"Ms. Weasley, please see me after class." McGonagall's words cut through Ginny's reverie like a knife, and she turned away from the window where she'd been watching some Hufflepuff second years having a snowball fight. The professor was watching her with what seemed to be a mixture of concern and exasperation.
"Yes, Professor," she mumbled, embarrassed that she'd been caught not paying attention for the third time that week. She looked sheepishly at Harry, who was watching her with a worried set of bright green eyes. "What? Stop looking at me like that," she told him quietly, so that McGonagall couldn't hear her, and giving her boyfriend a bland smile. He gave her a look that clearly said he didn't believe her, but turned back to the front and resumed listening to the lecture anyway.
It was three weeks before the Christmas holidays of her seventh year, and lately, Ginny hadn't been able to concentrate on anything for more than a few moments. The closer the holidays came, the more distracted she found herself, dwelling on and dreading the thought of going home to the Burrow. She knew she wasn't the only one; Ron had been increasingly inattentive as well. However, although she knew they were experiencing the same anxiety and dread over the prospect of a Christmas without Fred, they hadn't once spoken of it to each other.
The bell rang, and Ginny slowly gathered up her books, buttoning her bag and headed toward McGonagall's desk near the front of the classroom. "I'll meet you for lunch in a few," she told Harry, who gave her hand a squeeze and followed Ron and Hermione out the door.
"Ms. Weasley, please have a seat," sighed the transfiguration professor, gesturing to an empty desk in front of her as she too sat down. Ginny was suddenly reminded of Professor McGonagall's age, and wondered at the fact that she was still teaching while also shouldering the responsibilities being Headmistress. Of course, after the battle of Hogwarts the previous spring, there hadn't been much room for luxuries such as retirement, or very many candidates willing to step up and take the post of Transfiguration professor. Still, Ginny had to hand it to her - she was doing an excellent job of keeping everything together, even after the devastation of last June.
"I've noticed you've been increasingly distracted and withdrawn of late, Ginny. I understand, what with the circumstances of the last year or so...well, you're certainly not the only one appearing a little downcast lately, but nevertheless, you've always been an excellent pupil. Top of your class, without a doubt; you could do whatever you want after graduation. I feel compelled to mention it to you, however, that your work so far this semester has, well…lacked enthusiasm." She fixed her stern gaze on Ginny, which was somehow softened with something that made Ginny suddenly very uncomfortable. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about, or anything I can do for you?"
"N-no thank you, Professor," she stammered, looking down at her tightly knotted hands and feeling her heart race. She hated how nervous other people's sympathy had made her in the last six months, but what could she do? She couldn't talk about what had happened. Not with Hermione, who had always been her closest girlfriend, not with Harry, who shot her worried glances whenever he thought she wasn't paying attention—not even with Ron, who probably would have understood best. "It's really nice of you to ask, but I'm fine."
McGonagall gave her a piercing look, and nodded in a resigned kind of way. "Okay, Ms. Weasley. Best be off to lunch, then."
"Thanks, Professor." She picked up her bag and walked carefully to the door, breaking into a run as soon as the door closed behind her.
*
Voldemort had been killed, and the entire wizarding world had rejoiced—Ginny included. It was a very large relief, knowing Harry wasn't going to die at any moment, and that life could finally be lived without the constantly threatening fear of what might happen. They had suffered serious losses, however, and their triumph had been bittersweet indeed, knowing what it had cost. Fred had been quietly laid to rest next to Lupin and Tonks, in the cemetery erected on the grounds next to Dumbledore's tomb. It was supposed to be a monument to those who had not been able to celebrate the new world they had worked so hard for, but to Ginny it simply served as a terrible reminder of the sorrow that had splintered her family.
The summer had been subdued but busy, with a few high points and many low. Her father had been promoted to being Kingsley Shacklebolt's Undersecretary in the new Ministry administration, replacing Dolores Umbridge, and the Weasleys' financial troubles had ceased. Harry had also been given the Order of Merlin, First Class - the only person still in school to receive it in history, although this had meant considerably less to him than when he had finally, at long last, managed to clear Sirius's name. The paperwork hung in a frame on the wall of the sitting room at Grimmauld Place. Almost all of the Death Eaters had been sent to Azkaban, which was thankfully taken out of the hands of the Dementors, and Hogwarts School was rebuilt, like a phoenix from the ashes.
None of this, however, had stopped Mrs. Weasley from retreating to the sitting room most days and crying softly to herself, while her children moved silently around the rest of the house like ghosts, trying not to disturb her or the silence that had descended upon the Burrow like a thick layer of dust.
Harry had spent most of the summer holidays at Grimmauld Place, since he had no reason to remain at the Dursleys' anymore, although he came to visit at the Burrow frequently. After everything he'd been through, Ginny had suspected he needed some time to himself. Hermione had gone to Australia to bring back her unwitting parents, and break the memory charm she had placed upon them for protection the year before. It had been a tricky operation, apparently, breaking the charm without damaging their, and then explaining why she had had to do what she had done. Percy and George moved back home, and Ron had spent the summer helping out at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley. Although they had kept it open in Fred's memory, George didn't seem to have much enthusiasm for it anymore however, and sales had declined. No one had very much to say during June, or July, or even August, even amid all the excitement and hopefulness of rebuilding everything Voldemort had managed to destroy.
