Heh...sorry about this. You see, I *had* the entire first chapter done and ready to post, but..the disk I saved it on broke and...all was lost. Well, an essay I'd already handed in and the first chapter were lost, so..yea. Then there's this whole school thing. I guess people actually expect me to 'go' and 'learn'. These assumed responsibilities lead to 'doing homework' and 'studying'. Blegh on them all, I say! Blegh on them all!
Disclaimer: I own Holden, though I'm not proud of him; Ian, whom I refuse to admit, is based off of some cool guys I know; and the plot. Rowling owns everything else except Dorothy Parker (and her fabulous work), including me, not that I mind. Don't sue.
********************
Scratch a Lover, Find a Foe
Chapter 1
The first rays of late August's dawn were streaming through the open windows of the owlery, slowly climbing the wall opposite, settling on the legs and glinting off the talons of the lowest-roosting owls. They stirred slightly at the new warmth, opening an eye before closing it again, decidedly dozing until anybody needed them. It wouldn't do to wake up without having anything to deliver or anyone to coax a treat from.
A few moments later, the owls had returned to their dreams, their chests rising and falling in a slow, constant rhythm with their relaxed breathing. Every owl that is, except for one. His name was Pigwidgeon, and he was the smallest of them all, "the runt of the litter", one might say. He was a very lively owl, always exerting more excitement and energy over delivering something than, in the opinion of most other owls he encountered, was necessary.
It took quite a bit of time for the little brown owl to calm himself down, and even now he was taking sluggish steps from one foot to the other, easing himself into sleep and dreams of being rewarded for the completion of a long, hard journey. That's all he really wanted, anyway: to be praised by his owner for flying half the world over with a truly important delivery. Of course, he'd be happy just in the flying part of the whole plan. He hooted in soft contentment and began to lower the last eyelid that remained open.
That's when he saw the door move forward just a little, and a flash of red before a girl slid through the crack and turned around to shut the door. Pigwidgeon didn't need the sunrise igniting her hair to know who she was. This girl was Virginia Anne Weasley, and while he didn't usually have any deliveries to make for her, Pigwidgeon knew that her appearance here meant an assignment, and maybe, if he did a good job, a treat. He swooped down to greet her.
Ginny managed to push the door back into the frame without making too much noise. She leaned back against it and sighed quietly, glad that she'd made it all the way to the breezy tower without her housemates or the other prefects knowing it. She rolled her eyes as she thought about them striding through the halls before breakfast because they "felt like it", or so Hermione had said, when she'd been a prefect the year before.
Actually, Ginny had learned the real reason why they were known to wander the castle before breakfast. Receiving the congratulatory letter and her prefect pin over the summer had sucked her into their world of privilege and...responsibility. That meant meetings every Thursday...morning meetings, before classes, before breakfast, before anyone should be legally allowed to rise.
Ginny had actually skipped this one, for this purpose, to slip up to the owlery, to owl Ian... She didn't have much more time to ponder it, because out of the corner of her eye she saw what resembled a very small bludger being hurled in her direction. She shrieked and dropped to the hay-strewn floor, rolling out of the way. When she came to a stop, she felt something light on her arm, something that was nipping her exposed wrist. Nipping? She peeked out from behind her hands at the little owl looking at her proudly.
"Pig!" Ginny was so surprised that she forgot herself, but remembered when her voice erupted and quashed the silence around her. She clamped a hand to her mouth before continuing in a strained whisper. The owl began hooting loudly, in greeting, most likely, but in any case, someone might catch her skipping the meeting! Or worse! Owling a boy! "Pig, shut up! You'll wake the whole of England!"
His hoots came more loud and jovial than before as he took to the air and began flying circles over her head. Ginny raked her hands through her robe pockets frantically. Something had to keep him quiet! Ah ha! She'd found a treat, at last! She set it on a windowsill, waiting for him to come down to eat it before petting him. "Listen, Pig," she explained slowly. "I can't use you because you're not my owl, and Ron doesn't even know I'm here, so no, I don't have his permission."
Pig only ate his treat and looked at her curiously. "Besides," she continued. "I don't mean to chagrin you, Pig, but I can't use you for this letter. You see, Ian works with Percy and Dad at the ministry, and I don't want my family to see Ron's owl because...it would rouse suspicion, you know? Dad would be confused that I'm owling an older boy, and probably act protective over me. I don't really know, though, because it's never happened before. He might just let it go.." she trailed off thoughtfully, never noticing that Pig had returned to his place between two older owls, leaving Ginny to her thoughts.
