Chapter 2
The Snake Pit
Ginny twisted the scrap of paper in her hands, staring fixedly at the elegant, looping script as the voices of her parents drifted up from downstairs.
“Well, I don't like her going, and that's final.” Arthur boomed in an unusually defiant tone.
“It was your idea that she go to the ball begin with.” Molly scolded back.
“Well, I've changed my mind.”
“Changed you mind? Changed you mind?” Mrs. Weasley's voice was warming to the argument, this last phrase voiced in a high, piercing screech. “Now that everyone's been told that she's going to come? After we've…”
“I don't see what lunch with Narcissa Malfoy has to do with it.”
“She's on the committee…”
“The committee…!”
Ginny clenched her eyes shut, trying to tune the voices out. Her parents always spoke as if she wasn't there. They hadn't asked what she wanted. They never did- not that she knew what she would tell them if they did.
Ginny desperately wanted to go to the ball. Since she was a little girl and had discovered the chest of her mother's girlhood belongings hidden in the attic- among them, Molly's own debutante gown, tiara, and dance card- she had imagined herself, clad in a glittering white gown, standing among the other pureblood girls her age. She never dared to hope that it might happen. Her father's acceptance of Malfoy's bait was like a dream come true- or a nightmare.
Unbidden, Ginny's hands moved to the chain hung round her neck, tracing down the slender sliver length to the serpent ring at its end.
Draco. Even the thought of his name sent a pang to her heart and a shiver running up and down her spine. Draco would be at the ball, even if she didn't see him at the luncheon. She would have to see Draco again sometime.
This time, she vowed, things would be different.
-----
It had been October, and she was just settling into sixth year. Quidditch practice had just started, and Ginny loved being out of doors, swooping through the crisp, smoke scented air above the flame-tipped trees.
Classes that year seemed promising. After the constant, frantic study of fifth year O.W.L.S. Ginny's course load, and homework seemed positively relaxed. She picked up an extra elective- advanced Herbology- and was looking forward to an uneventful year.
Ginny's partner in the greenhouse had been an unexpected and, at first, unwelcome surprise: Pansy Parkinson. The youngest Weasley had never had classes with the Slytherin 7th year before, but she had heard enough of the girl's behavior from her 7th year friends. Even if she hadn't, Pansy's association with Draco Malfoy was enough to set off warning bells.
Considering her low expectations, Ginny was skeptical that she would be able to pass the year without killing her partner, much less becoming her friend, but that was precisely what happened. Pansy had a wicked wit and was absolutely shameless in turning her poison-tipped tongue on others. In spite of herself, Ginny had to admit that it was amusing when directed people other than herself. Their tentative truce had been cemented with some particularly scathing cuts at Ravenclaw Cho Chang.
Even though they got along well in class, Ginny hadn't felt comfortable classifying Pansy as a “friend” so she was surprised when the girl had left the Slytherin table early one afternoon and taken a seat beside her own.
“So, Gin.” The blonde began amiably, ignoring the astonished stares from Gryffindors all around. “What are you doing after the Quidditch match tomorrow night?”
Ginny merely shrugged.
“A bunch of us are hanging out.” Pansy said casually. “You should come.”
Ginny had ignored the daggers in her brother's eyes, ignored the quiet concern from Harry Potter, avoided the stern warning from Hermione Granger, and found herself meeting Pansy the next evening beside the lake.
They walked together in silence for a long way, winding down a long path that skirted the Forbidden Forest's edge. Ginny was surprised when they stepped off the path and veered sharply beneath the trees.
“Don't worry.” Pansy reassured her, reading the panic in her friend's eyes.
“It isn't far.”
True to her word, Pansy had only gone a hundred feet when she knelt beside a small rockface and brushed aside a scraggly shrub. A narrow opening was revealed. Tucking her wand into the band of her skirt, Pansy crawled inside.
Hesitantly, Ginny followed, grimacing as her bare knees scraped the ground. Ahead of her, Pansy's body more or less filled the passage, but she had brief glimpses of light at the end of the corridor.