It had been with both trepidation and relief that Ginny had climbed aboard the Hogwarts Express on September 1st, with Harry, Hermione and Ron (finally finishing their seventh year) in tow, and headed back to school one last time. It had thus far been a blissfully uneventful and quiet term, if a little strange; many of the teachers who they had always been blissfully taken for granted were gone, perished in the Battle of Hogwarts, and replacements had been installed, for better or for worse.
Some things, however, would never change, Ginny silently speculated as she sat down next to Harry at the Gryffindor table, and for this she would be eternally grateful. The Christmas decorations had gone up that week, more spectacular than ever before. Everywhere she looked there was holly and mistletoe, icicles and frost. Hagrid had brought in the traditional dozen Christmas trees, and they had been decorated with live fairies and bells that chimed softly whenever anyone walked past.
She helped herself to a large portion the shepard's pie in front of her, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. "What did McGonagall want?" Hermione asked her, as Ginny shoveled food into her mouth in a very Ron-like way.
"Not much. Just told me I was lacking focus, and if I wasn't careful my marks would start to look like Ron's."
"'Ey, my grades aren't tha bad," Ron exclaimed through his mouthful of mashed potatoes. Hermione gave him a disgusted look and tossed him a napkin.
Harry turned to her, and gave her a searching look. "You have been really distracted lately," he said uncertainly, his green eyes questioning her.
"I'm just tired of studying," she said nonchalantly, shrugging flippantly and avoiding his gaze.
"Welcome to the bloody club," Ron said.
"Still, N.E.W.T's are loads better than living out of a tent," said Harry, shaking his head at the memory. "I'll take this over those stewed mushrooms Hermione made any day," he chuckled, gesturing at his plate of roast beef. Ron laughed, and Hermione reluctantly smiled.
"There weren't a whole lot of options," she said stiffly. Harry patted her hand, smiling understandingly.
"Well, I'm off," Ginny said, standing up and throwing her napkin on the table.
"But you just got here!"
"I know, but I need to do some reading before class starts." She bent down and kissed Harry's cheek, waved at the other two and headed out of the Great Hall, toward the library.
It wasn't that she didn't like their company, it was just that more often than not lately, she had found herself desiring solitude. The truth was, she didn't have Muggle Studies for an hour and a half, but she hadn't wanted to sit there anymore, listening to them discuss last year as if it had been a joke. She knew that was how Harry had chosen to cope: if he laughed, he didn't cry, and he had made the personal decision to not dwell on what had happened.
"I need to look forward, not back. Half my life, I've been looking over my shoulder, wondering when Voldemort was going to come for me, but he's gone now. If I focus on what happened, rather than what can happen now that he's gone, it's like he never died. I need to move on," he had told her. And truthfully, she didn't blame him. In fact, she was very happy he had put aside that part of his life and focused on the happier prospects of what was to come. If anyone deserved a bright, happy future, it was Harry. Ginny, however, was having a much harder time of it.
She was so angry about everything that happened, she just didn't understand how anything could ever be okay, ever again. So many people and things had been taken from them - Fred, Dumbledore and Sirius, were just a few examples. She slammed her books down on a table in a distant corner of the library, earning a reproving look from Madam Pince.
Teddy Lupin would grow up without parents, and Harry had had his childhood stolen from him. It wasn't supposed to happen like that, Ginny couldn't help thinking. It was naïve, of course, and she knew that, but she had a very hard time understanding how one person had managed to ruin so many things out of his fear and small mindedness.
She sighed and put her head down in the textbook she wasn't reading. She'd been so tired, lately. All she wanted, really, was to go somewhere far away from everyone and sleep for a very long time. It's the snow, she thought to herself. Snow always made her sleepy and discontent with the world.
"Your hair is trailing in your inkpot."
Ginny's head shot up, and she opened her mouth to verbally abuse whoever had decided to interrupt her quiet time. The words never left her mouth, however; rather unexpectedly, she was looking at Draco Malfoy. Caught off guard, she said, "So?" Inwardly, she winced at herself. Of all the things to say, she'd picked that?
"Just thought you'd want to know." He shrugged and walked to a table across the room, setting up his books and parchment and starting to write, without looking at her again.
She bit her tongue in frustration, wanting to jump up and start yelling at him. She knew it was irrational, but nevertheless, taking out all her pent up fury on Malfoy seemed incredibly appealing at that moment. She stayed where she was, aware that he had never deserved a verbal lashing less so long as she'd known him.
Many of the Death Eaters' children had not returned to Hogwarts that year. Most had been sent to Durmstrang (if their parents had managed to stay out of Azkaban) out of bitterness or pride or humiliation, Ginny did not know. A small number were in Azkaban themselves - Goyle, for example. Malfoy, however, had been one of the few returned to Hogwarts. He had spent a great part of the summer enduring a long trial in front of the Wizengamot in which he had finally been found not guilty of the charges brought against him- Harry himself had personally testified in favor of his innocence, citing the events on top of the lightening struck tower the night Dumbledore died. According to Harry, Malfoy had only done what he had under threat of severe punishment and harm to his family, and at that point, the Ministry had not dared doubt Harry's word.