Ginny glanced down at the folded parchment in her small pale hands. She was continuing the Game with Ian. Inside she had copied, as legibly as she could manage after what had happened the night before, a short poem by a very eccentric American woman named Parker.
The redhead unfolded the parchment slowly, taking another moment to glance over it, to draw out everything she could from it, looking for meanings, blatant or hidden, that she may have missed. Because she knew that Ian would find them all, and she didn't want to be surprised with his reply.
Ian,
The first time I died, I walked my ways;
I followed the file of limping days.
I held me tall, with my head flung up,
But I dared not look on the new moon's cup.
I dared not look on the sweet young rain,
And between my ribs was a gleaming pain.
--Parker; Epitaph
This one wasn't too hard to figure out, and that was just the type of challenge that he needed right now, with how busy he was at the Ministry or...where ever he was. Ian knew how to play the Game, and he wouldn't disappoint. So, Ginny reasoned with herself, he won't be surprised to find the second piece of parchment… Her hands changed parchment gently, but quickly. She really wanted to get down to breakfast.
Well? Who else were you expecting? If you couldn't figure out what he said just from the fact that I sent you Dorothy Parker, well…then you're slipping. I'm only kidding. Here's your key. Judge your deciphering abilities accordingly.
Harry is not interested in me as more than a friend. This was surprising to me, because I thought that if he rejected me it would be because of my sisterly demeanor. I know, I know, "take more risks, Ginny; you'll never know unless you try…blah blah". Look, kid, that's all I got from you this summer, and now look at me!
Which brings me to my next point. The three stanzas, Ian, summarize my life and emotion harboring up until last night. In this case, 'dying' can represent my heart breaking, risk taking, or emotion expressing. These were so difficult that it really did feel like I was dying. It was something I avoided as much as I could. I got so used to not trying to be myself that…I almost forgot who I was.
That's not a good thing for anyone, but especially for me because…my first year at Hogwarts wasn't exactly the Utopian experience. But you know that already. Still, I could ignore the risks, (new moon's cup), feeling ashamed at not being as docile as others thought, and the pain that was 'between my ribs'. At least I could deal with myself, you know, Ian? I could come to terms and justify why I had kept so much to myself.
Don't want to worry mum and dad, don't want to upset my brothers, don't want Harry to think I'm strange. Well, if my first year didn't forever make that a vain effort, I don't know what did. Oh, not last night. It was a very civil let down. I'm his friend, and he doesn't think of me that way; he'd rather save our friendship for what it is than risk losing it with a deeper relationship.
I smiled and nodded, even managed a polite goodbye, Ian. Aren't you proud of me? I'm acting even older than sixteen, I think, because I'm not nearly as upset as I thought I would be, or bitter in the least. Shouldn't I be throwing a hissy fit or bawling my eyes out? Shouldn't I be plotting my revenge or something? Anything? Well?!
Well...maybe I just thought about it so much that I became apathetic or something. Maybe I didn't really like him all that much by the time I asked him. Maybe that's why I could really care less. It doesn't really matter, Ian. Don't worry about me. I could use some nice, quiet time to gather myself. And...I think I'm going to stay away from love for the rest of the year. It has yet to bless me, so I'm not going to go out of my way looking for it.
Take care, Ian, and be honest with your score!
Your friend,
Virginia Weasley
Yes, she nodded approvingly. It would do. She now glanced up at the sleeping owls, lifted her hand, and sighed when her second-hand robe's sleeve fell down to her shoulder, exposing her thin wrist and skinny, lightly freckled arm. She scowled at the ugly, imposing freckles that dotted it sporadically, but smiled at the big barn owl that was descending to carry her letter away.
Ginny tied the letter to its leg and gave it a treat, smoothing her palm over his brown feathers. "Please take this to Ian Jones, at the Ministry of Magic. It isn't urgent, so you can take your time if you like." The owl hooted indignantly, as if to say 'A good owl never takes his time!' Ginny smiled when he flew out the window and disappeared into the dawn's blinding light.
