactly what to say. She couldn’t tell it, but the abrupt grasp of her composure unnerved Draco, who thrived on pushing peoples’ buttons and getting reactions out of doing so.
“I feel so sorry for your mother,” she said pityingly, adding an exaggerated sigh to the act for extra effect.
“What for?” he asked, outraged by the very notion that his mother, a Malfoy, should be pitied for any reason.
“It must smell at your house. Just look at the expression on her face!” Both she and Draco watched Mr. Malfoy as he spoke to a man in burgundy robes. Mrs. Malfoy stood at his side though looking away, her nose wrinkled with revulsion.
“Oh!” Ginny continued, covering her mouth as if just realizing something. “Maybe it’s your father who stinks so terribly. I’m sure I’m right, I can smell him from here!” Ginny hoped her own mother would never hear these words uttered from her lips or she’d be dragon food for sure.
That remark brought some color to Draco’s pale cheeks. He held his fists tightly at his sides, ready to fight.
“At least I know for certain that I’m an only child,” he snarled.
“What?” Ginny asked in confusion.
“For all you know, you had ten more brothers and your mother ate them all!”
Ginny’s body shook with rage. She tried to control herself, tried to stop her face from turning red, but the smug, satisfied sneer on his face told her that she failed, and soon, words exploded from her mouth.
“I DECLARE WAR, DRACO MALFOY! WAR!” She ran off screaming, “The Cannon is back in business!” Draco stared after her as if she was insane. Perhaps she was, for all he knew.
Barely a minute later, Ginny had returned with Fred, George, Ron, and several children from Auror Headquarters, each child’s hand loaded with a fistful of mud from the pond.
“FIRE!” Ginny yelled, and shot the first bullet, which landed dead center in the middle of Draco’s stunned chest.
They didn’t call her The Cannon for nothing.
* * * * *
After the first wave of attacks, in which Percy had been hit by a stray glob of mud as he sat reading under a nearby tree, Draco had sought his friends for help, and an all-out battle had soon commenced.
By the end of the day, every child engaged in the Weasley-Malfoy War had been covered nearly head to toe in dripping muck. Not a single child’s parents were happy about this at all. Mrs. Weasley and the Malfoys were more outraged than most.
“Just look at the state of your clothes, Ginevra Weasley!” Ginny’s mum screamed as she used her wand to try to clean the mud off her daughter.
“…acting like an animal! This is not acceptable behavior for a Malfoy!” Mrs. Malfoy scolded her son coldly, being careful not to touch him or have her expensive robes come in contact with his muddy ones, as she also cleaned her child. “A fine set of robes ruined.”
Ginny met Draco’s eye over the attentions of their mothers. She stuck her tongue out at him, which he returned by making a disgusting gesture with his hand, or, to be accurate, a finger.
Mrs. Malfoy got Draco as clean as she could with magic and turned to apologize to the mother of a rat-faced boy on his behalf as Mrs. Weasley finally set Ginny free to scold and clean her other children. They examined each other critically before Ginny said, “I thought I liked you at first, but it turns out you’re my worst enemy.”
“And you are mine,” he confirmed.
“Same time next year?” Ginny asked.
“And any time between now and then,” Draco agreed.
The Malfoys left soon after. As the Weasleys were leaving the picnic grounds, Mr. Weasley put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder and muttered, “Don’t tell your mother—I should be scolding you as well, you know—but well done.” He smiled down at her, causing her to beam with happiness and pride.
“Thank you, Percy. That will do,” Luna said to her companion. The memory disappeared into a swirl of gas as the inconspicuous lookers-on exited the Pensieve.
Less than ten minutes later, Luna had copied the memory, packed up her precious cargo, and was on her way, one more memory under her belt and a self-satisfied smile on her face.
* * * * *
June 14, 2007
“Bill,” Luna greeted as she seated herself in Bill Weasley’s living room at Shell Cottage. She carefully set down her Pensieve case on the coffee table in front of her as Bill sat in an armchair close by.
“Luna.”
“You know why I’m here,” she said seriously, gazing at him with her wide eyes, which would have made him uncomfortable if he hadn’t grown so used to her absurdities.