Malfoy had not thanked Harry, in fact he had not said anything at all to him, cruel or otherwise, but Harry wasn't perturbed by this. He was simply following through on the promise Dumbledore had made Malfoy, moments before he had died—that no harm would come to him if he made the right choices. "Dumbledore would not have wanted Malfoy to go to Azkaban," Harry had said. "No matter what I think of him, he wasn't acting out of malice. He was just trying to protect his family, like the rest of us. He even almost asked Dumbledore for help up there on the tower, he was just a few seconds too late in making his decision."
Lucius, of course, had gone to Azkaban, and most of his assets had been seized by the Ministry. Narcissa and Draco had been left with enough to live a comfortable middle class existence for a small while, at least. The Manor had been taken with everything else, and from what Ginny understood, they had moved into a modest house in a suburb of London somewhere. Even more surprising, Narcissa had opened up a quiet business in Diagon Alley - a small but tasteful restaurant serving reminders of her family's former glory in culinary form.
When Draco returned to Hogwarts, allowed by special permission from McGonagall to have a second chance at his seventh year, whispers had followed him almost as insistently as they followed Harry. For the most part, however, he seemed remarkably immune to them. In fact, Malfoy seemed completely changed altogether- gone was the arrogant, spoiled, vindictive boy who had lounged in self indulgence. In his place was a silent, brooding twin who didn't talk most of the time, and these days he spent the majority of his time studying in the library, seemingly entirely focused on one thing only: doing well on his N.E.W.T's. If he hadn't been Draco Malfoy, one might even have said he seemed humbled.
As a matter of fact, Ginny had not heard him speak all year until right then. Watching him scribble away on his parchment, Ginny realized that what he'd said was far and away the closest he had ever come to being kind to her. He hadn't even insulted her family! It was like the universe had done a back flip and started dancing the conga. She sat there, stupefied and inexplicably angry.
He seemed to sense her ire, and looked up at her from his writing. "Can I help you, Weasley?" There was no trace of the drawl which she had always hated.
She stood up and marched over to his table, incensed and finally loosing her self control. "What did you mean by it?" she demanded.
"What did I mean by what?" he asked her neutrally, blinking.
"What you said! Why didn't you insult me? You've never missed an opportunity to point out how poor I am, or insult my family, or make nasty comments on the color of my hair in all the time I've known you. What the bloody hell do you mean by it?" She was trembling with a rage she didn't understand.
He blinked at her, and she took a moment to reflect on how dark the circles under his eyes were. "I don't know who you're upset at, but it's obviously not me, since I have done nothing wrong. So if you wouldn't mind, I would appreciate it if you'd let me go back to studying in peace."
"What is going on here?"
Ginny and Malfoy both jumped, and turned to see an irate Madam Pince.
"This is a library! Please leave if you're going to make noise."
"But Madam Pince, I wasn't doing anything—it was all her—"
"Out! Get out! Both of you!"
Malfoy shot Ginny a look of pure disgust and started gathering up his notes and books. Quietly, Ginny walked back to her table and did the same. Feeling like all the hot air had been let out of her balloon, she meekly followed Malfoy out the library doors, being shooed by a very angry librarian.
"What's your problem, Weasley?" Malfoy snarled, turning around very suddenly and stopping in front of her.
She stared at him for a moment, then looked down at her feet. "I don't know," she said honestly, suddenly feeling close to tears.
He said nothing, and when she finally looked up, it was just in time to see him turn the corner to the dungeons and disappear out of sight. Slowly, she let out the breath she'd been holding and sank to the floor, head in hands, where she stayed for a long time.
*
"Uh, Ginny?"
Ginny's head snapped up for the second time that day in the same fashion, to find Hermione kneeling beside her and looking at her with a sort of puzzled concern. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"
Ginny shook her head. "I got kicked out of the library for yelling at Malfoy."
"You were yelling at Malfoy? About what?"
"Not insulting me," Ginny told her knees.
Hermione considered her for a moment. Finally, she said, "Do you have a class now?"
Ginny nodded. "I'm not going though, it started fifteen minutes ago."
Hermione nodded also, as if this was what she expected to hear. "Alright, let's go then." She held out a hand to help Ginny up.
"Go where?"
"Just come on," Hermione told her, slinging her giant bag over her shoulder. Reluctantly, Ginny picked up her things and followed.
A few minutes later, the two girls found themselves in front of a giant painting of fruit. Hermione reached up and tickled the pear.
"Wow, so this is how you get into the kitchens?" Ginny said in amazement, as they stepped through the newly revealed doorway and stared up at the domed ceiling with its enormous array of hanging copper pots.
"I'm surprised you didn't know, having Fred and George for brothers," Hermione said dryly. To a house elf nearby, she said, very politely. "We need some tea please." From across the room, a tray came zooming toward them at waist height, supported by several elves.
"Hermione, I thought you didn't approve of the employment of house elves?"
"Well, I don't," she said, pursing her lips, "but McGonagall has followed Dumbledore's footsteps and given them the choice to receive pay if they want. At the moment, I think that's all I can ask for."
Ginny nodded quietly. "So, er...why exactly did you bring me down to the kitchens for tea?"
Hermione fixed her with a shrewd look. "You yelled at Malfoy for not insulting you. This is just the latest in the Chronicle of Ginny Weasley's Weird Behaviors. Something is clearly wrong, Ginny."
Ginny opened her mouth to deny this, but was cut off by Hermione, who raised her hand. "I don't expect you to tell me what's the matter, I know you better than that. If you think I haven't noticed, though, you're wrong. If you want to tell me, I'm all ears. I figured a spot of tea wouldn't go amiss, though."
