peki wrote 'And With My Childhood's Faith' for sue_bridehead
Title: And With My Childhood’s Faith (Part 1)
Author: peki
Rating: R
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Umm, all six books?
Summary: Everyone deserves a second chance.
Author's Notes: A huge ‘thank you’ to my wonderful beta for being so incredibly patient when the fic kept getting longer and I messed up all the commas :-D You rock.
The title is from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnet #43.
Beta: dragonlilleth
In retrospective, it was difficult to determine the exact point in time where it all began, but in later years, most people would say that the second war against You-Know-Who started with the death of Albus Dumbledore.
That had been a year and several months ago and, in the summer of 1998, returning to Hogwarts was not so much an educational decision as it was a political statement, and one that not many were willing to make.
Of course, when it came to the events leading up to the war, Ginny Weasley had more knowledge than most people. So when she got off the train in Hogsmeade, she was well aware that what was happening was just the logical culmination of years and years of crises, many of which she had been directly involved in.
But it was true - everything was different, now. There was constant tension in the air, a heavy, oppressive atmosphere that made people bow their heads and rush along the streets as fast as they could without looking each other in the eye. Hogsmeade lay empty and quiet as the sad little group of students rolled past it in the thestral drawn carriages, and even the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry seemed gloomy.
Not surprising, really, when there were almost more Aurors than students these days. It was a miracle that Hogwarts even remained open, and only Headmistress McGonagall’s pleading for a show of support had convinced Ginny to return to school instead of going to work for the Order, much to the relief of her parents.
On the way to the welcoming feast, she scanned the halls and saw that even fewer of her classmates had returned to school than she had feared. In the Great Hall, only one of the four large house tables remained, around which students from all houses were grouped together. In Gryffindor, there were only two other seventh years aside from Ginny, and the only one of her friends who’d come back was Luna, in Ravenclaw. Even the Creeveys were gone, and Neville and the rest of the Gryffindors in the year above her were finished with school at last.
There were plenty of empty spots at the teachers' table, too, and in the large chair in the middle, Professor McGonagall looked more stressed and haggard than ever. Hagrid had left with his giant half-brother to do something secret and dangerous for the Order, and Professor Grubbly-Plank hadn’t returned to replace him.
Ginny felt a twinge of anger at that and at all the people who had turned down the Defence Against the Dark Arts position after the previous teacher, a nervous young Auror-turned-civilian, had vanished in the Forbidden Forest at the end of last year. They needed a good teacher, now more than ever, but as no one dared take on the job any more, the class had been turned into a study period where they’d read their books. They had been effectively reduced to Umbridge-like methods. It was aggravating.
In the first of those study sessions, Ginny asked her friend, “How was your summer, Luna?”
“Good, good,” Luna replied absently, sucking on the end of her quill as she struggled with the Magical Rearranging Crossword Puzzle that came with the Quibbler.
Ginny smiled as she watched Luna fill the blanks with words of her choosing, uncaring whether they fit or not. “I’m glad you came back for our last year.”
Luna glanced at her and smiled dreamily. “Oh, sure. I still like it here, even though everyone says we’ll be killed before we can do our NEWTs.”
The students around them glared. Oblivious, Luna continued with her puzzle. Ginny grinned. Some things never changed.
But many did. Too many.
“Miss?” a tiny little first year, with a shy glance at the shiny badge on Ginny’s robes, addressed her in the Gryffindor common room one evening during the first week.
“My name is Ginny,” she replied kindly. “What’s yours?”
“Anna,” the girl replied, blushing. “They…the others say you know Harry Potter?”
Ginny’s stomach lurched. “Yes, I do,” she said. “My brother Ron and my friend Hermione are,” she paused before continuing, “travelling with him.”
The girl nodded hopefully. Yes. Everyone knew that, and even though no one had any clue what the three of them were up to, it was the last hope for many people, these days. Around the room, she saw many of the other students look at her with wide, eager eyes, greedy for something to cling to.
Ginny smiled at the kid, wishing the pang of dread that she felt whenever she thought of Harry and the others would go away. But it never did.
“Do you know where they are?” Anna asked.
“No,” Ginny answered. “No, I don’t.”
“Will they save us?”
A year since they had left. Ten months since she’d last seen Harry. Six months without news now…for all she knew, they could be… No. She wouldn’t even think that. “Yes,” Ginny said, because she had to make them believe even if she was starting to doubt it. “Yes, they will.”
But believing was not enough. They had to do something. They had to, or they’d all go raving mad before the war was over, Ginny thought as she strolled through the dark corridors at night, patrolling with the Gryffindor prefects. Studying and fortifying the castle wasn’t enough, no matter how many times she had heard the Order members say that Hogwarts needed to be made safe, as a last stronghold, just in case.
She wished she could be out there with her friends and brother, doing something real. Something that would make a difference now. But instead, her seventh year took a turn for the unexpected.
It was a Sunday in the third week of school when she was summoned to the Headmistress’s office and climbed the spiral staircase with some apprehension. McGonagall had sounded harried and jittery when she had told Ginny to come see her after dinner. It was unlike her.
It was also unlike her to argue in a loud, shrill voice that Ginny could hear from the moment she entered the corridor that led to the Headmistress’s office. She went upstairs warily, listening to McGonagall shout at someone whose voice Ginny recognised as Mad-Eye Moody’s.
“…still think this is a bad idea, Minerva,” he was saying as Ginny arrived at the door.
“We’ve discussed this,” McGonagall retorted in a tone that brooked no argument. “He is a boy! A seriously misguided boy, at that. We can have an eye on him here, and he can finish his education.”
“He’s a Death Eater and he should go to prison,” Moody retorted.
Shocked, Ginny dropped the hand she had raised to knock on the door. Surely they couldn’t mean--
“You know what Azkaban is like, Alastor, especially in times of war. It’s no place for a teenage boy, not to mention that he hasn’t even had a trial, and he won’t till it’s all over,” McGonagall said forcefully. Then, in a quieter voice, “Albus would’ve wanted us to keep the children safe. All of them.”
“Fine,” Moody growled. “But he needs to be watched--”
“We have Aurors on the grounds, and Ginny Weasley has been asking for an assignment - I’ll know where he is at all times,” McGonagall insisted.
Ginny’s stomach dropped. Oh hell no! She had been asking for an assignment, but she hadn’t thought it would involve…
“Ah. I was wondering why she’s outside your door, at this time of the night.”
Ginny scrambled back, startled, just in time to avoid being hit by the door as Moody flung it open. “Come in, girl,” he said gruffly. “Curious to hear what Arthur’s daughter will say about this.”
McGonagall was sitting behind her desk as Ginny entered, looking cross. “Miss Weasley,” she sighed. “Next time, please knock.”
Ginny flushed. “Sorry, Professor.”
“Well. Alastor, please go fetch him.”
Moody went, grumbling and muttering to himself, and only when the door had fallen shut did McGonagall turn back to Ginny. “As you’ve probably already heard, we’ve got a task for you at last.”
At that, Ginny recovered. “Professor,” she started heatedly, “You weren’t talking about--”
“I am aware you will not be pleased with the situation,” McGonagall said testily. “You may turn down the assignment, of course, and I’ll find someone else to keep an eye on him, but you are Head Girl and as such you have certain responsibilities, whether you like them or not.”
Ginny frowned. “He almost got my brother killed,” she said accusatorily. “I don’t want him here, whether I have to watch him or someone else does.”
“I am well aware of his crimes, but that is not your decision,” the Headmistress told her sternly. “He is a prisoner and right now, there is no better place to guard him. He will have magical cuffs which will suppress the use of Dark Spells and enable us to locate him at all times. All you need to do is keep an eye on him for suspicious activities, and,” she trailed off and gave a big sigh. “And, well, make sure he doesn’t cause too much trouble. He has a talent for that, after all, and--”
The door was flung open again, and Moody limped in, dragging a thin, filthy young man by the collar. “There,” he growled, shoving him towards McGonagall’s desk. “Death Eater scum,” he muttered under his breath. Ginny couldn’t have agreed more.
She looked at the hunched, filthy figure. It was he - she would’ve known that arrogant scowl anywhere. He looked different though, his face almost unrecognisable beneath a fringe of shaggy hair that was so matted with dirt it looked more grey than blond. His cheeks were hollow, and the sharp angles of his face were even harsher now with hunger and weariness.
He looked tired, she thought as she stared at him unblinkingly and wondered what had happened to him in the year since he’d gone missing. Something unpleasant, she hoped. Retribution for what had happened to Bill and Dumbledore.
“Malfoy,” she said coldly into the uneasy silence.
He shook back his hair, seemingly only becoming aware of her presence now. His pale eyes were frozen and cold, but when he looked at Ginny, they sparked with silver fire, and the echo of her old disdain for him rippled through her like a drop of poison.
“Weasley,” he sneered, and animosity flared up again between them as if he’d never been gone.
It was ridiculous how easily they fell back into old patterns. After all she had gone through - the constant fear for her family, the worrying about Harry, the helpless anger - Ginny felt faintly ashamed when she found, on his first day back, that Malfoy still brought out a kind of petty, silly childishness in her that she didn’t like. She wanted to be cool and aloof and ignore him, but in the end, she just couldn’t help herself.
“Nice clothes,” she commented when she first saw him in borrowed, ill-fitting robes on the morning after his arrival. He had made fun of her for her hand-me-downs so often, she felt cruelly gleeful to fling his own words into his face, now. “Vintage?”
“Sod off,” he snapped, flushing.
“Have a nice summer, Malfoy?”
“Fuck you, Weasley.”
She actually felt disappointed at the lame comeback. “Ooh, witty,” she retorted and fell into step beside him.
His lip curled derisively. “Leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that,” she snapped back. “McGonagall’s orders. I’m your guard. Didn’t she tell you?” That gave her some satisfaction, at least. She wanted to stay one step ahead of him. Who knew what kind of evil things he was planning.
His chuckle was hard and without humour. “What, they can’t even spare an Auror for me?”
“The Aurors have better things to do.” Just like she did, Ginny thought, seething. “Breakfast. Now.”
“I’m not going to breakfast with you,” he stated, stopping outside the Great Hall. “I’m not trailing after you like a puppy. If you want to watch me,” he sneered as if having her eyes fixed on him was akin to a contagious disease, “you can follow me around.”
And so he stalked off, only to stop again in the doorway, his eyes going wide. “What is this?” he demanded shrilly.
Ginny followed him, peering into the Hall to see what he saw. Most of the students were already sitting around the one large breakfast table, grudgingly united at last. Some were staring back at Malfoy, just as shocked to see him as he was to notice the changes in the usual routine.
Only now did Ginny realise how pathetically few Slytherins had returned to school. Aside from Malfoy, there were only two other seventh years, two girls who stuck their heads together as they saw him in the doorway and started to whisper. No first year had been sorted into that house, this year, probably because everyone had begged the Sorting Hat to go somewhere else. The other houses were clearly at an advantage.
“There aren't enough students left for separate house tables,” she said, savouring his look of shock. “Breakfast now, Malfoy, or we’ll be late for class.”
He whirled around. “We’re not having all the classes together now, are we?”
Suddenly, Ginny found this task much less aggravating and a lot more amusing. She didn’t like being stuck with him, but he obviously resented it even more than she did and that was entertaining. “Yes, we are,” she said sweetly. “We’re reading up on Defence Against the Dark Arts after breakfast. You have some catching up to do, don’t you think?”