They hadn't gone far when Pansy stopped. She spoke in a muffled tone. “Help me.” She said calmly, but not to Ginny. There was a scuffling, and then a soft thud, and the tunnel ahead of Ginny was suddenly bright, no longer blocked by her friend.
She hurried forward toward the light, and let out a soft cry of surprise as she reached the end. The tube opened up into a wide cavern, fifteen feet high at its zenith, and wide enough to hold what looked like the entire Seventh Year Slytherin class without feeling cramped. Pansy was waiting beside the opening, holding out her hand to help Ginny down the slight drop-off to the ground.
“Welcome to the Snake Pit!” She said with a smile.
Ginny stared around the chamber, astonished by what she saw. A few squashy chairs and sofas were arranged in the center of the room, atop a plush looking rug that covered the floor. A few more tables and seats lined the edges of the space. Various Slytherin Sixth and Seventh years were scattered among them, chatting, drinking and, occasionally, snogging.
“You brought a Gryffindor?” Ginny squinted through the dim light toward a voice that she didn't recognize. The sound echoed through the room, carrying over the tunes of the Weird Sisters which were playing softly on Wizarding Wireless.
Pansy scowled. “Sod off, Pucey.” She barked. “She's my friend.” Indicating with a toss of her head that the detractors should be ignored, Pansy led Ginny to an ice chest and offered her a drink. “Wine, Butterbeer, Firewhiskey…?” Ginny accepted the latter, feeling deliciously sinful to indulge in contraband. “This place is amazing!” She remarked.
Parkinson shrugged. “It's fun sometimes.” Her eyes drifted slowly around the hall, flashing slightly as they lighted on a particular face. “Anyhow, make yourself at home. I'll…uhm…be right back.”
"Pansy!" Ginny hissed. "I don't know anybody, don't leave me!"
The blonde Slytherin stopped, and turned, a smirk teasing at her lips.
"Relax, Gin. What would you rather do, go stare into a pair of green eyes?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You of all people know that I resigned my membership in the Harry Potter fancl--"
“DRINK!”
Ginny blinked as, very near to them, Malcom Baddock pointed at Ginny and began to chant: “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
A large tumbler of something distinctly alcoholic was shoved into Ginny's hand and she stared at it in some confusion as those around her picked up the chant.
"You said He-Who-We-Don't-Want-to-Name's-name," Pansy explained with a wicked gleam in her eye. "Now you have to take a drink."
Ginny hesitated, then brought the cup to her lips and took a tiny swallow.
She lowered it to a chorus of groans and demands that she take a real drink, so she lifted the mug to drink again, then almost choked as someone tipped the bottom of it up and she had to swallow or drown.
Finally she was allowed to lower it and she swiped a hand across her mouth to wipe away the alcohol that had sloshed onto her upper lip. She swayed slightly. "Any other names I should avoid?”
Pansy laid her index finger against her chin and thought for a moment. "Your bushy haired friend, the headmaster, your last name…”
"What's wrong with Weasley?" She asked, without thinking, then groaned as the cry of “Drink! Drink! Drink!” rose again.
"For one thing, she's too stupid to follow directions." Ginny felt ice pool in the pit of her stomach as a pale blonde head peeked over one of the sofas and turned toward her: Draco Malfoy.
Ginny's mind groped for a witty retort, but it was already dulled by the drink.
“Aw, ignore him.” Pansy said miffishly, and Ginny thought she saw a look- cold, yet significant- pass between the pair of housemates. “He's no fun. Let's see what Blaise is up to.”
Linking arms, the two girls moved away.
An hour later, Malfoy was the last thing on Ginny's mind. Her vision was hazy, and her gait unsteady as she wove her way to one of the plush seats in a corner. Fragments of the “Words Not to Be said" drifted through her mind: "Gryffindor" (Gryffinwhore being the preferred pronunciation in the Slytherin Realm), Hagrid, and Lupin were on the list, but there were others too- so many that she rather suspected Pansy and Blaise were changing the rules (not that a Slytherin would ever do anything so underhanded). Nevertheless, Ginny might not have been so thoroughly intoxicated if not for a critical error on her part.