She tugged on a couple of her fiery red curls as she tried to imagine his face when he would receive her letter. He'd probably push his lengthening black hair out of his soft, gray eyes. He'd probably sigh and let his brow furrow while he analyzed the poem. He'd probably smile at the thought of Ginny using her poetry book during a boring class to write the letter, which she hadn't done! He might know that, she thought, but he would tease her about it anyway.
Ginny smiled warmly. Ian really was a good friend. He was sweet, kind, creative, and he treated her like an adult. Although she could hold her own in a discussion about literature, and soundly defeat him in every match of Wizards Chess they played, the Game had been a way for her to earn even more respect from the quiet, virtuous American. Quiet, handsome, polite, generous, brilliant American...
The sun was warm on her face and her hair was soaking it up, shining illustriously against the dark stone in the walls around her. Why was she leaning on the windowsill again? Wasn't she supposed to be somewhere? Ginny's stomach growled, reminding her. Breakfast! Whirling around, Ginny took only one step before she collided with something hard and...squarish. She squeaked in surprise and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the fall.
And a second later, Ginny was certain that the fall would have come if the hard squarish thing hadn't...caught her? She cautiously opened one eye to see that those were, indeed, arms that had encircled her waist and saved her a bruised bottom.
She pushed herself out of them and smoothed her robes. "Thanks, kid, I was sure I was going to--" she stopped when she looked up, her gaze meeting with gray eyes, like Ian's, but...annoyed. The boy had short, silvery blonde hair that was falling into those eyes haphazardly. His mouth was set in a grim expression, a thin line, and those arms had folded themselves over his broad chest, where a Slytherin crest and a Head Boy badge gleamed in the sunrise. "..fall," she finished slowly.
A deep dread was welling up in her stomach, which had forgotten the hunger that it had been grumbling over just a few moments before. Draco Malfoy had caught her, in more ways than one. "Oh, you're going to fall, alright, Weasley. Do you know how many rules you're breaking? Out of your common room before breakfast, and thus breaking curfew-"
"I'm a prefect, Malfoy," Ginny interrupted and flashed her pin in a feeble defense. "It's Thursday, I had a meeting-"
"That you were not in attendance at," Draco spat, slicing her only thread of hope for a plausible excuse. "Don't interrupt me Weasley, it's not polite." Ginny scoffed. Who was Malfoy to talk about manners? But he held all the cards now, and she would have to be silent until he laid his whole hand all on the table. And if it were a good hand, as his pleased sneer suggested, the splaying of the cards would be a long, painful, dreadful process. Crap.
She lowered her gaze slowly as he continued. "Skipping a prefect meeting, unauthorized use of an owl during breech of curfew, and what kills me the most," Draco stopped to smirk at her growing anxiety.
Little Ginny Weasley, prefect, ace student, and quiet mouse in one, was visibly shaken. Even one of the afore mentioned allegations could mean her pin. Except skipping the meeting. She only had to lie and say she felt ill, and who would accuse honest, perfect, prefect Ginny of lying?
She could probably get away with it now that she looked pale green, like she really was going to be sick any moment, if Draco didn't hurry up and lay down his trump card.
"owling a man." Ginny looked confused for a moment, but then her face contorted into an angry sneer.
"There's nothing wrong with owling anybody, Malfoy. I can't lose my pin for that!" Ginny huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Draco tsked and shook his head in disagreement.
"Maybe you won't lose your pin, Weasley, maybe you won't. But," he fixed his eyes on Ginny, which were storming with cunning and something feral, a horrible satisfaction that was making Ginny nervous again. She gulped. "What would your parents think?"
The trump card.
A Full House for Malfoy, and Ginny held only a pair of twos. She could just see the Slytherin reaching his long, lean arm across the table between them to sweep away his winnings: her dignity, her newfound adult like respect, her parents' confidence in her abilities, her prefect pin. No! She'd worked too hard for a prat like Malfoy to best her like this! She wouldn't have it! She would die first! She wasn't in Gryffindor for nothing!
But she wasn't dealing with a fellow Gryffindor, who could understand, maybe even appreciate why she was being so stubborn and brave with her resolve to fight for everything she'd earned bit by bit. This was a Slytherin, cunning and ferocious, and not just any Slytherin. This was a Malfoy, intelligent foresight and smooth dismissal of morale rolled into one, purely bred, an appallingly beautiful and accepted member of society.