His face went red. Shrugging, she walked off to join Luna at the breakfast table, only to hear a crackle of magic behind her, followed by a howl and a thud. She whirled around, going for her wand, but there was no need to defend herself. Malfoy was already on the floor, whimpering, a strange blue glow emanating from under his sleeves. He must’ve tried to hex her, she realised, and those cuffs that McGonagall had mentioned had given him a jolt.
Wicked laughter bubbled up inside her, and as she doubled over with giggles, the other students joined in, happy to have something to make fun of at last.
“Serves you right,” she told him gleefully. She wagged her finger at him. “No unfriendly spells.”
“No one told me that,” he spat, rubbing at his wrists, and she got a better look at the cuffs. They were translucent rings of light, glowing a soft blue that was now fading away again. Useful, she thought. They should’ve put those on him years ago.
“Goes without saying, don’t you think?” It should have, but who knew what kind of malicious ideas Malfoy had about treating the people around him?
The students behind her were still giggling and whispering. Malfoy sat on the floor in his ill-fitting robes, flushed, dishevelled and scowling defiantly as the rest of the school made fun of him. That should be enough of a lesson, Ginny decided, softening, and offered him a hand to pull him up.
He looked like he could barely restrain himself from spitting at it and climbed to his feet without her assistance.
Ginny dropped her hand. “Suit yourself,” she said in a bored voice, turning back to the breakfast table.
She was surprised when he actually followed her, this time.
“No unfriendly spells, huh?” he hissed from behind her.
Ginny grinned. “No, Malfoy.”
“All right.” And the next moment, he had tripped her, sniggering as Ginny fell flat on her face. Her books and papers went flying, her arms flailed, she squeaked stupidly, and then her cheek hit the floor with a crunching sound.
For a moment, stars danced behind her eyelids. Then, a hot rush of anger surged up inside her that drowned out the pain and embarrassment, and the feeling was so shockingly familiar that for one blissful, rage-filled moment, her world felt right once again, as if some empty, dark hole inside her soul had been filled at last. No matter what happened, she could always hate Malfoy. That would never change. It was reassuring.
When she got to her feet again painfully, he was sitting at the breakfast table, ignoring determinedly that the other students had moved as far away from him as they could as he spread butter on a crumpet. He met her eyes and smirked.
And the game was on.
Ginny had always thought that Malfoy was fairly ridiculous, with his pompous antics and his stupid bigotry - that was, when she hadn’t been too carried away by anger to point and laugh at him. But now, with his cronies gone and those cuffs around his wrists, it was easier to mock him than ever before. From his shaggy (if now clean and sleek) hair to his too-large, off-the-rack robes, he was utterly pathetic, almost enough so that she felt a bit sorry for him. Almost.
“Mr Malfoy, please try to Transfigure your hamster, at least. We’re preparing for human Transfiguration and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
He and McGonagall stared at each other, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. The Headmistress was an intimidating sight, glaring down at him with her wand at the ready, but Malfoy’s determination to get his way had always bordered on madness. Ginny wondered if he ever thought before he acted.
Finally, he shrugged, apparently unwilling to defy McGonagall outright, but didn’t say anything and didn’t lift a finger to Transfigure the poor little hamster that sat, trembling, on his desk.
When the Headmistress huffed and turned away, Ginny poked him hard between his shoulderblades with her wand. “You can’t even Transfigure that?” she mocked him. “God, Malfoy, how did you even survive on your own?”
He didn’t deign to turn around and look her in the eye. “I could,” he hissed under his breath, “If I wanted, which I don’t.”
“Right,” Ginny said, infusing the single word with as much derision as she could.
It was stupid that the silly taunt got to him, but it did, and she watched, eyebrows raised, as he waved his wand, the hamster squeaked and turned into a piece of lifeless rock. “There,” he sneered, and chucked it at Ginny. It would’ve hit her in the head if she hadn’t caught it instinctively, reflexes honed by Quidditch practice.
The other students muttered and tittered, not so much because he’d finally caught up with what they’d mastered already in the second week of the term, but because he was doing something at last. So far, he’d been nothing but an ill-tempered, vicious nuisance, and after the story about his involvement in Dumbledore’s death had spread, everyone was now avoiding him like the plague.
Everyone but Ginny, who was stuck with him whether she liked it or not. She tossed the rock back at him, grinning when it hit him in the chest and he winced.
At the front of the class, McGonagall looked up, surprised. “All right, Mr Malfoy. Now for the difficult part - turning it back into a living, breathing hamster.”
But Malfoy’s patience seemed to have run out. “No,” he told the Headmistress crossly, his eyes never leaving Ginny’s. They burned with an anger that was entirely over the top, considering that she’d just mocked him a little bit, no more than was expected between a Weasley and a Malfoy. “Don’t feel like it.”
“Fine,” McGonagall sighed. “Twenty points from Slytherin.”
“Fine,” he growled quietly, slumping back into his seat. “I don’t care. I never meant to come back here, anyway.”
Ginny didn’t think he meant for anyone to hear that. Speaking to himself suited him, though. He probably loved to hear himself talk. “Why did you let them catch you, then?” she asked him, half to annoy him, half because she actually wanted to know. He’d disappeared for so long, and he was relatively low on the list of priorities, the Aurors wouldn’t have captured him unless he’d done something really stupid to expose himself. “If you’re so smart? Why didn’t you leave the country or something?”
He didn’t answer, just turned the rock over and over in his hands. His lips clenched as if he was forcibly suppressing something he wanted to say. Ah, so he had done something stupid, then.
“Come on, Malfoy, turn that poor little hamster back,” she told him mildly. “It’s suffered enough.”
But for some reason, that pissed him off more than anything she’d said before. “What do I care?” he spat, dropped the rock with a loud thud and stalked out.
It only went downhill from there.
He didn’t participate in class. He didn’t answer when teachers asked him questions. He didn’t do his homework, and when he was put in detention, he didn’t show up. When McGonagall summoned her to scold her for that, as if it was her fault, Ginny had had enough.
“What am I supposed to do?” she snapped at the Headmistress, unable to stop herself. Malfoy was a pain, always had been and always would be. “Short of physically forcing him, I can’t make him do his work!”
“It’s useless to keep him here if he won’t reintegrate himself,” McGonagall told her. “We were hoping…”
“That’s not what you told me when I agreed to babysit him!” Ginny exhaled harshly, exasperated. “Why don’t you tell me why he’s really here?”
McGonagall glared at her over the rim of her glasses, but finally told her the truth. “Mr Malfoy is not just here to be watched…we also need to protect him. We suspect that He-Who-Must-Not… Voldemort wants him dead. Professor Dumbledore wanted him to have another chance,” this was punctuated by her fist slamming down on the desktop, “and I will give it to him, whether he wants it or not.”
Not even the fact that it had been Dumbledore’s wish could abate Ginny’s anger. “If he’s too stupid to take it, why force it on him? He’s had his chance, his choice, like we all did, but he decided to go work for Voldemort!”
The older witch looked at her tiredly. “It’s not that simple, Miss Weasley,” she corrected. “You have much to learn.”
If it had been anyone else than her Head of House, no, the Headmistress, telling her that, Ginny would’ve fired up on the spot. She had learned that sacrifices needed to be made when she let Harry go. She had learned patience during the endless waits for news and calmness in moments of crisis. Keeping her temper in check all this time had been difficult, but she had because she’d known that no one would take her seriously if she didn’t, no one would acknowledge that she was an adult and capable of helping. And now, now… “I think I already know enough, thank you,” she forced out through her teeth.
McGonagall’s eyes hardened. “Just make him do his homework, Miss Weasley,” she ordered. “You wished to assist the Order’s cause and whether you like it or not, Professor Dumbledore had plans for Mr Malfoy. This is your assignment, and I think it is easy enough compared to some of the more unpleasant tasks!”
The words were like a slap. Ginny winced, angry, embarrassed tears stinging in her eyes. She had thought McGonagall was on her side, had made her Head Girl as an acknowledgement of her skills and willingness to take on responsibility, but now she felt like she was a child all over again, and she’d just been chastised by a stern aunt.
She bolted from the office, and by the time she arrived in her dorm room, the tears were flowing freely with anger and shame and heartache. Annoyed with herself, she collapsed on her bed and wiped at her cheeks. She was pathetic. Harry wouldn’t like her like this. It was stupid.
But the feeling of helplessness prevailed. There was absolutely nothing she could do. Nothing except babysitting Malfoy. Malfoy, who got everything offered to him on a silver platter while she got yelled at because he didn’t want to accept it…The thought stung, and if that was possible, Ginny hated him more than ever.
But after a few days, she had calmed down enough to think clearly again, and although she didn’t like it, Ginny knew an order was an order, and if McGonagall wanted her to keep an eye on the bastard, she’d have to do it.
Besides, she was nothing if not stubborn, and even though Malfoy was as obstinate as an ill-tempered Hippogryff, she’d be damned if she didn’t get him to do what she wanted. So after dinner, she caught up with him before he could escape to the Slytherin common room and grabbed his arm.
He looked startled, as if her touch would contaminate him with something icky and dangerous. “What are you doing?”
“Come on, Malfoy,” she growled, and dragged him off by his sleeve before he could protest.
Of course, he resisted. She wouldn’t have expected anything less. “Where are we going?” he hissed, digging his heels into the floor.
She turned around to him. His face was scrunched up with irritation, and she knew that if she didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, he’d fight her every step of the way to Gryffindor Tower. Well, if she told him, he’d probably fight even harder. An idea struck her. “Come along, or I’ll make those cuffs of yours give you a little zap of magic,” she said smugly. All right, this wasn’t nice, but Malfoy wasn’t nice, either, and the ends certainly justified the means.
He looked startled. “You can’t do that.”
No, she couldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “Yes, I can.”
“That’s abuse,” he said warily. “Do you know how much they hurt?”
She hadn’t really considered that. Her stomach flip-flopped uneasily. Would McGonagall really put something on a student that… No. Surely not. She pushed down a twinge of doubt. He was a drama queen, that was all. “Don’t care,” she shrugged. “Who’s going to listen to you complain?”
His expression clouded over, became dark and stormy, and Ginny almost regretted telling him those lies, but then he stopped resisting and followed her along the darkening corridors, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re a bitch, you know that?”
“And you’re an evil git.”
“Where are we going?” he asked sullenly.
“To do our homework,” she told him. “And since I don’t feel like sitting in your cold, mouldy dungeon, we’re going to my common room.” Gryffindor was nice and cosy, and it had the added benefit that she would be on her own turf. It would be easier to keep the upper hand there.
“No,” he protested, dragging heavily on her arm once more. “Let go of me! I don’t want to spend my evening among Gryffindors.”
“You wouldn’t have to if you’d done your homework with your housemates,” she said. “There are some other seventh years in Slytherin, aren’t there?”
“Those stupid bints,” he snarled. “They won’t talk to me.”
Surprised, she looked at him over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? They haven’t succumbed to your inimitable charm? The lure of your vast fortune?”
Her sarcasm was mild, compared to the insults he dealt out on a regular basis, but he seemed sensitive to any kind of offence, as if he didn’t trust anyone to ever say something nice to him. His wand hand clenched reflexively. Slytherins, Ginny thought with an inward snort. The life they led must be so exhausting, constantly on edge.
That, and she had probably struck a nerve. She was willing to bet that he couldn’t get girls if his life depended on it. That cow Pansy Parkinson didn’t count.
“They’re bitter because I didn’t bother with them when I was in sixth year,” he sneered. “Stupid, I know,” he added before she could make a dry comment. “My father told me so a hundred thousand times.”
