Chapter 1: Mystical Mists
The day was hot as it was in the beginning. By midday it became so sweltering that the Hogwart students had incredible difficulty with merely breathing. Some of them could be seen wheezing in the background. Sweat trickled down heads, and many of them found their eyes lazily dropping. Their attentions were waning.
"Blast that Trewlaney creature," Ginny's Divination partner Elsa said, "My bottom is wet from sweating, and she's got us cooking bloody lizard eyelashes in a boiling cauldron!" Ginny could only shake her head lightly at her friend's exclamation. They had no choice but to labor on in the art of Divination. The professor had claimed that this lesson was of utmost importance: The Telling of Futures by Mystical Mists. "Mystical Mists," Elsa had spat, "Get me some ice to sit on, and I'll give you mystical mists." Ginny smiled wearily at Elsa and went back to her thoughts of good times from her before.
At the dropping of the last student's final ingredient the professor strolled in with ruby red cheeks and a glistening forehead. If she tried very hard, Ginny could have heard a tirade of groans and smelt a curiously familiar scent. "Mint and...strawberries?" She murmured with longing.
"Class, class!" Professor Trewlaney clapped her hands thrice, but it did nothing to shaken the students from their stupor. "Now as you draw upon the mystical mists to assist you into collecting incredible power, be forewarned the dangers of doom that often accompanies such level of greatness." She struck her finger into the air. And with her next statement her chin began it's usual quivering when she came upon the more significant parts. "Now remember: Stir the solution three times with the clockwork theorem we discussed yesterday, and do not forget to add the blue Gackle powder. The powder of the Gackle will bind the mists with the magic in such a way where order can be instilled."
Ginny heard professor Trewlaney's voice quite well, but all of the directions came to her strangely. Perhaps it was the heat or perhaps it was Elsa's loud comments because the only words that reached her were despair and doom. She suddenly felt an overwhelming sympathy for Harry, who had a year to go with the professor before his graduation.She stirred the cauldron three ways, which way they went she was not sure. Then in the heat of the moment her hands went to a powder.
But alas for Ginny. It was not blue.
In the room far below the overheated tower that was Professor Trelwaney's classroom, the Seventh Year Slytherin class was working alongside the Gryffindors in the considerably cooler dungeons.
Draco Malfoy scoffed at the immense potions book in front of him. He had skimmed it last period while that excuse of a history teacher, Professor Bins, was droning. He didn't see the reason for paying attention now. Instead, his focus became centered on a familiar and yet favorite target of his. "Goyle," he whispered, still eyeing his messy of hair victim. The big beefy boy that had accompanied Draco through his years at Hogwarts was staring at his book, and in a seconds time would most surely be sleeping on it.
Draco grabbed his wand and jabbed him while Snape's head was to the blackboard. He gave Goyle the eye signal, hoping the boy would catch on to his train of thought.
Slowly, but surely Goyle's eyes light up, and his mouth cracked into a wicked grin. With time most of Draco's pranks and schemes matured from being done with juvenile ambitions of the past. These ambitions consisted of getting the biggest laugh out of all his Slytherin friends. It was no longer a sport, but became rather a new way to repay hurt with hurt. And Harry Potter had done him a most injurious wound.
Before Draco could finish the last word of his, to be sure of, deadly hex the wrist of his hand grew heavier with every inch forward. The weight of his body suddenly increased with an intensity of one hundred pounds. He saw his sliver blonde strand of hair curve upward and then stop. As his eyes flicked over to the other bodies in the room he took in a sight that knocked the breathe out of him.
All of them, Professor Snape, Crabbe, Goyle...even Harry Potter and his minions Weasley and Mudblood were frozen in their places. He could see Professor Snape about to turn his head. The chalk powder cloud formed from his writing was held in suspension. Weasley had his head down on his arm; Mudblood's eyes were about to look down at her book, and Potter's hand was halfway raised in the air. And Goyle, after Draco spun around to see, was in the middle of a silent laugh.
"Bloody hell," he said with an unsteady voice. His thoughts immediately turned to Voldemort. He became perplexed by that idea, however. When and how did he become so powerful. Draco was no fool to the going ons of the dark lord. Although he was not supportive of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he was raised in the mist of it after. As a little boy he caught many hushed whispers behind closed doors.
There was now one question to be answered: did the spell work on the headmaster? And if it did would he be able to help him? He did not want to be the only animate person in the world for many years to come. He dashed out of the room and headed for Dumbledore's quarters.
