A/N: This is a work of fanfiction. Standard disclaimers apply.

Absolution's Price

Chapter One: Sowing

It had been a thoroughly infuriating session in the Room of Hidden Things.

The worst part was that the day had started out so well. Just fifteen minutes into his hour-long endeavour before supper, Draco had managed to get the hinge of the Vanishing Cabinet to move parallel to the panel for the first time. He'd allowed himself a celebratory rest as he slid the door forwards and backwards, feeling the absence of grinding as the stalwart mechanism stretched and contracted flawlessly. He'd dribbled some oil into the joint, then left the bottle in the cabinet and tugged the door closed. The bottle had remained, but even this hadn't fully deflated Draco, and he had returned to his repairs with a grim vigor. When Vince's Polyjuiced little-girl voice had called despondently that he was hungry, Draco had snapped at him to go on ahead. He'd been getting closer, he was sure of it...something in the paneling was off...

Half an hour later, he had to admit that he didn't fully understand what he was doing and he was liable to do more harm than good if he continued to work on an empty stomach. He groaned as he lifted his booksack over his shoulder – his arms were fatigued from his ineffectual carpentry, and McGonagall's Transfiguration essay couldn't be ignored any longer so he'd stopped by the library to check out several books on Liquid-State Transfiguration without really reading them first. He was so tired. How was he going to find the energy for the project when he was stretched to the brink and bone-weary as it was? He cracked the door of the Room open infinitesimally and took a long look into the hallway. Nothing moved, and he couldn't hear anything, so he slipped out the door and closed it in a practiced movement that looked more like he was leaning against the wall than anything else. With a frustrated sigh, he began the walk to the Great Hall.

As he dodged the portrait of Namblin the Rambler and ducked into his favoured shortcut, an obscure passage that re-emerged near the Entrance Hall, his strained bag split and his haphazardly-collected library books went sprawling over the stone floor, their pages crumpling beneath their heavy covers. Pince was going to have a fit if she saw their condition when he returned them, especially that copy of Water-Wine Brewing, which had to be hundreds of years old.

As he turned to the book in question, it was engulfed in flames. No, his mistake – it was obscured by a font of red hair. Weasley-red hair. "Give that back," he snapped, in no mood to suffer Gryffindors.

To his surprise, she did, making sure that the tome's pages were pressed flat first. He narrowed his eyes and snatched it from her outstretched hand. "Go away, Weaslette," he growled by way of thanks. She just stared at him like the stupid cow she was. Still, she made no hostile moves, so he turned his back on her and put the book back in his bag. When he turned back to his mess, he saw her on her knees, gathering his belongings to her. "What are you doing?" he asked in bewilderment, too tired to even threaten her.

"You're welcome, Malfoy," she said, picking up a notebook by the spine and fanning out the pages before placing it on her small pile. "Elemental Transfiguration, huh?" she said as she chose a new book. She opened it to a random chapter and began to thumb through the pages.

He was flabbergasted. "Go away!" he cried.

She didn't even flinch. "If you wanted me gone, you'd fight me."

The serene tone of her voice incited him to a sudden, desperate rage. How dare she sit there calmly as the world fell down around them? Couldn't she feel it? He drew his wand without preamble. "Be careful what you wish for, Weasley."

Something flashed in her eyes, but her wand didn't appear. Instead, she shot to her feet and shoved his books into his chest so hard that he stumbled backwards. He was too stunned to even attempt to grasp them, and they plummeted back to the ground. "Fuck you," she spat. "I was just trying to help."

"I don't need your help," he shot back.

"You need someone's help."

He needed someone's help. He couldn't go on like this, struggling to keep his schoolwork acceptable while devoting his time to his solo extracurricular pursuits. What he wouldn't give for a true assistant, someone to help him come up with contingency plans and troubleshoot the Vanishing Cabinet project while keeping his marks high enough to get Snape off his back. "I don't need your help," he reiterated.

Grim triumph lit her face. "You need help," she fairly crowed.

"Go tell your little friends that, why don't you," he suggested nastily. "Will they pay attention to you then? Will Potter finally look your way, his eyes green as a fresh-pickled toad?" He was spoiling for a fight now and had his wand at the ready.

Her eyes narrowed. "Get some sleep, Malfoy. You look awful." With that, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

Draco hated her. He nearly threw a curse after her. How dare she turn her back on him? How dare she not fight back? How dare she try to help-

Right. The books. He stooped to pick them up. How dare she touch his things? How dare she insinuate that he was visibly unwell?

"Where have you been?" Pansy hissed when he collapsed onto the bench at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall.

"Library," he grunted.

She impaled her peach cobbler with her fork. "No you weren't. I was in the library. Waiting for you."

"I got my books and went back to my room when I didn't see you. I had a headache." He was certainly getting a headache now.

"You weren't in your room, either."

"Look, can we talk about this later? I'm starving."

"That's what you always say." Her jaw was clenched, but he could see a suspicious sheen to her eyes. Great. Just what he needed. "I want to know why you've been avoiding me."

The table hadn't yet noticed Pansy's unseemly display. Draco leaned over and spoke directly into her ear. "We are not having this conversation," he said tightly.

"Fine," she snapped, jumping up from the table. She stormed out of the Great Hall, leaving her half-eaten dessert behind. Vince shrugged and pulled the cobbler to him.

Draco glared at him, then at Greg, then glanced over at the half-empty Gryffindor table. Potter and Granger were laughing uproariously at something the Weasel King was saying. The scene only strengthened his sour mood. Ginny Weasley was nowhere to be found.