Ginny nodded. "Thanks, Hermione. You're a good friend," she said quietly, sipping at her mug. "Are you going to tell Harry about this?"
"No, I suppose not. But you should talk to him, you know. He's worried too."
She sighed. "I just...I can't, Hermione. I don't know why, but I can't talk about it. It's just something I need to work through myself."
"I understand," Hermione said, sagely, as if she really did understand this. "Just remember, Ginny, Harry killed Voldemort; he's gone now. This is supposed to be the part where we all live happily ever after."
"Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know."
*
"Son of a bitch," Ginny swore softly to herself. She attempted to light another match, and watched it flicker into life briefly, only to be blown out by the wind. She tried again, with the same result. "Bloody hell, I don't understand these stupid Muggle inventions." The cigarette dangled from her mouth, still unlit.
"Are you smoking Muggle cigarettes, Weasley?"
Ginny looked up and found herself looking at none other than Draco Malfoy, yet again. It had been three days since she'd gotten them kicked out of the library, and the memory came flooding back. She felt herself flush.
"Here." He lit his wand with a flame, and held it up for her. Feeling stupid at not having thought of this herself, and uncertain of exactly what to do, she held the cigarette up to the flame. It smoldered, but did not light. "You want to suck in while lighting it." She did as he told her, and immediately started coughing violently.
"Where did you get them?" he asked her quietly, sitting down a couple seats away from her. They were in the top row of the Quidditch pitch, where she had thought she would not run into anyone.
"I bought them off a sixth year Ravenclaw in my Runes class who said they relieved stress, in a moment of impulsive decision making. I'm not sure I understand the appeal, though, now that I'm actually doing it," she admitted, taking another drag, feeling it burn her throat. "Why do Muggles smoke these things?"
"Because they do relieve stress, it just takes a while to get used to them. Which brand are they?" She showed him. "Lucky Strikes! That certainly was an impulsive decision."
She found she didn't know quite what to say to this. "Why do you know so much about them? You hate Muggles."
He shrugged. "I spent the summer in London, which is full of them. Muggles and cigarettes, I mean."
"There are different brands?"
"Yes, and the ones you have are terrible."
"Good to know, I guess," she said awkwardly. She took another drag, which felt slightly more natural. "Why are you talking to me, Malfoy?" she asked, rather abruptly.
He shrugged again. "I don't know. I don't talk to many people these days, I thought I might branch out a bit." He trace of the old Malfoy smirk flitted across his face. "Okay, so this is branching out a lot. I thought I'd be alone up here, but you apparently beat me to it," he added. "And I was intrigued to find you smoking. It's not something you see a lot of people doing at Hogwarts."
She also shrugged, not quite sure how to justify her actions.
"It's fine, you don't have to explain yourself to me," he said, correctly interpreting her silence.
"If you don't talk to anyone, why bother to climb up here to get away? It seems like a fairly redundant action," Ginny pointed out reasonably.
"I tire of hearing people talk about me in whispers, as if I can't hear them."
"Oh, yeah, I guess I can understand that."
They lapsed into silence.
"Malfoy, I'm sorry I yelled at you the other day in the library and got us thrown out," Ginny told him. "I guess I'm just not used to...well, the new you." She paused, again. "I'm sorry, that was an awkward thing to say." She felt her cheeks grow warm.
"It was an awkward thing to say. Thank you for that, Weasley." He chuckled softly. "I'm used to getting yelled at though, don't worry."
"That was also an awkward thing to say," she pointed out.
"Yes, yes it was." He interlaced his fingers, which were enclosed in thick, expensive looking black gloves. "So, tell me Weasley, why is it that you are the only one at Hogwarts who seems as unhappy as I am?" He turned toward her, and again she noticed how thick and dark the circles under his eyes were, and how sharply they contrasted with his pale, aristocratic features. She couldn't remember ever being this close to him, this long. "I mean, the Dark Lord is defeated, your family can afford to buy you nice things now, and you're dating that speccy midget hero you've spent most of your life hankering after. What could possibly be so bad right now that you've resorted to smoking terrible Muggle cigarettes? I'm very curious."
She stiffened. "Harry is not a speccy midget. He's the same height you are."
"No he isn't, I'm four and a half centimeters taller. And you didn't answer the question," Malfoy countered.
"I don't see what business of yours it is," she told him coldly.
"Oh, it's none of my business at all," he said brightly, with a smile that did not reach his gray eyes. "I'm merely curious. I told you, I don't talk to many people these days, and hearing someone else's grievances might take my mind off my own."
"What's wrong with your life?" Ginny asked him, interested despite herself.
"I asked you first."
"I don't really want to talk about it," she said, flicking the cigarette away from her and wrapping her cloak more tightly around her.
"Alright," he said, indifferently. He pulled a pewter hip flask from inside his jacket and took a swig of it, then offered it to her. Uncertainly, she took it from his and took a swig also. It burned all the way down to her stomach, where it sat slowly warming her insides. "You have had firewhiskey before, haven't you?" he asked her.
"Of course I have, I have six older brothers. Had, I mean," she corrected herself, feeling a sharp twinge at the mistake.
Malfoy looked at her thoughtfully. "He's buried over there with the rest of them, isn't he?" He gestured toward the cluster of graves near the lake in the distance, and then took another drink. He handed it back to her.