As he passed the statuesque people and scenery, he was overcome with an oncoming chill. It was as if a couple of dementors were right behind his back, racing towards the same destination. He made a quick turn around, but found nobody there but lifeless figures. He gave himself a scoff and picked up his pace.
"ANYBODY OUT THERE?" he yelled in desperation. He ran pass teachers and students, the ones he knew and the rest strangers, who were all trapped in the magical state. Peeves the Poltergeist was frozen right in the middle of painting a nasty picture on the wall. When he could run no more; all of his energy had been spent, he tumbled onto the one of the staircases' steps.
Before he could fully catch his breath, the staircase began to make its usual routine of adjusting it's placing. He subconsciously grabbed hold of the banister, having lived in the Hogwart's castle for six and a half years this had long ago became second nature. This happening would have been the least uncanny part of Draco's day too if the staircase didn't stop halfway in midair, leaving him with no way to Dumbledore's office. To make matters worse, the other end--the way back to the other side--broke off into large clumps and fell off the high-placed staircase nosily.
His hands went to his inner pocket, but his wand was not there. "Oh fuck it," he shouted. He was trapped on a dysfunctional staircase with no one to help him because time had stopped. It struck him hard how foolish it was to have left the only magical device he had in the potions' classroom.
"Draco!" His ears perked up on that sound, but when it registered to him who the voice belonged to he became resolved not to give an answer to the call. "Malfoy, are you there? Do you need help?" Ginny Weasley said reproachfully. When she was returned with silence yet again, all kindness in her being came to a halt. "I heard your voice. If you really are on that staircase you're going to need help" He, again, stubbornly refused to reply. "Come off your pride, Malfoy!" She said with an increased intensity.
He climbed the banister rails until his head became level with her's. He threw her a bone-chilling glare. "So what if I did? Why should I accept help from a slut?" he said scathingly. Ginny's eyes widened; she took a few steps back. She couldn't believe what he was saying.
"We were a mistake. I have no doubts about that, and just then proved to me how right I am. But let me make this clear: I did not lay one hand on anybody else during our relationship. Now do you want the help, or would you rather sit on that nice little island and boil over rumors?" she said with a shaky voice.
"Rumors? Weasley, I knew you liked to get laid a lot, but I never thought you had taken to lying too. What? Potter and all those little boys you hang around with these days not enough to satisfy your sexual frustrations and etc., so you resort to petty things like blowing your mouth?" She shook her reddened face.
"You--" The staircase in which Draco was still clinging to had made a dangerous rumble. And yet this was not enough for Draco to stop himself from his accusations.
"Would you like to know what I did with my days without you?" he said with wild eyes, "There was Melinda on Tuesdays, Rebecca Thursdays, Fridays were spent on Qudditch practices, but Shannon was there during all the breaks!" The middle of the staircase split, and Draco became thrown forward. His legs dangled over the edge, and the whole of his body was not flying down in top speed only because he had not released his grip on the banister rails.
"DRACO!" Ginny screamed, instantly forgetting her anger. He gave her his, weak, but still signature Draco smirk.
"And I don't even miss you screaming my name like that."
"YOU IMBECILE!" She pulled out her wand. "Listen to me, I'm going to use a hovering spell to get you over here to my side. If--if this doesn't work you will have to try to lift yourself up. And when you're steady--jump." When she looked to see what his reaction was, she only found the expression on his face blank and almost listless. Taking it as a sign of cooperation, she began her count.
"Right then...let's begin." she whispered. With her quivering hand, she said in a shaky voice the charm. Draco's foot twitched a bit and then shook all over. His body soon became as unsteady as the staircase. Sweat droplets began to form on Ginny's forehead. She flicked her wand up and Draco's form raised from the crumbling structure. Holding her breath, she slowly directed him towards safe ground. When he landed with a thud onto the ground, she exhaled with immense relief. She almost went over to hug him too but stopped herself when she saw the look in his eyes.
"Are you--"
"I'm fine," He got up and swiped the debris off his robes. He walked past Ginny with the same cold attitude that made her wince in the past, back when they didn't begin to date yet. What hurt her the most, though, was knowing that nothing could change the way he acted towards her. Nothing except if she took him back, and that would be a mistake. The problems they had that broke them up in the first place would still be there, and would, most likely, never go away.
She gave herself a few moments to breathe and shake everything off before joining him. When she was done she made sure to walk six paces behind him. Her eyes, however, never stopped wandering from his blonde hair to his lean body. She smiled a little bit but remained steadfastly distant.