“Yes,” he replied with a smile. “And I think it’s brilliant, what you are doing. I’ll give you whatever you need.”
Luna grinned widely to match the wideness of her eyes. “Oh, good. I’d be glad to use anything you can contribute.”
“What have you got so far?” She briefly described the memories she had collected until that point. “I think I might have one for you.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Bill performed the ritual of removing his memories from his temple as Luna unpacked the Pensieve. A moment later, they had entered the unalterable past.
* * * * *
July 20, 1988
Ginny knew that the Ministry of Magic employee family picnic wasn’t going to be any fun this year. As Bill and Charlie had grown older, they had become boring, worrying about dull things such as summer jobs, girlfriends, and school. Charlie hadn’t even come to the picnic this year, and Ginny could see Bill chatting up a girl not twenty feet away. Percy was always a bore; that was a given. He sat under the same tree he had sat under the year before, his face buried behind a book.
Once again, it was up to Ginny, Ron, and the twins to carry on the war. One difference between this year’s picnic and the last was Draco Malfoy. Just like last year, Ginny anxiously searched through the crowd of attendees for his snotty, stuck-up face, except this time, she didn’t fancy herself in love with him. She wanted to catch him off his guard and strike him with the Dungbomb she had smuggled along, before he got her.
“Looking for someone?”
Ginny spun around; her target had somehow snuck up behind her. He looked the same as the last time she’d seen him a year ago. The same pointed face featuring the same supercilious sneer; the same platinum blond hair slicked back in the same style. He was a bit taller, but that was to be expected.
“Yes, actually. I’ve got a gift for you,” Ginny said, clutching the Dungbomb carefully behind her back.
Draco examined his fingernails indifferently. “I don’t want it.”
“That’s just too bad,” she sneered, and launched her ammunition straight at his chest. The Dungbomb bounced off leaving not a mark on his still-impeccable clothes. Bewildered, Ginny picked it up and tried again. It bounced off, and Draco Malfoy remained untouched by it.
“It won’t work. My mother charmed my clothes this time. We had to burn those robes after last year. They were filthy, just like you.”
Ginny didn’t like this Draco at all. She hadn’t liked him the previous year either, but this year his demeanor was ultimately different. His indifference aggravated her. He acted as if he was more mature than she was, as if she was a child and he too old for her games. At the last picnic, he had been fun because he had played with them all like a child. He had thrown as many globs of mud as she had, but he had turned into Percy’s twin between now and then.
“You used to be fun,” she said as she tried to keep the tears from forming in her eyes. That was impossible, so she vowed not to let them spill over, at least.
“You don’t know anything about me. You never have and you never will. My mother says I am not allowed to play with Weasleys ever again. In fact, I hate them—all of them.”
Ginny fought as hard as she could, but this was one battle she knew she would lose. The tears fell down her young cheeks and obscured her vision enough that she couldn’t see the split-second look of regret that crossed Draco’s face.
“Well, I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” she cried passionately, and then turned and fled before he could hurt her feelings more.
She found Bill sitting at a picnic table close by.
“Bill! Bill!” she sobbed, launching herself into her favorite brother’s lap.
“Ginny! What is it?” The alarm in his voice calmed her, though she couldn’t stop the tears. Bill loved her, and he always would. He listened to her when she felt troubled, and he didn’t laugh at her, as Fred and George did, or dismiss her impatiently, like Ron and Percy.
Through her sobs, she eventually got the whole story out. His kindness and his tenderness soothed her as nothing else could, until she could sit composedly at his side. Bill couldn’t offer her any advice. She was seven years old, and quarrels between children occurred often enough. They usually worked themselves out in due time.
Ginny had different thoughts than her brother. She never wanted to make up with Draco Malfoy. She had liked him, even though he was a nasty snot, even though he insulted her family and humiliated her dad. Some part of her had admired his rude straightforwardness, while another had been envious of his obvious wealth and attracted by his self-confidence.
He had hurt her deeply, and she never wanted to let it happen again. She vowed to hate him for as long as she lived.