"So..." Pansy had said sweetly. "What words aren't you allowed to say?"
"Gryffindor, Harry Potter, Weasley, Granger, Dum-"
The raucous roar of "Drink! Drink! Drink!" which had immediately ensued had nearly knocked her off her feet, and where shouting failed, Firewhiskey succeeded admirably.
Four drinks more, and Ginny was reeling. Her eyes fixed firmly on the narrow opening through which she had arrived.
She stumbled toward it. “Gotta go to bed.” She said to no one in particular, then tripped over an outstretched leg.
Watching as if in slow motion, she felt her body tumble toward the floor, but at the last minute, a strong arm caught her around the waist. “Gotta go to bed.” She repeated.
"Sure, Weasley, sure. Come this way and you can lay down."
Ginny unleashed a drunken giggle. "Oh! You said We--"
The hand on her waist squeezed tight. "I'll drink in a minute, let's just get you settled down, okay?"
Ginny was propelled toward through a narrow crevice in the rock wall into a second room. This was much smaller and darker, a cot was nestled against a wall.
“Sit down.” The voice commanded. Meekly, she did as she was told.
“Here, drink this.”
“Don't wanna. Didn't say Weasley.” She slurred.
There was a disgusted sigh, and then. “Well, now you have. Bottoms up!”
“You first, you said-“
“Oh, for the love of Merlin! Just drink the damn sobriety potion.” Ungentle hands tugged on her jaw, prying it open, and then a warm, tangy liquid was poured down Ginny's throat. She sputtered, choking on the vile flavor and then her stomach heaved, and she emptied it onto the floor.
There was a muttered curse. “Brilliant, Weaslette”
The disdainful nickname triggered something in Ginny and she looked out, seeking out her companions face for the first time.
Her heat sank. It was Draco Malfoy.
“I'm sorry!” Her voice warbled, and her chocolate eyes pooled with tears. “I'm sorry.”
“Just sit down and shut up.”
She watched mutely as he flicked his wand to remove the vomit, but he was no sooner done than she gagged again.
Ginny doubled over, moaning. She expected Malfoy to stalk away in disgust but was surprised when, instead, he vanished the sick away, then raked his fingers gently through her hair and secured it away from her face. “I can't give you another one for three hours.” Draco murmured and conjured a glass of water. He dipped a handkerchief into it and begin dabbing her face with the cloth, then offered her the rest to drink. “You'll feel better if you down it- hangover won't be quite so bad.”
Ginny blinked. Her head was spinning. She had the vague impression that
Draco was stroking her hair.
She was hallucinating. That was the only explanation. The next morning, when she woke up, she would realize that this had all been an elaborate dream.
She vomited again. This time Draco had anticipated her and supplied a rubbish basket for that purpose.
“Try to miss the shoes, Weaslette.” Malfoy drawled, but in a considerably softer tone than she was used to. “He sat beside her on the cot, the mattress creaking with his added weight.
“Why are you doing this?” Ginny murmured, somehow
managing to draw the water to her lips to rinse out the taste of bile.
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you care.”
"I do care," Draco whispered, and something in his voice made her breath catch in her throat. She looked at him, searching for a hint of what he might actually mean, but it seemed to hover just out of reach. His handsome features- why had she never noticed before how good-looking he was?- were impassive. Only the two gleaming mercury eyes belied his cool façade by radiating concern... And something else she didn't know how to describe.
"Why?" Ginny inquired. She felt dizzy, like she would stumble and fall and never land. Her stomach was restless again, but this time, it wasn't because of the drink.
"Because," he said softly, his tone completely opposite of his actual words as he dabbed her cheek with the handkerchief again. "If you died out here, we'd have to find someplace else to party- and that would be a damn nuisance.”