She nodded, and took the flask from him once more. "I never go over there, though." She took a large gulp of the firewhiskey and gasped.
"I wouldn't either. It's always struck me as creepy, the way people bury people when they die."
She glanced at him sharply, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol. "Death is a funny thing," she said expressionlessly.
"Mmm," he replied, rather indistinctly. "It's bloody hilarious, you're right."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
"Why are you being nice to me, Malfoy?"
"Why do you insist on asking so many questions, Weasley?"
"Why do you always answer my questions with questions? That's cheating."
"I'm not a Slytherin, not a Hufflepuff. I don't have to adhere to the rules if I don't want to," he quipped, taking yet another swig from the pewter flask.
"This is true, you are definitely not a Hufflepuff."
He cocked his head at her. "Did you just manage to insult me over not being a Hufflepuff?"
"I guess I may have."
"I'm impressed." He grinned, which upon reflection, Ginny didn't think she'd ever seen him do. It was slightly unnerving. He handed her the firewhiskey, and she took another large swallow.
"Does this thing ever get empty?" she asked, hiccupping slightly. She was definitely feeling it now.
"Luckily for us, no. It's charmed to never run out. It's the only thing of my father's I kept when the Ministry auctioned everything off."
She looked at him. "I'm sorry about that." Inwardly, she paused; had she really just expressed sympathy for Draco Malfoy?
"Why? My father did terrible and stupid things, and deserved to go to Azkaban." There was an edge to his voice as he said this that made Ginny slightly uncomfortable.
"Yeah, but he was still your father. Rationale aside, it must have been hard for you and your mum, moving and starting over without him."
He shrugged. "I suppose. I don't know him too well, to be honest. I know what he tried to teach me, and I remember the punishments rendered when I fell short of his expectations. That's pretty much it." He raised the firewhiskey in a mock toast, and took a large gulp of it, handing it over to her and wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he did do. It was the first ineloquent thing she'd seen him do since he had sat down. She emulated him and handed it back.
"I don't know what to say to that," she said, rather more honestly than she had intended.
"So don't say anything. I don't know why I told you, actually. It was just something to say, I guess." He held the flagon between his hands, studying the design on the front. It was a large, heavily wrought, ornate M.
"Your father was a bastard," she said.
"Yeah, I know."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"Maybe not, but you're not wrong." He unscrewed the top again and started to take another drink. "Anyway, your brother was a jerk." He handed her the flask, and she took it from him.
"No, he wasn't, he just thought you were a smarmy git."
"That's probably fair," he conceded. "Can I have a cigarette?"
She took out the pack, took one for herself, and handed them to him along with the firewhiskey. "You're drunk," she told him matter-of-factly.
"It's a distinct possibility." He lit a cigarette with his wand, and held it out for her to do the same. "But you're drunker than I am."
"What makes you say that?"
"Your cloak is open and you aren't shivering."
Ginny looked down at herself and realized he was right. It was a new cloak, black, lined with a soft fleecy material. She began buttoning the cloak clumsily, and then gave up. She couldn't feel the cold anymore, anyway.
"This is the first new piece of clothing I've ever been bought," she told him, looking down at it, and wondering suddenly why she had always minded second hand things so much. They had served the same function, hadn't they?
Malfoy looked at her, considering, and then looked down at himself. "This is the first year I've not been bought a new cloak," he told her, looking for the first time in Ginny's memory, slightly ashamed. There were small pink patches on the top of his cheekbones.
She shrugged. "There's nothing really wrong with it. It looks like it could have been brand new."
"Yeah, I know."
"Malfoy, I'm really drunk."
"Yeah, me too. You know, Weasley, you're not half bad."
"Thanks," she said dryly. "You really are drunk, if you're saying that."
"You know what I mean," he said, shoulders hunched, slurring slightly.
She looked at him seriously, and said, "Yeah, I suppose I do."
They sat in silence for a while, passing Malfoy's hip flask back and forth and smoking Ginny's cigarettes. "These really do get easier to smoke, you're right," she told him after a while.
"They're still terrible cigarettes."
"I'm going to have to take your word on that, I wouldn't know."
"Trust me, next time get something else. You'll notice the difference," he told her confidently.
Ginny started laughing, somewhat drunkenly. "Did you smoke a lot this summer, Malfoy? Living in London, I mean. You just seem to know a lot about it."
He shrugged. "Yeah, I did. It was something to do. I actually made a Muggle friend doing it. He lived in my neighborhood. Probably still does, actually."
She stared at him in shock. "You didn't!"
He nodded seriously. "I did. His name was Jason. He was kind of an idiot, though."
Ginny laughed again, drunker still. He tried to pass her the flask again, and this time she shook her head. "I've had enough, thanks." Malfoy examined the contents, swilling them around gently.
"Yeah, me too actually." He screwed the cap on, and pocketed it. "The sun is setting," he said quietly, almost to himself.
"Malfoy, this is the weirdest day of my life."
"Mine too, Weasley."
She turned to him, and said, "You never answered my question. Why are you being so nice to me?"
He looked at her, and in that moment, she found the shutters behind his eyes had opened, letting her see for the first time what lay far below the deceptively frosty gray depths. "Because you're letting me, Weasley."
*
The first thing Ginny felt upon waking up was an intense dizzying sensation, accompanied by one of the worst headaches she'd ever experienced. She blinked several times, and slowly the world came into focus. She sat up against her pillows and held her palms to her temples, letting out a long, low moan.