Bill looked down at his sister in concern. She looked downhearted and fierce at the same time; it wasn’t natural for his spunky little sister to be so serious. Then she turned her face up to him and smiled as brightly as ever, and, taken in by her faux-cheerfulness, he was appeased.
* * * * *
September 1, 1991
From an obscure bystander who happened to be present, though her attention had remained completely on the child who was leaving her for Hogwarts—
Fred and George, now third years at Hogwarts, helped the black-haired, speccy boy get his trunk onto the train as Ginny watched tearfully. This year, every one of her brothers would be gone from the Burrow. The emptiness of the year ahead stretched out in front of her like a nightmare. She wanted to go to Hogwarts with Ron, Fred, George, and Percy! Even Bill and Charlie were too busy to bother with her. They were working in Egypt and Romania, of all places! She rarely saw them anymore.
As she lamented internally, her eye caught a familiar shine about three cars down. As she turned, the crowd parted, and who but the Malfoys became visible to her?
Ginny had kept the promise she had made to herself three years previous—to hate Draco Malfoy for the rest of her life—but she couldn’t help but admit that he made it difficult.
The Malfoys attracted the attention of the people around them in the same way that a flame attracts moths. The acquaintance of one with the other burned just the same; she, of course, knew from experience.
Ginny couldn’t stop herself from looking or even smiling. Draco looked the same as always, she thought. He had grown taller, but not by much. His face had become leaner, giving him a pointed, pinched appearance. She still thought he looked like a drowned cat—especially with his hair styled just the way she remembered it—but this time, he looked quite starved too.
If he ever set foot in the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley would remedy that immediately by feeding him several helpings of whatever she had on the stove, but, with a sinking feeling, Ginny remembered that no Malfoy would ever set foot in her house. Draco hated her, and her whole family, because his parents told him to, and she knew her father was no fan of the Malfoys either.
Draco spotted her watching him and smirked at her, causing her to blush and look away, her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest. Maybe she’d developed that disease Luna had told her about a few days ago, the one contracted from the bite of gooberbies. She didn’t know why her heart would be racing, otherwise.
Why did he have to smirk at her that way if he hated her so much? Shouldn’t he have just ignored her? Cruelly pretended not to see her? Why did she even care? She planned to hate him until the day she died. How much of his attention she attracted shouldn't have mattered.
All of this had happened in seconds, and Ginny’s brothers had already returned to say goodbye.
“Hey, mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?” asked Fred. “You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?”
“Who?” Mrs. Weasley asked.
“Harry Potter!”
That caught Ginny’s attention because of course she knew Harry Potter; everyone did.
“Oh, mum, can I go on the train and see him, mum, oh please….” she begged as she tugged on Mrs. Weasley’s sleeve.
“You’ve already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn’t something you goggle at in a zoo,” she answered reproachfully. “Is he really, Fred? How do you know?”
“Asked him. Saw his scar. It’s really there—like lightning.”
Ginny lost interest in the conversation, too disappointed to listen to Mrs. Weasley warning the twins against acts of mischief. She tried as hard as she could to remember every detail of the boy before he’d gotten on the train, but all she could recall was that he was only slightly taller than she was, wore baggy Muggle clothes, and had round glasses and black hair. She tried to imagine his lighting bolt scar and almost convinced herself that she had seen it.
Then the train began to pull away, taking her brothers with it. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she chased after the Hogwarts Express, crying, laughing, and waving to those onboard. Harry Potter was on there. She had seen him for a few brief moments; Luna would never believe it.
Ginny tried one more time to imagine Harry Potter’s face. She couldn’t picture it, other than general features: two eyes behind Spellotaped glasses, a mouth, and a nose. His appearance was too unremarkable to remember without knowing his identity first, because, certainly, had she known who he was beforehand, she would have made a greater effort to get a look at him. Disappointment suddenly filled her once again. He was Harry Potter! He should have radiated some kind of power, like… like… she stopped in her tracks, staring after the train she so wished she could have boarded, until it disappeared around a corner.
Why was Draco Malfoy a more impressive figure than the Harry Potter?
At that moment, Ginny became more determined to hate Draco, or if possible, to forget he existed, and planned to throw all of her energy into making Harry Potter fall in love with her when she attended Hogwarts with him next year.
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