“And now they don’t bother with you,” Ginny smirked. “Not even your housemates talk to you. Pathetic.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he snapped.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh God, Malfoy, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Now come along or I’ll hex you.”
She thought fondly of the hex she’d thrown at him years ago, in Umbridge’s office, and when the tips of his ears flushed pink, she knew that he remembered too. Everything had been so easy then, in comparison. The world had been neatly divided into two sides - Gryffindors versus Slytherins, the DA against the Inquisitorial Squad, and when the opportunity arose, everyone was only too happy to throw jinxes at each other.
Now, the lines weren’t drawn clearly any more, and nowadays, you couldn’t just hex your enemies when you wanted to, you had to protect them against your other enemies… It was all very complicated, and it gave Ginny a headache. “Look, the quicker we get done, the sooner you can go back to your house. All right?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, she just started walking again. Scowling, he followed her and didn’t say another word till they reached the portrait that hid the entrance to the tower. “You’re not bringing him in, dear?” the Fat Lady asked, appalled.
“Yes,” Ginny forced out through gritted teeth. “Bubotuber Pus.”
The Gryffindor common room was almost empty, as it was still early evening and most students were out enjoying the few hours before the new, stricter curfew was enforced at eight. A couple of third-years sat in the armchairs by the fire, but when they saw Malfoy, they hurried out, glancing at Ginny nervously. Rumours about him had definitely spread, even to those who’d been too young to witness anything that had happened a year and a half ago.
Well, all for the better. If no one was there, he might not feel the urge to needle and humiliate her all night.
“This is…very gaudy,” he said from behind her. Ginny turned to see him looking around, a frown on his face. “All that red and gold…”
“Well, they are our house colours.” Dropping her books on the table, she took off her robe to hang it over the back of a chair and stretched tiredly, happy to be rid of the heavy tomes. For a moment, she thought that he was looking at her with a strange glint in his eye, but when she glanced at him, he was scowling as usual. “Sit. Let’s get to work.”
They got through Transfiguration and Potions well enough. He seemed to like those subjects, at least marginally more than the rest, and Ginny was surprised to discover that he was actually fairly good at Potions. And even though Harry, Ron and Hermione had often complained about him, his grades couldn’t have been a result of Snape’s favouritism only.
When they came to the weekly chapter on Defence Against the Dark Arts though, he started to get defiant. “I don’t need this rubbish,” he sneered, throwing down his quill so the ink splattered all over the table and Ginny’s Transfiguration essay. “Those defensive spells won’t be any good in battle, and especially not without practice. I know a load of curses that--”
“Illegal curses, you mean,” she cut in.
“Well, the Death Eaters aren’t going to play fair either,” Malfoy pointed out.
Something about the way he said that rubbed her the wrong way. Ginny stopped erasing the blots of ink from her essay and leaned across the table to look at him with narrowed eyes. “You say that as if you have nothing to do with them,” she said in a low voice. “You are one of them, remember? They’re your people, those bastards.”
“They’re not my people,” he snapped, so angrily that Ginny drew back, startled. “What do you think I did this whole last year? I tried to get as far away from them as I could.”
“That’s why you got caught,” she said, with dawning realisation. “You wanted the Aurors to get to you first.” She chuckled. “And I thought you were just stupid.”
“I wasn’t trying to get caught! They were watching my house! I was looking for…” Huffing, he fell silent.
“Your house? You actually went back to your house?” She snorted. “To look for what? Money? One of your precious family heirlooms? Don’t you have secret vaults abroad or something? God, Malfoy, why’d you risk getting caught for something so--”
“I was looking for my mother! I couldn’t just leave her behind!” he yelled, pink with anger. “And now she’s gone, and I have no idea what happened to her, and McGonagall said they didn’t capture her, so for all I know, she could be,” he broke off and with a furious, helpless roar shoved the heavy table so hard that it toppled over and crashed to the floor.
Shocked, she stared at him as he slumped in his chair, cradling the hand with which he’d pushed the table. His face was twisted with pain and unhappiness, and he looked like he would cry.
Ginny wanted to mock him, she really did. He would’ve done it to her had she been in his place. But when she opened her mouth, she found that she couldn’t make fun of him while his face was crumpled and twisted with misery and his eyes were brimming with tears.
You didn’t kick someone when he’d already been brought to his knees. It wasn’t what her parents had taught her.
“Hey,” she murmured gently, as if to a child, reaching for his hand. “Let me see that.”
“No,” he spat, but his voice quavered and he didn’t sound vicious at all, just desperate. “Leave me alone. Just leave me alone for one bloody minute!”
“No,” she countered, “I’m supposed to look after you. You’re not going to hurt yourself while I’m with you.” She took his wrist carefully to examine his hand. His fingers were very pale, lined with bluish veins that pulsed rapidly beneath her careful touch. The skin on the outside was very soft, but when she turned his hand over in hers, she saw that his palms and fingertips were scratched and callused.
Well. He’d finally been brought low enough for menial labour then, while he’d been on the run. The thought strangely pleased her. No man should have soft hands like a lady of leisure. She frowned, remembering what he’d said about his mother. Ginny didn’t particularly care if that bitch had met an untimely end, but you didn’t say that to someone who was obviously scared and cared greatly about his mum.
“Shh,” she murmured soothingly when he squirmed and tried to pull away, but he seemed to be hurting too much to put up a fight, anyway.
He let her prod him, wincing when she poked him too hard. A large bruise was forming on the back of his hand, stretching across his knuckles. “Ow.”
“Sorry,” Ginny said. “I don’t think it’s broken, but we should go to the hospital wing.”
“No,” he muttered. “Just leave me alone.”
She sighed. “Malfoy, those two or three times that I met your mother, she seemed rather,” Bitchy. Mean. Vicious. “intimidating. Surely she’ll be fine on her own, for a while?” And surely someone who could endure decades of marriage to Lucius Malfoy wasn’t all that fragile. “Why would the Death Eaters want to kill her, anyway? I thought her sister,” and her husband, but Ginny gracefully omitted that, “was, um, one of Voldemort’s favourites?”
“My aunt.” He gave a wet snort. “She’s only loyal to Him. And now that I’ve failed, and they didn’t get to me before the Aurors did, He’ll take his anger out on my mother. You have no idea what they do to people they want to get rid of.”
“I think I do,” Ginny said grimly, remembering her encounters with the Death Eaters. “But if they’re after her, she couldn’t possibly stay at your house, it wouldn’t have been safe. If the Aurors watched it, surely the Death Eaters did, too. She couldn’t leave you any clues if she didn’t want to get caught.”
He drew a shuddering breath, but looked a bit more hopeful. “I suppose,” he said, peering at her through wet lashes. “What do you care, anyway?”
“I know what it’s like to worry like that,” she answered quietly. “All my family are involved in the war in some way or other.”
“And we’re here.” He scowled. “Being completely useless.”
Ginny sucked in a surprised breath. She hadn’t thought she’d ever agree with Malfoy. It felt strange. Uncomfortable, somehow. She let go of his hand and waved her wand so the table turned itself upright again, then Accioed their papers and stationery. “Well, where else would you go?”
“I don’t know.” He huffed softly. “I never meant to come back here. Sod McGonagall and this stupid school.”
“Shut up,” Ginny said hotly, even though she felt none too kindly towards the Headmistress either, right then. That was different. He had no right to talk this way. “It’s been our home for years, and Dumbledore and McGonagall fought hard to keep it open so we could come back, and now we owe it to them to--”
“I don’t owe them anything,” he said sullenly. He looked down at the translucent rings around his wrists, glowing with their magic. “This is all Dumbledore’s fault, anyway.”
“And how’s that?” She was actually curious what he’d say. God, his perception of the world around him was so warped.
“He should’ve done…something,” he muttered. “He knew all along what was going on in sixth year, and he didn’t… He just waited, and then it was too late.”
“What, so now it’s Dumbledore’s fault that you almost killed Katie, and Imperiused Madam Rosmerta, and everything else? You could’ve gone to him and asked for help, you know?”
He looked struck, as if that hadn’t even occurred to him. “No,” he said at last.
“Why not?” Ginny asked. “He would’ve helped you.”
“I didn’t want his help,” Malfoy said loudly, suddenly angry again. “I didn’t want to beg that senile old fool, I wanted to…” He broke off, his face twisting, his fists clenching in helpless rage. “I wanted to do something, something my parents would be proud of! And now my mother’s being hunted because of me, or worse--” He bit his tongue.
No. Not even the Malfoys could be so horrible that they’d actually want their son to affiliate himself with Voldemort. Ginny refused to believe it or she’d be forced to feel sorry for him and everything would become even more difficult. “Malfoy,” she said seriously, “do you really think your parents wanted you to do something so dangerous, so incredibly stupid.”
“No,” he snapped. “I know that now, all right?” He huffed. “I don’t know why I even… Leave me alone!”
He pushed back his chair and tried to get past her, but Ginny wouldn’t let him get away like this, not when she’d finally found out some things, looked past the cruel façade he always put up. She wanted to understand this, wanted to figure him out, just so she’d finally know why he had to be so mean and hateful all the time.
She grabbed his sore hand and forced him, yelping, back into the chair. “No. Not before you tell me a few things. What are Voldemort’s plans?”
“I don’t know!” he yelled. “Kill Potter?”
Ginny’s stomach lurched. She shook him. “And you have no idea how?”
“What does it matter, how?” he sneered. “Crucio him till he begs for death, probably, and then--”
She slapped him. “Shut up!”
“You asked!” he screamed back at her. “Don’t ask me if you can’t stand the truth, you stupid little girl!”
Ginny’s mouth snapped shut. She exhaled harshly. Stupid little girl. The insult shouldn’t have touched her, but it did. It was a little too close to what McGonagall had said...her greatest fear, which occupied her mind late at night when she couldn’t sleep and thought of Harry. He’d left her behind because he didn’t want to endanger her…but he’d taken along Ron and Hermione. That still stung, even after all this time and though she’d told herself time and again that it was silly. Surely he hadn’t meant…
“Tell me something useful,” she demanded flatly. “Something worthwhile. Then I’ll tell McGonagall that you cooperated, and she might…”
His face tightened. His eyes glazed over, became stony and hard till the only emotion she could see on his face was anger, none of that fear and desperation that had been there only a few minutes before. “I don’t want to cooperate with you,” he said coldly. “I don’t want you as my saviour, so stick it. And I can’t tell you anything, anyway.”
Ginny wondered whether he couldn’t or he wouldn’t. “So you’re completely useless?”
“Fuck you, Weasley,” he sneered, and Ginny would’ve very much liked to reply in kind, but that would’ve been childish and stupid.
Her temples throbbed with a headache. She was so tired of being childish and stupid. She wanted to leave behind the image of stupid little Ginny at last and do something that’d make a difference. Something new and unexpected.
And she could start right now. She smiled, a tad wickedly. “All right, Malfoy. I forgive you.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“I forgive you,” she repeated generously. It felt good to say it, she realised, surprised. Perhaps McGonagall, Dumbledore had been right, and they should’ve tried to mend their fences years back. Things might have happened differently.
Or perhaps not. “I didn’t ask you to,” he snapped, and the warm, contented feeling was cut short. “I never even did anything to you.”
Ginny felt her face flush with a hot rush of anger. “Excuse me? I fought against your mates that night. My brother got bitten by Greyback.”
His expression was tight and cruel. “That was the night the war started,” he said. “You protected yours, and I protected mine. So who’s in the wrong? Who?”