The Snake Pit
Ginny twisted the scrap of paper in her hands, staring fixedly at the elegant, looping script as the voices of her parents drifted up from downstairs.
“Well, I don't like her going, and that's final.” Arthur boomed in an unusually defiant tone.
“It was your idea that she go to the ball begin with.” Molly scolded back.
“Well, I've changed my mind.”
“Changed you mind? Changed you mind?” Mrs. Weasley's voice was warming to the argument, this last phrase voiced in a high, piercing screech. “Now that everyone's been told that she's going to come? After we've…”
“I don't see what lunch with Narcissa Malfoy has to do with it.”
“She's on the committee…”
“The committee…!”
Ginny clenched her eyes shut, trying to tune the voices out. Her parents always spoke as if she wasn't there. They hadn't asked what she wanted. They never did- not that she knew what she would tell them if they did.
Ginny desperately wanted to go to the ball. Since she was a little girl and had discovered the chest of her mother's girlhood belongings hidden in the attic- among them, Molly's own debutante gown, tiara, and dance card- she had imagined herself, clad in a glittering white gown, standing among the other pureblood girls her age. She never dared to hope that it might happen. Her father's acceptance of Malfoy's bait was like a dream come true- or a nightmare.
Unbidden, Ginny's hands moved to the chain hung round her neck, tracing down the slender sliver length to the serpent ring at its end.
Draco. Even the thought of his name sent a pang to her heart and a shiver running up and down her spine. Draco would be at the ball, even if she didn't see him at the luncheon. She would have to see Draco again sometime.
This time, she vowed, things would be different.
-----
It had been October, and she was just settling into sixth year. Quidditch practice had just started, and Ginny loved being out of doors, swooping through the crisp, smoke scented air above the flame-tipped trees.
Classes that year seemed promising. After the constant, frantic study of fifth year O.W.L.S. Ginny's course load, and homework seemed positively relaxed. She picked up an extra elective- advanced Herbology- and was looking forward to an uneventful year.
Ginny's partner in the greenhouse had been an unexpected and, at first, unwelcome surprise: Pansy Parkinson. The youngest Weasley had never had classes with the Slytherin 7th year before, but she had heard enough of the girl's behavior from her 7th year friends. Even if she hadn't, Pansy's association with Draco Malfoy was enough to set off warning bells.
Considering her low expectations, Ginny was skeptical that she would be able to pass the year without killing her partner, much less becoming her friend, but that was precisely what happened. Pansy had a wicked wit and was absolutely shameless in turning her poison-tipped tongue on others. In spite of herself, Ginny had to admit that it was amusing when directed people other than herself. Their tentative truce had been cemented with some particularly scathing cuts at Ravenclaw Cho Chang.
Even though they got along well in class, Ginny hadn't felt comfortable classifying Pansy as a “friend” so she was surprised when the girl had left the Slytherin table early one afternoon and taken a seat beside her own.
“So, Gin.” The blonde began amiably, ignoring the astonished stares from Gryffindors all around. “What are you doing after the Quidditch match tomorrow night?”
Ginny merely shrugged.
“A bunch of us are hanging out.” Pansy said casually. “You should come.”
Ginny had ignored the daggers in her brother's eyes, ignored the quiet concern from Harry Potter, avoided the stern warning from Hermione Granger, and found herself meeting Pansy the next evening beside the lake.
They walked together in silence for a long way, winding down a long path that skirted the Forbidden Forest's edge. Ginny was surprised when they stepped off the path and veered sharply beneath the trees.
“Don't worry.” Pansy reassured her, reading the panic in her friend's eyes.
“It isn't far.”
True to her word, Pansy had only gone a hundred feet when she knelt beside a small rockface and brushed aside a scraggly shrub. A narrow opening was revealed. Tucking her wand into the band of her skirt, Pansy crawled inside.
Hesitantly, Ginny followed, grimacing as her bare knees scraped the ground. Ahead of her, Pansy's body more or less filled the passage, but she had brief glimpses of light at the end of the corridor.