The door to her dormitory (thankfully empty, except for herself) opened, and Hermione popped her head in cautiously. "Ah," she said, "you're awake. Good." She came into the room, carrying a tray, upon which was perched a plate of buttered toast, a cup of black coffee, and a steaming goblet. She set the tray on Ginny's nightstand and gingerly sat on the edge of Ginny's bed. "How're you feeling?" she queried gently.
"Mmpphhhh," was Ginny's pained reply.
"I thought as much," Hermione said grimly, handing her the steaming goblet.
"Wazzis?"
"Pepperup Potion. You sound remarkably like Ron in the morning, you know."
Ginny chose to ignore this, taking the goblet silently and draining it in one fell swoop. "This seems rather thought out, Hermione," she said hoarsely, once she had finished drinking the potion. She eyed the rest of the contents of the tray as vapor billowed out of her ears.
"Well, after you stumbled into the common room last night, I figured you'd be needing a pick-me-up in the morning," Hermione told her, patting her knee in a sisterly fashion.
Ginny eyed her cautiously. "What happened last night?"
"From what I gathered, you became rather intoxicated," Hermione told her crisply.
"Did I say or do anything stupid?"
"Well, I asked you if you were drunk, and you told me, 'Bugger off, Hermione, I am not a Hufflepuff', then you staggered up the stairs and as evidenced by the fact that you are still wearing your clothes, probably immediately passed out upon reaching your bed."
Ginny looked down at herself, and realized Hermione was right; she was still wearing the jeans and sweater she had put on the morning before. "Ugh," she said, putting her face in her hands.
"Here, coffee will help," Hermione said placatingly, handing her the mug from the tray. "It happens to the best of us, Gin."
"Have you ever gotten drunk?" Ginny asked the older girl shrewdly.
"Well, no," Hermione admitted. "But your brother and Harry have, and were much more foolish about it, I assure you."
Ginny took a careful sip of the coffee. "I don't know about that," she said darkly, remembering odd tidbits of the drunken conversation with Malfoy on the top of the Quidditch pitch. Hermione chuckled and patted her knee again.
"So, what were you doing, if you don't mind me asking?"
"Deeply stupid things I would prefer not to go into."
Hermione chuckled again. "Fair enough," was all she said.
"I'm glad you find this so amusing. Are you going to tell Ron and Harry about this?"
Hermione considered this for a moment. "I hadn't really thought about it. I suppose not, if you don't want me to."
"That would be lovely, if this could be kept between us." Ginny reached for the toast.
"Okay. You didn't throw up, did you?" Hermione asked her.
"I don't think so," Ginny said slowly. "Although, I can't remember much. I feel like I didn't, though."
"It's probably safe to say that you didn't, then," Hermione said. She paused, then slowly leaned forward and delicately sniffed Ginny's sweater. "Were you smoking cigarettes, Ginny?" she asked after a moment, looking amazed.
Ginny looked sheepishly. "Maybe," she said noncommittally. "How do you know?"
"You smell like my Aunt Celeste, who smokes like a chimney. I'm a Muggleborn, remember? I'm not totally ignorant of these things. Where did you get them?" she asked curiously.
"I bought them off a sixth year Ravenclaw in my Runes class," Ginny said, sighing. "Stop asking me so many questions, you're making my head hurt again."
"Fine, fine, I'll stop. You'll probably want to shower, though, if I may suggest it. It'll make you feel better, and frankly, you reek."
Ginny grunted in response.
"You really do sound like Ron in the morning, it's astonishing."
"Don't you have textbooks to be memorizing or something?" Ginny responded waspishly.
"My, we are cranky this morning, aren't we?" Hermione stood up.
"What time is it, anyway?" Ginny asked, ignoring this.
Hermione consulted her watch. "Almost eleven thirty."
"And it is Sunday, right?"
"Yes, luckily for you." She gathered up the empty dishes and tray and moved toward the door. "Seriously, take a shower, you'll be glad you did."
"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny said, before Hermione managed to close the door.
"You're welcome."
Freshly showered and feeling marginally better, Ginny headed down to the Great Hall, for lack of anything better to do. As soon as she entered the double doors, her eyes darted over to the Slytherin table and made eye contact with Malfoy, who was looking directly at her. For a moment, they stared unblinkingly into each others' gazes. Then, Malfoy broke eye contact and continued reading the newspaper stretched out in front of him. He had given her no indication anything had even happened; he was cool, impassive, and silent. Ginny sighed inwardly; what had she expected, after all?
The next week and a half passed without incident, and again she found herself sinking into the same gloom as before. Teachers droned, classes dragged, and it all slipped past Ginny in a blur. Gryffindor won their last game of the term against Ravenclaw, despite Ginny's lackluster playing; Harry performed a dive only Harry could, outstripping the other seeker so impressively there were sniggers from the Gryffindor stands.
Malfoy hardly even looked at her, but as the days passed and put distance between their night on the top row of the Quidditch pitch, Ginny found it hard to care. She had other things to worry about, after all.
It also snowed again, covering the old layer in a fresh and fluffy, soft, white coat, inspiring several snowball fights and a large snowman which looked suspiciously like Filch. Ginny felt as if she were trying to hold the last couple weeks before the holidays like water in her hands, and seeing it merely seep between the cracks of her fingers. Before she knew it, she was in her dorm getting ready for the Yule Ball, the night before they were supposed to go home for the winter holidays.