“Perhaps the person who, oh, endangered all the students and got Dumbledore killed?”
The colour drained from his face, his shoulders slumped, and as the vicious scowl faded away, he just looked bitter and sad, much older than his eighteen years. “I didn’t want to do it,” he said quietly. “I didn’t!”
“Yes, right,” she sneered.
“I didn’t!” he yelled. “My friends were here too! Do you think I wanted Greyback to come here, that filthy, disgusting…” He broke off, breathing harshly. “I had to do it, or they would’ve killed me right then,” he finished flatly. “And now it’s all for nothing, because they’re going to kill me, anyway.”
Before she knew what she was saying, she told him, “You’re not going to get killed.”
It was what she’d been telling herself for months. It was what she thought about every morning when she woke up, and every night just before she went to sleep, like a prayer. It would all be fine, they’d all live, and in the end, they’d be happy. Her family, and Harry, and Hermione, and all her friends. And even Malfoy.
“You have no idea what it’s like, out there,” he told her bitterly.
“And you have?” she retorted. “You’ve never been in a fight, have you? All you’ve done is run.”
“I’ve seen Him, I’ve been there when He punished people who’d displeased Him…” He shuddered. “How is Potter going to stop Him? He’s far too powerful.”
“Harry will find a way,” Ginny said, believing it more at that moment than she had in a long time. She had to, just to prove him wrong. “He’s always found a way.”
“Potter will die,” Malfoy said, and the fact that he didn’t sound smug or pleased or even marginally happy, just glum and resigned, frightened Ginny more than any outburst of fury could have. Malfoy really was scared to death.
“You’re wrong,” she told him, her voice wavering slightly. “You’re wrong.”
He didn’t even seem to have any energy left to protest. “Whatever.” When he walked away this time, she didn’t stop him.
They didn’t speak of the incident in the common room again, didn’t acknowledge that they’d actually talked, but in spite of the morbidity of it all, Ginny found in the following days that strangely, it had eased some of the tension between them. Granted, he still made her furious almost every day, enough so that she wanted to hex him silly on a regular basis, but being stuck together was easier, somehow, knowing that he was a person too, a person who feared for his family and this life they all led.
He needed something to do, Ginny thought during one of their homework sessions, while he was grumbling and whining beside her. He had to stay inside the castle all the time and with her for most of the day, and if he was left to stew without any distractions, he’d go crazy. Crazier. He needed something to take his mind off things. Something to give him a purpose.
Come to think of it, so did she. So one day after class, she stayed behind to talk to McGonagall about an idea she’d come up with.
The Headmistress bustled about her classroom, Banishing supplies to their cupboards and checking all the locks on her many animals’ cages. “Do you really think this is a good idea, Miss Weasley?” she asked, appalled, when Ginny had told her what she wanted to do. “The club in and of itself, all right, it might help the students feel less anxious, and better prepared, I can see that, especially now that there’s no Defence teacher. But involving Mr Malfoy in this?”
“I’ll be there with him,” Ginny said. “He’s quite good at defensive jinxes and counter-curses, when he can be bothered to practise,” and wasn’t that incredibly ironic, Malfoy being good at Defence Against the Dark Arts? “and he’s inventive. He’ll be useful.”
McGonagall pursed her lips. “We mustn’t underestimate him,” she countered, bracing her hands on her desk. “We did once, and,” she sighed. “Even though the cuffs won’t allow him to cast any really harmful spells, he’s--”
“He’ll be far more dangerous if he gets any more restless and desperate,” Ginny interrupted. McGonagall stared at her, a crease between her brows. “Sorry, Professor. He just,” she broke off, deciding to ask straight out. “Do you know anything about his mum?”
“I don’t know anything about Mrs Malfoy’s whereabouts, but I taught her as a student and I am sure she can fend for herself. To be honest, there are other things that concern me more,” McGonagall said testily. Her face softened. “I admire your empathy, Miss Weasley, after all that he did to your family, your fathers’ enmity. I commend your efforts, but be careful.”
Ginny would’ve liked to scream. First she was supposed to give Malfoy another chance, and now that she did, she was being told that it came with strings attached? “Didn’t you want me to ‘reintegrate’ him?” she asked crisply. “Well, he needs something to do.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant when I told you to assist him with his homework,” McGonagall told her. “I’m glad you’ve seen that it was only prudent.”
Ginny huffed impatiently. Another lecture? “I didn’t know how afraid he is. Just like the rest of us.” And something about the way he’d looked when he’d talked about his mother had touched her. He was terrified. She knew the feeling all too well, and she recognised it in him.
The Headmistress studied her face for a few more moments, then sighed deeply and dropped her eyes to the papers on the desk before her. “I’m starting to think that I’m getting too old to watch over teenagers,” she said. “I’ll trust your judgement, Miss Weasley, but keep in mind that Mr Malfoy is a criminal, even though he seems to have calmed down and changed his ways a bit…he’s even handed in his work on time…but--”
“I know,” Ginny nodded. “I know, Professor. But I believe we can risk it.”
“I can only hope you are right,” McGonagall said tiredly. “Albus so wanted that boy to come around, after all.”
“He will,” Ginny said. She didn’t know why she felt so certain, she just did. Malfoy had changed a little bit, and that should be encouraged.
The new DA didn’t have to meet in secret, and although Ginny kind of missed the thrill of the forbidden, she was happy that this time around the whole school would be participating, at the same time that the necessity of teaching self-defence to her fellow students made her incredibly sad. The newfound unanimity was the flipside of the looming danger they were all in.
But while most students were thrilled to have something to do at last, complimenting and thanking Ginny profusely for persuading McGonagall to allow this, Malfoy remained refreshingly hostile. His persistent pessimism was so absolute, it bordered on ridiculous, and so he actually made it easier for Ginny to laugh off all gloomy thoughts.
She drew up enthusiastic lesson plans, and when they practised in the Great Hall for the first time, they even had a banner which Ginny had proudly fixed above the door while Malfoy had looked on, refusing to help.
“It’s bad enough you’re making me help with this stupid club,” he’d sneered.
“Come on,” Ginny had told him, rolling her eyes. “I need an assistant, and we spend most of the day together, anyway. It’s going to be fun.”
“Weasley, we don’t have fun together,” he’d said, like it was one of the great truths of the universe, and weirdly, Ginny had taken offence to that.
Everyone else was having fun as they practised their first spell, Expelliarmus, and she was sick and tired of Malfoy excluding himself from what the rest of the school was doing, as if he still believed that he was better than the rest of them.
She demonstrated the spell a few times with Luna, the only other member of the original DA, then, as the others were happily practising, went over to where Malfoy was sitting by the wall and hissed, “Why are you so determined to be an arse?”
“This is stupid,” he hissed back. “Fat lot of good this kind of spell is going to do in a real battle.”
“We’ve used this, and others, very successfully against the Death Eaters in the past,” Ginny told him icily.
He snorted. “Probably because it’s so stupid they never expected it.”
“All right,” she snapped at him. Some of the students who stood nearby turned around curiously, and Ginny hastily lowered her voice again. “I thought you might like this, because usually you love showing off, but perhaps McGonagall is right. Get out.”
His brow furrowed. “McGonagall? What did she say?”
Ginny crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. “That I shouldn’t trust you.” She was gratified when he scowled at the thought of McGonagall and her talking about him behind his back. “And the way I see it, if you don’t help us, you obviously don’t want us to be prepared against an attack, and that can only mean that you’re--”
“I’m not with them.” His voice rose along with the flush of anger that tinted his cheeks pink.
She was vaguely aware that all movement and noise behind her had stopped, and the whole school was probably looking on as she fought with Malfoy. “Prove it,” she said, loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
“No, you don’t,” she replied. “It’s up to you.”
Malfoy looked at her warily, then glanced past her at the others, only just becoming aware that their conversation was no longer private. He rolled his eyes.
“You can be with us,” Ginny whispered, cocking her head. “We need everyone. Don’t be stupid.”
His movements were edgy and tense when he stood and walked towards her, not at all like his usual swagger. “All right,” he said tightly. “I’ll help.” He made it sound like he was doing her a great favour, but from up close, she could see the corners of his mouth droop. He was nervous. It was a wonderful, wonderful sight.
“Great!” she said, grinning when he winced at her exaggerated cheerfulness. “You take this third of the class,” she pointed to the right, “Luna this here in the middle, and I’ll be over there. Let’s get started on something new!”
And for two weeks, it actually worked. It was nothing short of a miracle, considering that she and Malfoy were at each other’s throats almost every lesson over the correct way to swish or flick or pronounce an incantation while Luna looked on patiently. But strangely enough, their students improved.
“Very good,” Ginny complimented when the first fourth-year managed to produce a clearly visible Patronus. “Those are very useful against Dementors. Read up on them, will you? No no, don’t hold your wand like that, you’re going to take someone’s eye out--”
A loud crackle across the room caught her attention, and she turned to see a wand sail through the air, past Luna and towards Malfoy. He caught it, apparently just having disarmed a trembling little Ravenclaw who could be no older than twelve.
“Dammit, are you stupid? It’s Impedimenta! Im-pe-di-men-ta!” he shouted at her, while Luna gently patted her shoulder. The girl looked ready to burst into tears.
Before she could start crying, Ginny had stalked through the room and grabbed Malfoy’s arm. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
“Like who?” he retorted, fixing his glare on her. His cheeks were flushed, and through the sleeve of his shirt, she could feel that his skin was hot and sweaty. He was really getting into this. “You’re not my size, Weasley.”
He raised his chin and squared his shoulders, as if to prove his point, and for the first time, Ginny noticed how tall he really was. She had always liked tall blokes, and to discover anything attractive in Malfoy of all people annoyed her to no end.
She grabbed his collar and yanked till they were almost nose to nose. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “She’s a first year!”
“She’s here to learn,” he fumed. “And she can’t even remember how to say the spells!”
“She. Is. A. First. Year,” Ginny repeated. “You’re not supposed to make her even more scared and insecure!”
He raised his eyebrows, looking almost amused. “You think I’m scary and disconcerting, Weasley?”
Before Ginny could reply, Luna said, “Oh, no, don’t worry, we’re not scared of you.” She smiled at him serenely. “We just think you’re very odd.”
In spite of herself, Ginny felt laughter bubble up inside her, threatening to burst forth uncontrollably as Malfoy flushed even more deeply.
“Don’t you tell me I’m odd,” he snapped at Luna, who told him calmly, “It’s all right, you know. It’s amusing, really.”
“I’m not amusing,” he snarled, droplets of sweat flying everywhere as he shook his head, and Ginny exploded with laughter.
“Malfoy,” she gasped out between giggles, “Go sit down, you horrible, horrible teacher.”
( Part 2 )
( Part 3 )
( Part 4 )
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to recieve: A 7th-year fic (it can be either Draco's or Ginny's) that incorporates the events of HBP. I do not want to see Ginny tortured or hurt. I'd like them to be together (by choice) at the end without being pure fluff.
The tone/mood of the fic: Suspense, mystery, or drama (or some combination) along with a bit of humor, if you can manage it. A surprise ending would be great but not absolutely necessary.
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: "I hated you then. But I started to think differently about you when" and then fill in the rest however you want. Either Draco or Ginny can say that, but one of them must say it and his/her reason. (Please try not to be predictable on this part - surprise me!)
Canon or AU? Canon preferred.
Rating of the fic you want: Any
Deal breakers (what don’t you want): Total smut, fluff, or depressing angst.
Author: peki
Rating: R
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Umm, all six books?