They hadn't gone far when Pansy stopped. She spoke in a muffled tone. “Help me.” She said calmly, but not to Ginny. There was a scuffling, and then a soft thud, and the tunnel ahead of Ginny was suddenly bright, no longer blocked by her friend.
She hurried forward toward the light, and let out a soft cry of surprise as she reached the end. The tube opened up into a wide cavern, fifteen feet high at its zenith, and wide enough to hold what looked like the entire Seventh Year Slytherin class without feeling cramped. Pansy was waiting beside the opening, holding out her hand to help Ginny down the slight drop-off to the ground.
“Welcome to the Snake Pit!” She said with a smile.
Ginny stared around the chamber, astonished by what she saw. A few squashy chairs and sofas were arranged in the center of the room, atop a plush looking rug that covered the floor. A few more tables and seats lined the edges of the space. Various Slytherin Sixth and Seventh years were scattered among them, chatting, drinking and, occasionally, snogging.
“You brought a Gryffindor?” Ginny squinted through the dim light toward a voice that she didn't recognize. The sound echoed through the room, carrying over the tunes of the Weird Sisters which were playing softly on Wizarding Wireless.
Pansy scowled. “Sod off, Pucey.” She barked. “She's my friend.” Indicating with a toss of her head that the detractors should be ignored, Pansy led Ginny to an ice chest and offered her a drink. “Wine, Butterbeer, Firewhiskey…?” Ginny accepted the latter, feeling deliciously sinful to indulge in contraband. “This place is amazing!” She remarked.
Parkinson shrugged. “It's fun sometimes.” Her eyes drifted slowly around the hall, flashing slightly as they lighted on a particular face. “Anyhow, make yourself at home. I'll…uhm…be right back.”
"Pansy!" Ginny hissed. "I don't know anybody, don't leave me!"
The blonde Slytherin stopped, and turned, a smirk teasing at her lips.
"Relax, Gin. What would you rather do, go stare into a pair of green eyes?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You of all people know that I resigned my membership in the Harry Potter fancl--"
“DRINK!”
Ginny blinked as, very near to them, Malcom Baddock pointed at Ginny and began to chant: “Drink! Drink! Drink!”
A large tumbler of something distinctly alcoholic was shoved into Ginny's hand and she stared at it in some confusion as those around her picked up the chant.
"You said He-Who-We-Don't-Want-to-Name's-name," Pansy explained with a wicked gleam in her eye. "Now you have to take a drink."
Ginny hesitated, then brought the cup to her lips and took a tiny swallow.
She lowered it to a chorus of groans and demands that she take a real drink, so she lifted the mug to drink again, then almost choked as someone tipped the bottom of it up and she had to swallow or drown.
Finally she was allowed to lower it and she swiped a hand across her mouth to wipe away the alcohol that had sloshed onto her upper lip. She swayed slightly. "Any other names I should avoid?”
Pansy laid her index finger against her chin and thought for a moment. "Your bushy haired friend, the headmaster, your last name…”
"What's wrong with Weasley?" She asked, without thinking, then groaned as the cry of “Drink! Drink! Drink!” rose again.
"For one thing, she's too stupid to follow directions." Ginny felt ice pool in the pit of her stomach as a pale blonde head peeked over one of the sofas and turned toward her: Draco Malfoy.
Ginny's mind groped for a witty retort, but it was already dulled by the drink.
“Aw, ignore him.” Pansy said miffishly, and Ginny thought she saw a look- cold, yet significant- pass between the pair of housemates. “He's no fun. Let's see what Blaise is up to.”
Linking arms, the two girls moved away.
An hour later, Malfoy was the last thing on Ginny's mind. Her vision was hazy, and her gait unsteady as she wove her way to one of the plush seats in a corner. Fragments of the “Words Not to Be said" drifted through her mind: "Gryffindor" (Gryffinwhore being the preferred pronunciation in the Slytherin Realm), Hagrid, and Lupin were on the list, but there were others too- so many that she rather suspected Pansy and Blaise were changing the rules (not that a Slytherin would ever do anything so underhanded). Nevertheless, Ginny might not have been so thoroughly intoxicated if not for a critical error on her part.