She was very seriously considering skipping it altogether. There she was, in front of her mirror; her hair was done up in an elaborate twist, she was wearing the new dress robes her mother had bought her, and her makeup was just so. None of this, however, could hide the unrest and agitation behind her eyes, if one looked closely enough. She smoothed the front of her robes uneasily.
"Ginny, are you coming? Harry's waiting for you." One of her roommates, Sarah, popped her head in the door, looking curious as to what was taking so long. "You look so pretty, Gin. That gold-green is so perfect on you."
"Yes, yes, I'm coming," she responded, rather more snappishly than she meant to and ignoring Sarah's seemingly gratuitous comment.
"Fine, fine," Sarah said airily, rolling her eyes and shutting the door once again. Ginny supposed the other girl was probably used to her moodiness at this point.
Ginny sighed and dusted her cheeks one last time, unnecessarily. "I guess there's nothing for it but to go," she muttered unhappily to herself. Clutching her skirts in one hand, she swished out the door before she could change her mind and headed down to the common room.
Harry was waiting for her at the base of the stairs, looking very handsome in his new scarlet colored robes (he had long since grown out of the green). She smiled when she saw him, waiting apprehensively. He smiled back, and presented her with something in a clear plastic case. "You look wonderful," he told her sincerely.
"You're looking pretty dapper yourself, Mr. Potter," she said, her smile much less forced now. "What's this?"
"It's a corsage. Muggle boys apparently give them to girls on formal occasions. Do you like it? Hermione suggested we all do it, I think she made Ron get her one too," he added nervously.
Ginny removed the iris with its spray of baby's breath from the plastic case, which she set aside. "It's beautiful, Harry. Thank you," she said, kissing him on the temple and pinning it to the front of her gown. "Like this?"
"I don't think you could look any more lovely if you had bathed in Mrs. Glamour's Beautifying Potion," he told her.
She made a face at him and said, "Oh stop. I'm going to puke all over your nice new dress robes."
He laughed. "Ready to go down?" He proffered his arm.
She sighed. "Yes, I suppose it's that time."
*
The Ball had, surprisingly enough, been Professor McGonagall's idea. "We need to raise morale," she had stated bluntly to Professor Flitwick, in a conversation Ginny had overheard by accident in the hallway one day between classes, as her bag had ripped and spilled its contents all over the floor. "Let's remind the kids that fun things can happen at Hogwarts, without disastrous consequences. And let's face it, what's more fun to a bunch of teenagers than an excuse to let their hormones go crazy for a night?"
Ginny had actually smiled at this; McGonagall was right, in her opinion. The girls' in her room had been gossiping about it for months; what they were going to wear, who would ask them, how much alcohol they'd get away with sneaking in their bags. And so it had been planned.
Ginny and Harry walked in to the Great Hall, which was lit romantically by thousands of candles which had been magicked to look like real stars. They were just in time to see Ron and Hermione walk into the middle of the room and start dancing to a slow, old fashioned tune, played by the band. Hermione was looking very pretty in robes of a soft, misty purple color, and Ron looked as put together as he ever had, wearing the navy robes Fred and George had given him a few years previously, which had had to be magically lengthened by Hermione. Mrs. Weasley had tried to buy him new ones, but Ron had refused, for reasons he had kept to himself. As Head Boy and Head Girl, they had the job of opening the ball - much like Harry and the other Triwizard Champions had had to do at the Yule Ball in her third year. Ron did not look happy about this.
Harry elbowed her and pointed at Ron, who was being steered around by Hermione and looked like he was being force-fed Polyjuice Potion. As soon as the song had ended, Ron dashed away from the dance floor and found Harry and Ginny, followed by a very irritated looking Hermione.
"Oi, mate, I'm sorry I ever laughed at you when you had to do that," he muttered, running his fingers through his hair and making it stand on end
Harry laughed, as Hermione pushed her way over to them and started berating Ron. "You could have been a little more polite and not broken out into a blatant run. It's just dancing," she snapped, crossing her arms.
Ron shrugged, helplessly. "Sorry, Hermione, I guess dancing in front of hundreds of people is just not my thing."
"You danced with me at Bill and Fleur's wedding," Hermione pointed out.
"Yeah, well, that was my family and I was trying to prove something then, wasn't I?"
Hermione glowered at him. "Harry will dance with me, won't you Harry?" she said pointedly, looking fiercely at him.
"Er-"
But before he could protest, Hermione had dragged Harry out onto the dance floor, glaring at Ron the whole time. This, however, was not having much of the effect Hermione had probably desired. Beside Ginny, her brother laughing as he watched his girlfriend try to make Harry dance with her.
"Ah, poor Harry, he didn't deserve that," he said, not looking sorry in the slightest.
"Ginny, you look nice," he said after a bit, turning her direction and looking at her directly for the first time that night. "Aren't those robes a little low-cut in the front, though? I'm sure Mum didn't buy them like that," he added, sounding nauseatingly like an older brother.
"Oh, sod off, Ron," Ginny told him dispassionately, too used to this behavior to get very worked up about it. "I'm of age, I can make my own wardrobe decisions." And with that, she turned on her heel and headed away from him, toward the punch, which was situated on a long table laden with food.