Summary: Everyone deserves a second chance.
Author's Notes: A huge ‘thank you’ to my wonderful beta for being so incredibly patient when the fic kept getting longer and I messed up all the commas :-D You rock.
The title is from Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnet #43.
Beta: dragonlilleth
In retrospective, it was difficult to determine the exact point in time where it all began, but in later years, most people would say that the second war against You-Know-Who started with the death of Albus Dumbledore.
That had been a year and several months ago and, in the summer of 1998, returning to Hogwarts was not so much an educational decision as it was a political statement, and one that not many were willing to make.
Of course, when it came to the events leading up to the war, Ginny Weasley had more knowledge than most people. So when she got off the train in Hogsmeade, she was well aware that what was happening was just the logical culmination of years and years of crises, many of which she had been directly involved in.
But it was true - everything was different, now. There was constant tension in the air, a heavy, oppressive atmosphere that made people bow their heads and rush along the streets as fast as they could without looking each other in the eye. Hogsmeade lay empty and quiet as the sad little group of students rolled past it in the thestral drawn carriages, and even the corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry seemed gloomy.
Not surprising, really, when there were almost more Aurors than students these days. It was a miracle that Hogwarts even remained open, and only Headmistress McGonagall’s pleading for a show of support had convinced Ginny to return to school instead of going to work for the Order, much to the relief of her parents.
On the way to the welcoming feast, she scanned the halls and saw that even fewer of her classmates had returned to school than she had feared. In the Great Hall, only one of the four large house tables remained, around which students from all houses were grouped together. In Gryffindor, there were only two other seventh years aside from Ginny, and the only one of her friends who’d come back was Luna, in Ravenclaw. Even the Creeveys were gone, and Neville and the rest of the Gryffindors in the year above her were finished with school at last.
There were plenty of empty spots at the teachers' table, too, and in the large chair in the middle, Professor McGonagall looked more stressed and haggard than ever. Hagrid had left with his giant half-brother to do something secret and dangerous for the Order, and Professor Grubbly-Plank hadn’t returned to replace him.
Ginny felt a twinge of anger at that and at all the people who had turned down the Defence Against the Dark Arts position after the previous teacher, a nervous young Auror-turned-civilian, had vanished in the Forbidden Forest at the end of last year. They needed a good teacher, now more than ever, but as no one dared take on the job any more, the class had been turned into a study period where they’d read their books. They had been effectively reduced to Umbridge-like methods. It was aggravating.
In the first of those study sessions, Ginny asked her friend, “How was your summer, Luna?”
“Good, good,” Luna replied absently, sucking on the end of her quill as she struggled with the Magical Rearranging Crossword Puzzle that came with the Quibbler.
Ginny smiled as she watched Luna fill the blanks with words of her choosing, uncaring whether they fit or not. “I’m glad you came back for our last year.”
Luna glanced at her and smiled dreamily. “Oh, sure. I still like it here, even though everyone says we’ll be killed before we can do our NEWTs.”
The students around them glared. Oblivious, Luna continued with her puzzle. Ginny grinned. Some things never changed.
But many did. Too many.
“Miss?” a tiny little first year, with a shy glance at the shiny badge on Ginny’s robes, addressed her in the Gryffindor common room one evening during the first week.
“My name is Ginny,” she replied kindly. “What’s yours?”
“Anna,” the girl replied, blushing. “They…the others say you know Harry Potter?”
Ginny’s stomach lurched. “Yes, I do,” she said. “My brother Ron and my friend Hermione are,” she paused before continuing, “travelling with him.”
The girl nodded hopefully. Yes. Everyone knew that, and even though no one had any clue what the three of them were up to, it was the last hope for many people, these days. Around the room, she saw many of the other students look at her with wide, eager eyes, greedy for something to cling to.
Ginny smiled at the kid, wishing the pang of dread that she felt whenever she thought of Harry and the others would go away. But it never did.
“Do you know where they are?” Anna asked.
“No,” Ginny answered. “No, I don’t.”
“Will they save us?”
A year since they had left. Ten months since she’d last seen Harry. Six months without news now…for all she knew, they could be… No. She wouldn’t even think that. “Yes,” Ginny said, because she had to make them believe even if she was starting to doubt it. “Yes, they will.”
But believing was not enough. They had to do something. They had to, or they’d all go raving mad before the war was over, Ginny thought as she strolled through the dark corridors at night, patrolling with the Gryffindor prefects. Studying and fortifying the castle wasn’t enough, no matter how many times she had heard the Order members say that Hogwarts needed to be made safe, as a last stronghold, just in case.
She wished she could be out there with her friends and brother, doing something real. Something that would make a difference now. But instead, her seventh year took a turn for the unexpected.
It was a Sunday in the third week of school when she was summoned to the Headmistress’s office and climbed the spiral staircase with some apprehension. McGonagall had sounded harried and jittery when she had told Ginny to come see her after dinner. It was unlike her.
It was also unlike her to argue in a loud, shrill voice that Ginny could hear from the moment she entered the corridor that led to the Headmistress’s office. She went upstairs warily, listening to McGonagall shout at someone whose voice Ginny recognised as Mad-Eye Moody’s.
“…still think this is a bad idea, Minerva,” he was saying as Ginny arrived at the door.
“We’ve discussed this,” McGonagall retorted in a tone that brooked no argument. “He is a boy! A seriously misguided boy, at that. We can have an eye on him here, and he can finish his education.”
“He’s a Death Eater and he should go to prison,” Moody retorted.
Shocked, Ginny dropped the hand she had raised to knock on the door. Surely they couldn’t mean--
“You know what Azkaban is like, Alastor, especially in times of war. It’s no place for a teenage boy, not to mention that he hasn’t even had a trial, and he won’t till it’s all over,” McGonagall said forcefully. Then, in a quieter voice, “Albus would’ve wanted us to keep the children safe. All of them.”
“Fine,” Moody growled. “But he needs to be watched--”
“We have Aurors on the grounds, and Ginny Weasley has been asking for an assignment - I’ll know where he is at all times,” McGonagall insisted.
Ginny’s stomach dropped. Oh hell no! She had been asking for an assignment, but she hadn’t thought it would involve…
“Ah. I was wondering why she’s outside your door, at this time of the night.”
Ginny scrambled back, startled, just in time to avoid being hit by the door as Moody flung it open. “Come in, girl,” he said gruffly. “Curious to hear what Arthur’s daughter will say about this.”
McGonagall was sitting behind her desk as Ginny entered, looking cross. “Miss Weasley,” she sighed. “Next time, please knock.”
Ginny flushed. “Sorry, Professor.”
“Well. Alastor, please go fetch him.”
Moody went, grumbling and muttering to himself, and only when the door had fallen shut did McGonagall turn back to Ginny. “As you’ve probably already heard, we’ve got a task for you at last.”
At that, Ginny recovered. “Professor,” she started heatedly, “You weren’t talking about--”
“I am aware you will not be pleased with the situation,” McGonagall said testily. “You may turn down the assignment, of course, and I’ll find someone else to keep an eye on him, but you are Head Girl and as such you have certain responsibilities, whether you like them or not.”
Ginny frowned. “He almost got my brother killed,” she said accusatorily. “I don’t want him here, whether I have to watch him or someone else does.”
“I am well aware of his crimes, but that is not your decision,” the Headmistress told her sternly. “He is a prisoner and right now, there is no better place to guard him. He will have magical cuffs which will suppress the use of Dark Spells and enable us to locate him at all times. All you need to do is keep an eye on him for suspicious activities, and,” she trailed off and gave a big sigh. “And, well, make sure he doesn’t cause too much trouble. He has a talent for that, after all, and--”
The door was flung open again, and Moody limped in, dragging a thin, filthy young man by the collar. “There,” he growled, shoving him towards McGonagall’s desk. “Death Eater scum,” he muttered under his breath. Ginny couldn’t have agreed more.
She looked at the hunched, filthy figure. It was he - she would’ve known that arrogant scowl anywhere. He looked different though, his face almost unrecognisable beneath a fringe of shaggy hair that was so matted with dirt it looked more grey than blond. His cheeks were hollow, and the sharp angles of his face were even harsher now with hunger and weariness.
He looked tired, she thought as she stared at him unblinkingly and wondered what had happened to him in the year since he’d gone missing. Something unpleasant, she hoped. Retribution for what had happened to Bill and Dumbledore.
“Malfoy,” she said coldly into the uneasy silence.
He shook back his hair, seemingly only becoming aware of her presence now. His pale eyes were frozen and cold, but when he looked at Ginny, they sparked with silver fire, and the echo of her old disdain for him rippled through her like a drop of poison.
“Weasley,” he sneered, and animosity flared up again between them as if he’d never been gone.
It was ridiculous how easily they fell back into old patterns. After all she had gone through - the constant fear for her family, the worrying about Harry, the helpless anger - Ginny felt faintly ashamed when she found, on his first day back, that Malfoy still brought out a kind of petty, silly childishness in her that she didn’t like. She wanted to be cool and aloof and ignore him, but in the end, she just couldn’t help herself.
“Nice clothes,” she commented when she first saw him in borrowed, ill-fitting robes on the morning after his arrival. He had made fun of her for her hand-me-downs so often, she felt cruelly gleeful to fling his own words into his face, now. “Vintage?”
“Sod off,” he snapped, flushing.
“Have a nice summer, Malfoy?”
“Fuck you, Weasley.”
She actually felt disappointed at the lame comeback. “Ooh, witty,” she retorted and fell into step beside him.
His lip curled derisively. “Leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that,” she snapped back. “McGonagall’s orders. I’m your guard. Didn’t she tell you?” That gave her some satisfaction, at least. She wanted to stay one step ahead of him. Who knew what kind of evil things he was planning.
His chuckle was hard and without humour. “What, they can’t even spare an Auror for me?”
“The Aurors have better things to do.” Just like she did, Ginny thought, seething. “Breakfast. Now.”
“I’m not going to breakfast with you,” he stated, stopping outside the Great Hall. “I’m not trailing after you like a puppy. If you want to watch me,” he sneered as if having her eyes fixed on him was akin to a contagious disease, “you can follow me around.”
And so he stalked off, only to stop again in the doorway, his eyes going wide. “What is this?” he demanded shrilly.
Ginny followed him, peering into the Hall to see what he saw. Most of the students were already sitting around the one large breakfast table, grudgingly united at last. Some were staring back at Malfoy, just as shocked to see him as he was to notice the changes in the usual routine.
Only now did Ginny realise how pathetically few Slytherins had returned to school. Aside from Malfoy, there were only two other seventh years, two girls who stuck their heads together as they saw him in the doorway and started to whisper. No first year had been sorted into that house, this year, probably because everyone had begged the Sorting Hat to go somewhere else. The other houses were clearly at an advantage.
“There aren't enough students left for separate house tables,” she said, savouring his look of shock. “Breakfast now, Malfoy, or we’ll be late for class.”
He whirled around. “We’re not having all the classes together now, are we?”
Suddenly, Ginny found this task much less aggravating and a lot more amusing. She didn’t like being stuck with him, but he obviously resented it even more than she did and that was entertaining. “Yes, we are,” she said sweetly. “We’re reading up on Defence Against the Dark Arts after breakfast. You have some catching up to do, don’t you think?”
His face went red. Shrugging, she walked off to join Luna at the breakfast table, only to hear a crackle of magic behind her, followed by a howl and a thud. She whirled around, going for her wand, but there was no need to defend herself. Malfoy was already on the floor, whimpering, a strange blue glow emanating from under his sleeves. He must’ve tried to hex her, she realised, and those cuffs that McGonagall had mentioned had given him a jolt.