"So..." Pansy had said sweetly. "What words aren't you allowed to say?"
"Gryffindor, Harry Potter, Weasley, Granger, Dum-"
The raucous roar of "Drink! Drink! Drink!" which had immediately ensued had nearly knocked her off her feet, and where shouting failed, Firewhiskey succeeded admirably.
Four drinks more, and Ginny was reeling. Her eyes fixed firmly on the narrow opening through which she had arrived.
She stumbled toward it. “Gotta go to bed.” She said to no one in particular, then tripped over an outstretched leg.
Watching as if in slow motion, she felt her body tumble toward the floor, but at the last minute, a strong arm caught her around the waist. “Gotta go to bed.” She repeated.
"Sure, Weasley, sure. Come this way and you can lay down."
Ginny unleashed a drunken giggle. "Oh! You said We--"
The hand on her waist squeezed tight. "I'll drink in a minute, let's just get you settled down, okay?"
Ginny was propelled toward through a narrow crevice in the rock wall into a second room. This was much smaller and darker, a cot was nestled against a wall.
“Sit down.” The voice commanded. Meekly, she did as she was told.
“Here, drink this.”
“Don't wanna. Didn't say Weasley.” She slurred.
There was a disgusted sigh, and then. “Well, now you have. Bottoms up!”
“You first, you said-“
“Oh, for the love of Merlin! Just drink the damn sobriety potion.” Ungentle hands tugged on her jaw, prying it open, and then a warm, tangy liquid was poured down Ginny's throat. She sputtered, choking on the vile flavor and then her stomach heaved, and she emptied it onto the floor.
There was a muttered curse. “Brilliant, Weaslette”
The disdainful nickname triggered something in Ginny and she looked out, seeking out her companions face for the first time.
Her heat sank. It was Draco Malfoy.
“I'm sorry!” Her voice warbled, and her chocolate eyes pooled with tears. “I'm sorry.”
“Just sit down and shut up.”
She watched mutely as he flicked his wand to remove the vomit, but he was no sooner done than she gagged again.
Ginny doubled over, moaning. She expected Malfoy to stalk away in disgust but was surprised when, instead, he vanished the sick away, then raked his fingers gently through her hair and secured it away from her face. “I can't give you another one for three hours.” Draco murmured and conjured a glass of water. He dipped a handkerchief into it and begin dabbing her face with the cloth, then offered her the rest to drink. “You'll feel better if you down it- hangover won't be quite so bad.”
Ginny blinked. Her head was spinning. She had the vague impression that
Draco was stroking her hair.
She was hallucinating. That was the only explanation. The next morning, when she woke up, she would realize that this had all been an elaborate dream.
She vomited again. This time Draco had anticipated her and supplied a rubbish basket for that purpose.
“Try to miss the shoes, Weaslette.” Malfoy drawled, but in a considerably softer tone than she was used to. “He sat beside her on the cot, the mattress creaking with his added weight.
“Why are you doing this?” Ginny murmured, somehow
managing to draw the water to her lips to rinse out the taste of bile.
“Doing what?”
“Acting like you care.”
"I do care," Draco whispered, and something in his voice made her breath catch in her throat. She looked at him, searching for a hint of what he might actually mean, but it seemed to hover just out of reach. His handsome features- why had she never noticed before how good-looking he was?- were impassive. Only the two gleaming mercury eyes belied his cool façade by radiating concern... And something else she didn't know how to describe.
"Why?" Ginny inquired. She felt dizzy, like she would stumble and fall and never land. Her stomach was restless again, but this time, it wasn't because of the drink.
"Because," he said softly, his tone completely opposite of his actual words as he dabbed her cheek with the handkerchief again. "If you died out here, we'd have to find someplace else to party- and that would be a damn nuisance.”
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