Malfoy was a product of the same mindset that had used her during her first year. He was no different from Lucius, from Tom, from any of them. He could not win now. He could not!
Thinking with the slow, drawling, analytical way that Ian had instilled in her over the summer, through the Game, she began to form a plan. This way of thinking had come slowly and awkwardly to Ginny, but it was highly beneficial, allowing her to see a poem from all sides, from every perspective imaginable, for what it was worth. And if it was that effective on a piece of writing, well. Imagine the perks of using it in a real life situation. This was how Slytherins thought, Ian had assured her. They were able to have such keen foresight because they saw everything like this.
It would be difficult, this plan, but Ginny would have to play her part with all the confidence and impassive flair that she could muster. And when she thought about it, the performance may be even harder for her to carry out than the plan itself. She cleared her throat, visibly relaxing and making herself look uninterested.
She even managed to run her fingers through her hair slowly, boredly, before laying her nonchalant voice on Malfoy...thickly, with only a hint of askance for a challenge. Ginny didn't look at him, not even out of the corner of her eye, because she was sure that his gaze would cause her to falter; like a bird looking straight into a snake's eyes, she would be entranced and sway, and all would be lost before it had been salvaged at all! No, she told herself. Don't look at him. Not yet.
Twirling a curl around her finger, Ginny dragged her response out in a severely bored tone. "It doesn't matter who you tell, Malfoy," she paused to sneak a glance at his reaction. He looked a little less menacing, as though he hadn't actually expected her to sound so calm or collected.
His cynicism returned. "So you're certain that your parents won't object to an off campus love affair between a man and their youngest and only daughter?" He looked so confident in his attempt to trap Ginny, his eyebrows poised suggestively over his laughing eyes.
Ginny wanted to hex him, and indeed her fingers were unconsciously gliding into a light grip around the wand in her robe sleeve. "He isn't a love affair, you moron," she said. "He's my tutor, got that, kid?" Ginny said 'tutor' slowly, as though she was speaking to a child who didn't quite comprehend the mechanics of something as simply complex as why it's important to not talk to strangers.
Draco sighed. The girl really was making this more difficult than it had to be. Shouldn't she be bawling by now? Begging for mercy? For him to keep her dirty little secret? Why was she being so stubborn? Well, wait; she was a Gryffindor, she was a Weasley, more importantly, and if they were infamous for anything besides their ugly orange hair, freckles, and rabbit-like numbers well...it was their poverty. But they were stubborn nonetheless, and known to be rather idiotic when they were worked up over something.
But Ginny wasn't worked up over anything. She was standing in a proud stance, sure, one hand wrapped around her upper arm as her other hand moved slowly in the sleeve opposite it...probably twirling her wand, he thought. The Gryffindor was cool, indifferent, and seemingly unafraid. Seemingly. Draco knew that she had to be terrified. It just didn't add up, her sneaking out of a prefect meeting to owl a man at the Ministry of Magic. A tutor? Please. She was lying through her teeth, and calling him a kid! That would stop, or else.
"Don't call me kid, Weasley. It's not polite," Draco didn't miss a beat even though Ginny scoffed again. "Why would you need to skip a prefect meeting to owl this guy if he's, as you say, legitimately your tutor? Why couldn't you just owl him later, after classes or something?"
Do not falter, do not falter, do not-- "Homework, Malfoy, but you'd know that, since you're Head Boy. And I tutor some third years in the library on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I'm pretty busy on Thursdays, Malfoy, and I wanted to get it sent." She shrugged and made to move past him. Ginny's hunger had returned once she had begun her climb out of the hole Malfoy had dug for her.
Draco stepped in front of her, she sighed in annoyance.
"Look, kid, I'm really hungry, and breakfast has to have started by now, so let me go down-"
"Didn't I say to quit calling me kid? What's this Jones guy your tutor in anyway? I'd have thought your brother's snogging partner would help you with any homework you had."
"Not that it's any of your business-"
"It is, Weasley, I'm Head Boy and I just asked you a question. Answer truthfully or losing your pin will be the least of your worries."