Wicked laughter bubbled up inside her, and as she doubled over with giggles, the other students joined in, happy to have something to make fun of at last.
“Serves you right,” she told him gleefully. She wagged her finger at him. “No unfriendly spells.”
“No one told me that,” he spat, rubbing at his wrists, and she got a better look at the cuffs. They were translucent rings of light, glowing a soft blue that was now fading away again. Useful, she thought. They should’ve put those on him years ago.
“Goes without saying, don’t you think?” It should have, but who knew what kind of malicious ideas Malfoy had about treating the people around him?
The students behind her were still giggling and whispering. Malfoy sat on the floor in his ill-fitting robes, flushed, dishevelled and scowling defiantly as the rest of the school made fun of him. That should be enough of a lesson, Ginny decided, softening, and offered him a hand to pull him up.
He looked like he could barely restrain himself from spitting at it and climbed to his feet without her assistance.
Ginny dropped her hand. “Suit yourself,” she said in a bored voice, turning back to the breakfast table.
She was surprised when he actually followed her, this time.
“No unfriendly spells, huh?” he hissed from behind her.
Ginny grinned. “No, Malfoy.”
“All right.” And the next moment, he had tripped her, sniggering as Ginny fell flat on her face. Her books and papers went flying, her arms flailed, she squeaked stupidly, and then her cheek hit the floor with a crunching sound.
For a moment, stars danced behind her eyelids. Then, a hot rush of anger surged up inside her that drowned out the pain and embarrassment, and the feeling was so shockingly familiar that for one blissful, rage-filled moment, her world felt right once again, as if some empty, dark hole inside her soul had been filled at last. No matter what happened, she could always hate Malfoy. That would never change. It was reassuring.
When she got to her feet again painfully, he was sitting at the breakfast table, ignoring determinedly that the other students had moved as far away from him as they could as he spread butter on a crumpet. He met her eyes and smirked.
And the game was on.
Ginny had always thought that Malfoy was fairly ridiculous, with his pompous antics and his stupid bigotry - that was, when she hadn’t been too carried away by anger to point and laugh at him. But now, with his cronies gone and those cuffs around his wrists, it was easier to mock him than ever before. From his shaggy (if now clean and sleek) hair to his too-large, off-the-rack robes, he was utterly pathetic, almost enough so that she felt a bit sorry for him. Almost.
“Mr Malfoy, please try to Transfigure your hamster, at least. We’re preparing for human Transfiguration and I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
He and McGonagall stared at each other, eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. The Headmistress was an intimidating sight, glaring down at him with her wand at the ready, but Malfoy’s determination to get his way had always bordered on madness. Ginny wondered if he ever thought before he acted.
Finally, he shrugged, apparently unwilling to defy McGonagall outright, but didn’t say anything and didn’t lift a finger to Transfigure the poor little hamster that sat, trembling, on his desk.
When the Headmistress huffed and turned away, Ginny poked him hard between his shoulderblades with her wand. “You can’t even Transfigure that?” she mocked him. “God, Malfoy, how did you even survive on your own?”
He didn’t deign to turn around and look her in the eye. “I could,” he hissed under his breath, “If I wanted, which I don’t.”
“Right,” Ginny said, infusing the single word with as much derision as she could.
It was stupid that the silly taunt got to him, but it did, and she watched, eyebrows raised, as he waved his wand, the hamster squeaked and turned into a piece of lifeless rock. “There,” he sneered, and chucked it at Ginny. It would’ve hit her in the head if she hadn’t caught it instinctively, reflexes honed by Quidditch practice.
The other students muttered and tittered, not so much because he’d finally caught up with what they’d mastered already in the second week of the term, but because he was doing something at last. So far, he’d been nothing but an ill-tempered, vicious nuisance, and after the story about his involvement in Dumbledore’s death had spread, everyone was now avoiding him like the plague.
Everyone but Ginny, who was stuck with him whether she liked it or not. She tossed the rock back at him, grinning when it hit him in the chest and he winced.
At the front of the class, McGonagall looked up, surprised. “All right, Mr Malfoy. Now for the difficult part - turning it back into a living, breathing hamster.”
But Malfoy’s patience seemed to have run out. “No,” he told the Headmistress crossly, his eyes never leaving Ginny’s. They burned with an anger that was entirely over the top, considering that she’d just mocked him a little bit, no more than was expected between a Weasley and a Malfoy. “Don’t feel like it.”
“Fine,” McGonagall sighed. “Twenty points from Slytherin.”
“Fine,” he growled quietly, slumping back into his seat. “I don’t care. I never meant to come back here, anyway.”
Ginny didn’t think he meant for anyone to hear that. Speaking to himself suited him, though. He probably loved to hear himself talk. “Why did you let them catch you, then?” she asked him, half to annoy him, half because she actually wanted to know. He’d disappeared for so long, and he was relatively low on the list of priorities, the Aurors wouldn’t have captured him unless he’d done something really stupid to expose himself. “If you’re so smart? Why didn’t you leave the country or something?”
He didn’t answer, just turned the rock over and over in his hands. His lips clenched as if he was forcibly suppressing something he wanted to say. Ah, so he had done something stupid, then.
“Come on, Malfoy, turn that poor little hamster back,” she told him mildly. “It’s suffered enough.”
But for some reason, that pissed him off more than anything she’d said before. “What do I care?” he spat, dropped the rock with a loud thud and stalked out.
It only went downhill from there.
He didn’t participate in class. He didn’t answer when teachers asked him questions. He didn’t do his homework, and when he was put in detention, he didn’t show up. When McGonagall summoned her to scold her for that, as if it was her fault, Ginny had had enough.
“What am I supposed to do?” she snapped at the Headmistress, unable to stop herself. Malfoy was a pain, always had been and always would be. “Short of physically forcing him, I can’t make him do his work!”
“It’s useless to keep him here if he won’t reintegrate himself,” McGonagall told her. “We were hoping…”
“That’s not what you told me when I agreed to babysit him!” Ginny exhaled harshly, exasperated. “Why don’t you tell me why he’s really here?”
McGonagall glared at her over the rim of her glasses, but finally told her the truth. “Mr Malfoy is not just here to be watched…we also need to protect him. We suspect that He-Who-Must-Not… Voldemort wants him dead. Professor Dumbledore wanted him to have another chance,” this was punctuated by her fist slamming down on the desktop, “and I will give it to him, whether he wants it or not.”
Not even the fact that it had been Dumbledore’s wish could abate Ginny’s anger. “If he’s too stupid to take it, why force it on him? He’s had his chance, his choice, like we all did, but he decided to go work for Voldemort!”
The older witch looked at her tiredly. “It’s not that simple, Miss Weasley,” she corrected. “You have much to learn.”
If it had been anyone else than her Head of House, no, the Headmistress, telling her that, Ginny would’ve fired up on the spot. She had learned that sacrifices needed to be made when she let Harry go. She had learned patience during the endless waits for news and calmness in moments of crisis. Keeping her temper in check all this time had been difficult, but she had because she’d known that no one would take her seriously if she didn’t, no one would acknowledge that she was an adult and capable of helping. And now, now… “I think I already know enough, thank you,” she forced out through her teeth.
McGonagall’s eyes hardened. “Just make him do his homework, Miss Weasley,” she ordered. “You wished to assist the Order’s cause and whether you like it or not, Professor Dumbledore had plans for Mr Malfoy. This is your assignment, and I think it is easy enough compared to some of the more unpleasant tasks!”
The words were like a slap. Ginny winced, angry, embarrassed tears stinging in her eyes. She had thought McGonagall was on her side, had made her Head Girl as an acknowledgement of her skills and willingness to take on responsibility, but now she felt like she was a child all over again, and she’d just been chastised by a stern aunt.
She bolted from the office, and by the time she arrived in her dorm room, the tears were flowing freely with anger and shame and heartache. Annoyed with herself, she collapsed on her bed and wiped at her cheeks. She was pathetic. Harry wouldn’t like her like this. It was stupid.
But the feeling of helplessness prevailed. There was absolutely nothing she could do. Nothing except babysitting Malfoy. Malfoy, who got everything offered to him on a silver platter while she got yelled at because he didn’t want to accept it…The thought stung, and if that was possible, Ginny hated him more than ever.
But after a few days, she had calmed down enough to think clearly again, and although she didn’t like it, Ginny knew an order was an order, and if McGonagall wanted her to keep an eye on the bastard, she’d have to do it.
Besides, she was nothing if not stubborn, and even though Malfoy was as obstinate as an ill-tempered Hippogryff, she’d be damned if she didn’t get him to do what she wanted. So after dinner, she caught up with him before he could escape to the Slytherin common room and grabbed his arm.
He looked startled, as if her touch would contaminate him with something icky and dangerous. “What are you doing?”
“Come on, Malfoy,” she growled, and dragged him off by his sleeve before he could protest.
Of course, he resisted. She wouldn’t have expected anything less. “Where are we going?” he hissed, digging his heels into the floor.
She turned around to him. His face was scrunched up with irritation, and she knew that if she didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, he’d fight her every step of the way to Gryffindor Tower. Well, if she told him, he’d probably fight even harder. An idea struck her. “Come along, or I’ll make those cuffs of yours give you a little zap of magic,” she said smugly. All right, this wasn’t nice, but Malfoy wasn’t nice, either, and the ends certainly justified the means.
He looked startled. “You can’t do that.”
No, she couldn’t, but he didn’t need to know that. “Yes, I can.”
“That’s abuse,” he said warily. “Do you know how much they hurt?”
She hadn’t really considered that. Her stomach flip-flopped uneasily. Would McGonagall really put something on a student that… No. Surely not. She pushed down a twinge of doubt. He was a drama queen, that was all. “Don’t care,” she shrugged. “Who’s going to listen to you complain?”
His expression clouded over, became dark and stormy, and Ginny almost regretted telling him those lies, but then he stopped resisting and followed her along the darkening corridors, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“You’re a bitch, you know that?”
“And you’re an evil git.”
“Where are we going?” he asked sullenly.
“To do our homework,” she told him. “And since I don’t feel like sitting in your cold, mouldy dungeon, we’re going to my common room.” Gryffindor was nice and cosy, and it had the added benefit that she would be on her own turf. It would be easier to keep the upper hand there.
“No,” he protested, dragging heavily on her arm once more. “Let go of me! I don’t want to spend my evening among Gryffindors.”
“You wouldn’t have to if you’d done your homework with your housemates,” she said. “There are some other seventh years in Slytherin, aren’t there?”
“Those stupid bints,” he snarled. “They won’t talk to me.”
Surprised, she looked at him over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, really? They haven’t succumbed to your inimitable charm? The lure of your vast fortune?”
Her sarcasm was mild, compared to the insults he dealt out on a regular basis, but he seemed sensitive to any kind of offence, as if he didn’t trust anyone to ever say something nice to him. His wand hand clenched reflexively. Slytherins, Ginny thought with an inward snort. The life they led must be so exhausting, constantly on edge.
That, and she had probably struck a nerve. She was willing to bet that he couldn’t get girls if his life depended on it. That cow Pansy Parkinson didn’t count.
“They’re bitter because I didn’t bother with them when I was in sixth year,” he sneered. “Stupid, I know,” he added before she could make a dry comment. “My father told me so a hundred thousand times.”
“And now they don’t bother with you,” Ginny smirked. “Not even your housemates talk to you. Pathetic.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he snapped.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh God, Malfoy, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Now come along or I’ll hex you.”