Standing apart and sipping at her drink, Ginny watched everyone for a long time, feeling extraordinarily antisocial. Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom and a Hufflepuff sixth year she didn't know all asked her to dance, but she simply shooed them away in turn, enjoying the quiet corner she had found and not greatly desiring to join in the festivities. Twelve more hours, and I'll be on the train home, she kept thinking gloomily. She saw Harry looking for her, and ducked behind one of the massive Christmas trees just in time. Breathing a sigh of guilt-tinged relief, she ducked out the side doors into the magically warm rose garden, which was lit up softly with more live fairies. She walked among the flowers for a while, breathing in the fragrant air with satisfaction; she missed summer, and winter was depressing and made her grumpy. Up ahead, she saw an almost familiar silhouette leaning against an archway casually.
It was Malfoy, hands shoved deep in his pockets, lazily sipping out of the all-too-familiar hip flask. He was dressed in expensive looking gray robes which had been left open in the front to reveal a finely tailored, very Muggle suit.
He raised his eyebrows at her as she approached, and said, "Good evening, Weasley." He offered her the flask, giving her a strong sense of déjà-vu. "We seem to keep running into each other whilst trying to avoid everyone else."
"What makes you think I'm avoiding everyone?" she asked him, taking the alcohol despite her words and leaning against the other side of the arch from him as she took a drink.
He shrugged. "Just a hunch."
"Who did you come with?" Ginny asked him eventually, trying to make polite conversation.
"No one. Who would I ask? Everyone thinks I'm a Death Eater."
Ginny nodded, slowly. "Yeah, I suppose that's not a huge selling point these days."
He laughed shortly and sharply and didn't say anything, simply took another drink from the flask and sighed.
"You're wearing a Muggle suit, Malfoy. I'm curious as to why." Ginny took the firewhiskey from him.
He shrugged once again, and said, "It's Armani," as if this explained it. "Muggles don't do everything badly."
She surveyed him. "Take off your robes for a second, I want to see."
Surprisingly, he acquiesced. He handed her the hip flask and his robes, and smoothed down the front of his vest and jacket. She nodded appreciatively.
"See?" he said.
"It's a good suit," she admitted. "I don't really know what a bad suit would look like, but it fits you well."
He looked at her, taking back his things. "Thanks," he said, neutrally. "Your robes look new," he added, without malice.
Ginny looked down at herself. "Yeah, they were. My mother picked them out; I didn't have much of a choice."
Malfoy didn't say anything to this, just took another swig, assessing her out of slanted eyes, considering her.
"I seem to be drinking with you a lot lately, Weasley," he remarked, toasting her, almost mocking, but not quite.
"Yeah, well, avoiding people and drinking just seem to go hand in hand, don't they?" Ginny commented dryly.
"That they do Weasley." He grinned crookedly at her. Reluctantly, she grinned back. She took a large swallow off the flask, and handed it to him. He took it back and did the same.
"What are you wearing on your robes Weasley?" he asked suddenly, pointing at the iris pinned to her chest.
"I dunno, Harry gave it to me. I don't really like irises that much though, I don't know why he picked it. I don't know what the point of it is at all, actually." She looked down at the flower, realizing she was babbling just a little too late.
Malfoy handed her the flask and suddenly started walking away. "Malfoy, where are you going?" she called. In a moment, he was back in front of her, and without asking for permission, he started unpinning the flower Harry had given her from the from the front of her robes, with a half-bloomed white rose held between his teeth. "Malfoy, what are you doing?' she asked sharply, very unused to the close proximity. Before she could protest very much though, he stood back up straight, and she saw he had pinned the rose in place of the other flower, which he casually tossed away behind him into the bushes. "Hey--Harry gave me that--"
"You're much more of a white rose than an iris, Weasley," he told her quietly, cutting her off.
Ginny simply stood staring at him, astonished. Something in his eyes was setting off quiet warning bells in her head, but she ignored this. He was still standing very close to her, and she could smell the alcohol he'd been drinking, combining with a faint, spicy scent like cologne. It made her head swim slightly.
"You should go dance with your boyfriend at least once tonight," he said, voice still low. He looked away from her at last, breaking eye contact.
"Yeah, I should." Feeling suddenly flushed, she stepped away quickly. She handed him back the flask, which had been clenched between her hands.
She started to walk back to the doors, feeling very slightly dazed and unpleasantly warm. She looked back at him, fleetingly, finding him leaning against the arch again, as he had been when she'd found him. "Have a good holiday, Malfoy," she said quietly, pausing on the path away from him.
His eyes glittered at her, dull silver like the drinking flask. "Good night, Weasley," he replied, his voice betraying nothing. She turned the corner and fled.
*
Harry finally found Ginny by the crystal punchbowl, pouring herself another glass. "Come on," he said, smiling in his very Harry way, "You've been hiding long enough. I want to dance with you." Only a little reluctantly, Ginny allowed him to lead her away from her corner, and into the dancing throng of students on the floor.
Only once that evening did Ginny see him glance at the flower pinned to her robes, looking quizzical, but he chose to say nothing about it. When the clock struck two, they found themselves caught in the current of Gryffindors going to bed and after a quick goodnight, Ginny climbed wearily under her bedcovers, more tired than she had been in a long time. She fell asleep almost as soon as she had managed to pull the curtains around her, blocking out the rest of the world, with the white rose and its pin delicately set upon the nightstand in the darkness.