Was he threatening her? Was Draco Malfoy threatening Ginny Weasley over a damn letter? Oh, hell no. "Listen, kid, you've got no probable cause for barging into my post, whether you're Head Boy or a damn Plebe, got it?!" Thanks to Ian, Ginny had learned that American muggle police needed to have a good reason for raking through belongings of suspects. Police were just muggle aurors, after all, and aurors usually had a good reason for doing the same.
Malfoy's sneer twitched in restraining his fury.
Ginny tried once again to move around him, but he just stepped where she stepped, and didn't say anything more. She sighed. "Literature," she mumbled.
"What was that, Weasley? I didn't quite catch that incoherent mumbling."
"Literature," she burst. "He's my tutor in English and American Literature, alright? Now, if you'll let me--Kid, we went over this, breakfast--"
"Quit calling me kid, Weasley."
"I call everyone kid, kid! It's not like you're being particularly insulted here or anything, you stupid git! Merlin! Let me go down to BREAKFAST! NOW!" Ginny roared at him, her hair standing out and framing her face like a lion's mane. The light shining in behind it lit it afire and emphasized the Gryffindor crest on her robes. A fire was burning in her eyes that suggested more than being a famished girl; no, she was more than hungry. She was ferociously annoyed and fed up with Draco's drilling.
He was only stalling for time, she was sure. The git didn't really care that much about whom she was owling and what she was owling; he just wanted her to starve so she could get the boot back to being a Plebe and the howler from her mum on an empty stomach. Idiot! She stormed past him before he could remember why he'd been keeping her there in the first place.
Ginny was halfway down the stairs to the great hall when she heard foot steps behind her, but she wouldn't have turned around to save her life. She was still fuming, and turning around to greet whomever was catching her up meant one of two things: seeing Malfoy and having to listen to him, or taking out her anger on some unsuspecting acquaintance she had. It all depended on who it was, really...and whether or not she kept walking straight for the food.
"Good morning, Gin," a cheery voice broke into her thoughts and actually brought her back to where she was, striding toward the great hall with a pace quickened by fury and hunger. It was Holden Sterns, an American transfer student who'd been sorted into Ravenclaw when he'd arrived with the first years. He was tall, well built, and surprisingly graceful for a seventh year. Holden had penetrating blue eyes and sandy colored hair. His dimples were almost always showing, because Holden was so amiable and easy going. He could laugh at himself and carry a conversation with anyone.
Most of the girls at Hogwarts were already comparing his 'beauty', Ginny hadn't really noticed, to that of Draco and Harry, whose handsome features Ginny had noticed...vaguely. With a 'heart throb' from three of the four houses, the girls were banking on a good chance with at least one of them only a week into the school year. Well, wasn't that just special. Ginny wanted to gag, but was afraid of what might come up from her empty stomach.
"Good morning, Holden," she said as politely as she could manage. "How did you sleep?"
Holden shrugged. "Well enough, thanks. You?"
Ginny shrugged too. "Could have been better. Thank you for asking." They had reached the hall, and students were already taking their places at their tables to eat. Eat, Ginny's stomach sang at the thought. "Well," she began her good bye. "I'll see you later, then?"
"Count on it, Gin," Holden winked at her before striding over to the Ravenclaw table. Ginny sat down at the Gryffindor table beside Ron, across from Harry and Hermione to wolf down her breakfast in silence.
Unbeknownst to Ginny, two students had only recently taken the slightest interest in the youngest Weasley, and were regarding her as if for the first time in their lives. They sat at different tables, slowly picking at their breakfasts and watching her engulf hers.
However, one was looking on appreciatively, wondering about her very inner workings, her daily routine, what her favorite book or subject was, who she valued above anyone else in her world.
The other was staring sullenly at the redheaded Gryffindor. Oh, he wondered about her inner workings, too, but not in such a nice way. What had gotten into that girl? Was it only her hunger that had made her act so oddly that morning?
He wouldn't stand to be treated so rudely, so...inconsiderately. And the girl would learn it too. If it took the whole year.
***************
Holy crap that was long. I really only meant for this to be an introductory chapter, but...I got carried away. Sorry! And no, the gauntlet won't be thrown until the next chapter, even though we know that Draco already considers himself challenged by Ginny's outburst alone, I've got the actual battle of perception coming. Heh heh...
Thank you all the same for staying with it to the end, although I hope it was amusing in some way. *wink* Anyway, if you liked it, and you've got a couple minutes, please review. I'd like to know what you thought! Thanks!