She thought fondly of the hex she’d thrown at him years ago, in Umbridge’s office, and when the tips of his ears flushed pink, she knew that he remembered too. Everything had been so easy then, in comparison. The world had been neatly divided into two sides - Gryffindors versus Slytherins, the DA against the Inquisitorial Squad, and when the opportunity arose, everyone was only too happy to throw jinxes at each other.
Now, the lines weren’t drawn clearly any more, and nowadays, you couldn’t just hex your enemies when you wanted to, you had to protect them against your other enemies… It was all very complicated, and it gave Ginny a headache. “Look, the quicker we get done, the sooner you can go back to your house. All right?”
She didn’t wait for an answer, she just started walking again. Scowling, he followed her and didn’t say another word till they reached the portrait that hid the entrance to the tower. “You’re not bringing him in, dear?” the Fat Lady asked, appalled.
“Yes,” Ginny forced out through gritted teeth. “Bubotuber Pus.”
The Gryffindor common room was almost empty, as it was still early evening and most students were out enjoying the few hours before the new, stricter curfew was enforced at eight. A couple of third-years sat in the armchairs by the fire, but when they saw Malfoy, they hurried out, glancing at Ginny nervously. Rumours about him had definitely spread, even to those who’d been too young to witness anything that had happened a year and a half ago.
Well, all for the better. If no one was there, he might not feel the urge to needle and humiliate her all night.
“This is…very gaudy,” he said from behind her. Ginny turned to see him looking around, a frown on his face. “All that red and gold…”
“Well, they are our house colours.” Dropping her books on the table, she took off her robe to hang it over the back of a chair and stretched tiredly, happy to be rid of the heavy tomes. For a moment, she thought that he was looking at her with a strange glint in his eye, but when she glanced at him, he was scowling as usual. “Sit. Let’s get to work.”
They got through Transfiguration and Potions well enough. He seemed to like those subjects, at least marginally more than the rest, and Ginny was surprised to discover that he was actually fairly good at Potions. And even though Harry, Ron and Hermione had often complained about him, his grades couldn’t have been a result of Snape’s favouritism only.
When they came to the weekly chapter on Defence Against the Dark Arts though, he started to get defiant. “I don’t need this rubbish,” he sneered, throwing down his quill so the ink splattered all over the table and Ginny’s Transfiguration essay. “Those defensive spells won’t be any good in battle, and especially not without practice. I know a load of curses that--”
“Illegal curses, you mean,” she cut in.
“Well, the Death Eaters aren’t going to play fair either,” Malfoy pointed out.
Something about the way he said that rubbed her the wrong way. Ginny stopped erasing the blots of ink from her essay and leaned across the table to look at him with narrowed eyes. “You say that as if you have nothing to do with them,” she said in a low voice. “You are one of them, remember? They’re your people, those bastards.”
“They’re not my people,” he snapped, so angrily that Ginny drew back, startled. “What do you think I did this whole last year? I tried to get as far away from them as I could.”
“That’s why you got caught,” she said, with dawning realisation. “You wanted the Aurors to get to you first.” She chuckled. “And I thought you were just stupid.”
“I wasn’t trying to get caught! They were watching my house! I was looking for…” Huffing, he fell silent.
“Your house? You actually went back to your house?” She snorted. “To look for what? Money? One of your precious family heirlooms? Don’t you have secret vaults abroad or something? God, Malfoy, why’d you risk getting caught for something so--”
“I was looking for my mother! I couldn’t just leave her behind!” he yelled, pink with anger. “And now she’s gone, and I have no idea what happened to her, and McGonagall said they didn’t capture her, so for all I know, she could be,” he broke off and with a furious, helpless roar shoved the heavy table so hard that it toppled over and crashed to the floor.
Shocked, she stared at him as he slumped in his chair, cradling the hand with which he’d pushed the table. His face was twisted with pain and unhappiness, and he looked like he would cry.
Ginny wanted to mock him, she really did. He would’ve done it to her had she been in his place. But when she opened her mouth, she found that she couldn’t make fun of him while his face was crumpled and twisted with misery and his eyes were brimming with tears.
You didn’t kick someone when he’d already been brought to his knees. It wasn’t what her parents had taught her.
“Hey,” she murmured gently, as if to a child, reaching for his hand. “Let me see that.”
“No,” he spat, but his voice quavered and he didn’t sound vicious at all, just desperate. “Leave me alone. Just leave me alone for one bloody minute!”
“No,” she countered, “I’m supposed to look after you. You’re not going to hurt yourself while I’m with you.” She took his wrist carefully to examine his hand. His fingers were very pale, lined with bluish veins that pulsed rapidly beneath her careful touch. The skin on the outside was very soft, but when she turned his hand over in hers, she saw that his palms and fingertips were scratched and callused.
Well. He’d finally been brought low enough for menial labour then, while he’d been on the run. The thought strangely pleased her. No man should have soft hands like a lady of leisure. She frowned, remembering what he’d said about his mother. Ginny didn’t particularly care if that bitch had met an untimely end, but you didn’t say that to someone who was obviously scared and cared greatly about his mum.
“Shh,” she murmured soothingly when he squirmed and tried to pull away, but he seemed to be hurting too much to put up a fight, anyway.
He let her prod him, wincing when she poked him too hard. A large bruise was forming on the back of his hand, stretching across his knuckles. “Ow.”
“Sorry,” Ginny said. “I don’t think it’s broken, but we should go to the hospital wing.”
“No,” he muttered. “Just leave me alone.”
She sighed. “Malfoy, those two or three times that I met your mother, she seemed rather,” Bitchy. Mean. Vicious. “intimidating. Surely she’ll be fine on her own, for a while?” And surely someone who could endure decades of marriage to Lucius Malfoy wasn’t all that fragile. “Why would the Death Eaters want to kill her, anyway? I thought her sister,” and her husband, but Ginny gracefully omitted that, “was, um, one of Voldemort’s favourites?”
“My aunt.” He gave a wet snort. “She’s only loyal to Him. And now that I’ve failed, and they didn’t get to me before the Aurors did, He’ll take his anger out on my mother. You have no idea what they do to people they want to get rid of.”
“I think I do,” Ginny said grimly, remembering her encounters with the Death Eaters. “But if they’re after her, she couldn’t possibly stay at your house, it wouldn’t have been safe. If the Aurors watched it, surely the Death Eaters did, too. She couldn’t leave you any clues if she didn’t want to get caught.”
He drew a shuddering breath, but looked a bit more hopeful. “I suppose,” he said, peering at her through wet lashes. “What do you care, anyway?”
“I know what it’s like to worry like that,” she answered quietly. “All my family are involved in the war in some way or other.”
“And we’re here.” He scowled. “Being completely useless.”
Ginny sucked in a surprised breath. She hadn’t thought she’d ever agree with Malfoy. It felt strange. Uncomfortable, somehow. She let go of his hand and waved her wand so the table turned itself upright again, then Accioed their papers and stationery. “Well, where else would you go?”
“I don’t know.” He huffed softly. “I never meant to come back here. Sod McGonagall and this stupid school.”
“Shut up,” Ginny said hotly, even though she felt none too kindly towards the Headmistress either, right then. That was different. He had no right to talk this way. “It’s been our home for years, and Dumbledore and McGonagall fought hard to keep it open so we could come back, and now we owe it to them to--”
“I don’t owe them anything,” he said sullenly. He looked down at the translucent rings around his wrists, glowing with their magic. “This is all Dumbledore’s fault, anyway.”
“And how’s that?” She was actually curious what he’d say. God, his perception of the world around him was so warped.
“He should’ve done…something,” he muttered. “He knew all along what was going on in sixth year, and he didn’t… He just waited, and then it was too late.”
“What, so now it’s Dumbledore’s fault that you almost killed Katie, and Imperiused Madam Rosmerta, and everything else? You could’ve gone to him and asked for help, you know?”
He looked struck, as if that hadn’t even occurred to him. “No,” he said at last.
“Why not?” Ginny asked. “He would’ve helped you.”
“I didn’t want his help,” Malfoy said loudly, suddenly angry again. “I didn’t want to beg that senile old fool, I wanted to…” He broke off, his face twisting, his fists clenching in helpless rage. “I wanted to do something, something my parents would be proud of! And now my mother’s being hunted because of me, or worse--” He bit his tongue.
No. Not even the Malfoys could be so horrible that they’d actually want their son to affiliate himself with Voldemort. Ginny refused to believe it or she’d be forced to feel sorry for him and everything would become even more difficult. “Malfoy,” she said seriously, “do you really think your parents wanted you to do something so dangerous, so incredibly stupid.”
“No,” he snapped. “I know that now, all right?” He huffed. “I don’t know why I even… Leave me alone!”
He pushed back his chair and tried to get past her, but Ginny wouldn’t let him get away like this, not when she’d finally found out some things, looked past the cruel façade he always put up. She wanted to understand this, wanted to figure him out, just so she’d finally know why he had to be so mean and hateful all the time.
She grabbed his sore hand and forced him, yelping, back into the chair. “No. Not before you tell me a few things. What are Voldemort’s plans?”
“I don’t know!” he yelled. “Kill Potter?”
Ginny’s stomach lurched. She shook him. “And you have no idea how?”
“What does it matter, how?” he sneered. “Crucio him till he begs for death, probably, and then--”
She slapped him. “Shut up!”
“You asked!” he screamed back at her. “Don’t ask me if you can’t stand the truth, you stupid little girl!”
Ginny’s mouth snapped shut. She exhaled harshly. Stupid little girl. The insult shouldn’t have touched her, but it did. It was a little too close to what McGonagall had said...her greatest fear, which occupied her mind late at night when she couldn’t sleep and thought of Harry. He’d left her behind because he didn’t want to endanger her…but he’d taken along Ron and Hermione. That still stung, even after all this time and though she’d told herself time and again that it was silly. Surely he hadn’t meant…
“Tell me something useful,” she demanded flatly. “Something worthwhile. Then I’ll tell McGonagall that you cooperated, and she might…”
His face tightened. His eyes glazed over, became stony and hard till the only emotion she could see on his face was anger, none of that fear and desperation that had been there only a few minutes before. “I don’t want to cooperate with you,” he said coldly. “I don’t want you as my saviour, so stick it. And I can’t tell you anything, anyway.”
Ginny wondered whether he couldn’t or he wouldn’t. “So you’re completely useless?”
“Fuck you, Weasley,” he sneered, and Ginny would’ve very much liked to reply in kind, but that would’ve been childish and stupid.
Her temples throbbed with a headache. She was so tired of being childish and stupid. She wanted to leave behind the image of stupid little Ginny at last and do something that’d make a difference. Something new and unexpected.
And she could start right now. She smiled, a tad wickedly. “All right, Malfoy. I forgive you.”
His head snapped up. “What?”
“I forgive you,” she repeated generously. It felt good to say it, she realised, surprised. Perhaps McGonagall, Dumbledore had been right, and they should’ve tried to mend their fences years back. Things might have happened differently.
Or perhaps not. “I didn’t ask you to,” he snapped, and the warm, contented feeling was cut short. “I never even did anything to you.”
Ginny felt her face flush with a hot rush of anger. “Excuse me? I fought against your mates that night. My brother got bitten by Greyback.”
His expression was tight and cruel. “That was the night the war started,” he said. “You protected yours, and I protected mine. So who’s in the wrong? Who?”
“Perhaps the person who, oh, endangered all the students and got Dumbledore killed?”
The colour drained from his face, his shoulders slumped, and as the vicious scowl faded away, he just looked bitter and sad, much older than his eighteen years. “I didn’t want to do it,” he said quietly. “I didn’t!”
“Yes, right,” she sneered.
“I didn’t!” he yelled. “My friends were here too! Do you think I wanted Greyback to come here, that filthy, disgusting…” He broke off, breathing harshly. “I had to do it, or they would’ve killed me right then,” he finished flatly. “And now it’s all for nothing, because they’re going to kill me, anyway.”
Before she knew what she was saying, she told him, “You’re not going to get killed.”
It was what she’d been telling herself for months. It was what she thought about every morning when she woke up, and every night just before she went to sleep, like a prayer. It would all be fine, they’d all live, and in the end, they’d be happy. Her family, and Harry, and Hermione, and all her friends. And even Malfoy.
“You have no idea what it’s like, out there,” he told her bitterly.
“And you have?” she retorted. “You’ve never been in a fight, have you? All you’ve done is run.”
“I’ve seen Him, I’ve been there when He punished people who’d displeased Him…” He shuddered. “How is Potter going to stop Him? He’s far too powerful.”
“Harry will find a way,” Ginny said, believing it more at that moment than she had in a long time. She had to, just to prove him wrong. “He’s always found a way.”
“Potter will die,” Malfoy said, and the fact that he didn’t sound smug or pleased or even marginally happy, just glum and resigned, frightened Ginny more than any outburst of fury could have. Malfoy really was scared to death.
“You’re wrong,” she told him, her voice wavering slightly. “You’re wrong.”
He didn’t even seem to have any energy left to protest. “Whatever.” When he walked away this time, she didn’t stop him.
They didn’t speak of the incident in the common room again, didn’t acknowledge that they’d actually talked, but in spite of the morbidity of it all, Ginny found in the following days that strangely, it had eased some of the tension between them. Granted, he still made her furious almost every day, enough so that she wanted to hex him silly on a regular basis, but being stuck together was easier, somehow, knowing that he was a person too, a person who feared for his family and this life they all led.
He needed something to do, Ginny thought during one of their homework sessions, while he was grumbling and whining beside her. He had to stay inside the castle all the time and with her for most of the day, and if he was left to stew without any distractions, he’d go crazy. Crazier. He needed something to take his mind off things. Something to give him a purpose.
Come to think of it, so did she. So one day after class, she stayed behind to talk to McGonagall about an idea she’d come up with.
The Headmistress bustled about her classroom, Banishing supplies to their cupboards and checking all the locks on her many animals’ cages. “Do you really think this is a good idea, Miss Weasley?” she asked, appalled, when Ginny had told her what she wanted to do. “The club in and of itself, all right, it might help the students feel less anxious, and better prepared, I can see that, especially now that there’s no Defence teacher. But involving Mr Malfoy in this?”
“I’ll be there with him,” Ginny said. “He’s quite good at defensive jinxes and counter-curses, when he can be bothered to practise,” and wasn’t that incredibly ironic, Malfoy being good at Defence Against the Dark Arts? “and he’s inventive. He’ll be useful.”
McGonagall pursed her lips. “We mustn’t underestimate him,” she countered, bracing her hands on her desk. “We did once, and,” she sighed. “Even though the cuffs won’t allow him to cast any really harmful spells, he’s--”
“He’ll be far more dangerous if he gets any more restless and desperate,” Ginny interrupted. McGonagall stared at her, a crease between her brows. “Sorry, Professor. He just,” she broke off, deciding to ask straight out. “Do you know anything about his mum?”
“I don’t know anything about Mrs Malfoy’s whereabouts, but I taught her as a student and I am sure she can fend for herself. To be honest, there are other things that concern me more,” McGonagall said testily. Her face softened. “I admire your empathy, Miss Weasley, after all that he did to your family, your fathers’ enmity. I commend your efforts, but be careful.”
Ginny would’ve liked to scream. First she was supposed to give Malfoy another chance, and now that she did, she was being told that it came with strings attached? “Didn’t you want me to ‘reintegrate’ him?” she asked crisply. “Well, he needs something to do.”
“Yes, that’s what I meant when I told you to assist him with his homework,” McGonagall told her. “I’m glad you’ve seen that it was only prudent.”
Ginny huffed impatiently. Another lecture? “I didn’t know how afraid he is. Just like the rest of us.” And something about the way he’d looked when he’d talked about his mother had touched her. He was terrified. She knew the feeling all too well, and she recognised it in him.
The Headmistress studied her face for a few more moments, then sighed deeply and dropped her eyes to the papers on the desk before her. “I’m starting to think that I’m getting too old to watch over teenagers,” she said. “I’ll trust your judgement, Miss Weasley, but keep in mind that Mr Malfoy is a criminal, even though he seems to have calmed down and changed his ways a bit…he’s even handed in his work on time…but--”
“I know,” Ginny nodded. “I know, Professor. But I believe we can risk it.”
“I can only hope you are right,” McGonagall said tiredly. “Albus so wanted that boy to come around, after all.”
“He will,” Ginny said. She didn’t know why she felt so certain, she just did. Malfoy had changed a little bit, and that should be encouraged.
The new DA didn’t have to meet in secret, and although Ginny kind of missed the thrill of the forbidden, she was happy that this time around the whole school would be participating, at the same time that the necessity of teaching self-defence to her fellow students made her incredibly sad. The newfound unanimity was the flipside of the looming danger they were all in.
But while most students were thrilled to have something to do at last, complimenting and thanking Ginny profusely for persuading McGonagall to allow this, Malfoy remained refreshingly hostile. His persistent pessimism was so absolute, it bordered on ridiculous, and so he actually made it easier for Ginny to laugh off all gloomy thoughts.
She drew up enthusiastic lesson plans, and when they practised in the Great Hall for the first time, they even had a banner which Ginny had proudly fixed above the door while Malfoy had looked on, refusing to help.
“It’s bad enough you’re making me help with this stupid club,” he’d sneered.
“Come on,” Ginny had told him, rolling her eyes. “I need an assistant, and we spend most of the day together, anyway. It’s going to be fun.”
“Weasley, we don’t have fun together,” he’d said, like it was one of the great truths of the universe, and weirdly, Ginny had taken offence to that.
Everyone else was having fun as they practised their first spell, Expelliarmus, and she was sick and tired of Malfoy excluding himself from what the rest of the school was doing, as if he still believed that he was better than the rest of them.
She demonstrated the spell a few times with Luna, the only other member of the original DA, then, as the others were happily practising, went over to where Malfoy was sitting by the wall and hissed, “Why are you so determined to be an arse?”
“This is stupid,” he hissed back. “Fat lot of good this kind of spell is going to do in a real battle.”
“We’ve used this, and others, very successfully against the Death Eaters in the past,” Ginny told him icily.
He snorted. “Probably because it’s so stupid they never expected it.”
“All right,” she snapped at him. Some of the students who stood nearby turned around curiously, and Ginny hastily lowered her voice again. “I thought you might like this, because usually you love showing off, but perhaps McGonagall is right. Get out.”
His brow furrowed. “McGonagall? What did she say?”
Ginny crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at him. “That I shouldn’t trust you.” She was gratified when he scowled at the thought of McGonagall and her talking about him behind his back. “And the way I see it, if you don’t help us, you obviously don’t want us to be prepared against an attack, and that can only mean that you’re--”
“I’m not with them.” His voice rose along with the flush of anger that tinted his cheeks pink.
She was vaguely aware that all movement and noise behind her had stopped, and the whole school was probably looking on as she fought with Malfoy. “Prove it,” she said, loudly enough for everyone to hear.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you.”
“No, you don’t,” she replied. “It’s up to you.”
Malfoy looked at her warily, then glanced past her at the others, only just becoming aware that their conversation was no longer private. He rolled his eyes.
“You can be with us,” Ginny whispered, cocking her head. “We need everyone. Don’t be stupid.”
His movements were edgy and tense when he stood and walked towards her, not at all like his usual swagger. “All right,” he said tightly. “I’ll help.” He made it sound like he was doing her a great favour, but from up close, she could see the corners of his mouth droop. He was nervous. It was a wonderful, wonderful sight.
“Great!” she said, grinning when he winced at her exaggerated cheerfulness. “You take this third of the class,” she pointed to the right, “Luna this here in the middle, and I’ll be over there. Let’s get started on something new!”
And for two weeks, it actually worked. It was nothing short of a miracle, considering that she and Malfoy were at each other’s throats almost every lesson over the correct way to swish or flick or pronounce an incantation while Luna looked on patiently. But strangely enough, their students improved.
“Very good,” Ginny complimented when the first fourth-year managed to produce a clearly visible Patronus. “Those are very useful against Dementors. Read up on them, will you? No no, don’t hold your wand like that, you’re going to take someone’s eye out--”
A loud crackle across the room caught her attention, and she turned to see a wand sail through the air, past Luna and towards Malfoy. He caught it, apparently just having disarmed a trembling little Ravenclaw who could be no older than twelve.
“Dammit, are you stupid? It’s Impedimenta! Im-pe-di-men-ta!” he shouted at her, while Luna gently patted her shoulder. The girl looked ready to burst into tears.
Before she could start crying, Ginny had stalked through the room and grabbed Malfoy’s arm. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?”
“Like who?” he retorted, fixing his glare on her. His cheeks were flushed, and through the sleeve of his shirt, she could feel that his skin was hot and sweaty. He was really getting into this. “You’re not my size, Weasley.”
He raised his chin and squared his shoulders, as if to prove his point, and for the first time, Ginny noticed how tall he really was. She had always liked tall blokes, and to discover anything attractive in Malfoy of all people annoyed her to no end.
She grabbed his collar and yanked till they were almost nose to nose. “What are you doing?” she hissed. “She’s a first year!”
“She’s here to learn,” he fumed. “And she can’t even remember how to say the spells!”
“She. Is. A. First. Year,” Ginny repeated. “You’re not supposed to make her even more scared and insecure!”
He raised his eyebrows, looking almost amused. “You think I’m scary and disconcerting, Weasley?”
Before Ginny could reply, Luna said, “Oh, no, don’t worry, we’re not scared of you.” She smiled at him serenely. “We just think you’re very odd.”
In spite of herself, Ginny felt laughter bubble up inside her, threatening to burst forth uncontrollably as Malfoy flushed even more deeply.
“Don’t you tell me I’m odd,” he snapped at Luna, who told him calmly, “It’s all right, you know. It’s amusing, really.”
“I’m not amusing,” he snarled, droplets of sweat flying everywhere as he shook his head, and Ginny exploded with laughter.
“Malfoy,” she gasped out between giggles, “Go sit down, you horrible, horrible teacher.”
( Part 2 )
( Part 3 )
( Part 4 )
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you’d like to recieve: A 7th-year fic (it can be either Draco's or Ginny's) that incorporates the events of HBP. I do not want to see Ginny tortured or hurt. I'd like them to be together (by choice) at the end without being pure fluff.
The tone/mood of the fic: Suspense, mystery, or drama (or some combination) along with a bit of humor, if you can manage it. A surprise ending would be great but not absolutely necessary.
A theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: "I hated you then. But I started to think differently about you when" and then fill in the rest however you want. Either Draco or Ginny can say that, but one of them must say it and his/her reason. (Please try not to be predictable on this part - surprise me!)
Canon or AU? Canon preferred.
Rating of the fic you want: Any
Deal breakers (what don’t you want): Total smut, fluff, or depressing angst.