Hello and thank you for your interest in my story! This is my first major fic, after several one-shots I published when I was a little bit younger and a couple unsuccessful attempts at something of a larger caliber. It is set after the Battle of Hogwarts and is a reinvention of the mythical '8th year' that some characters were supposedly meant to complete. It majorly diverges from canon after that, and I also made some small alterations to previous events and character backgrounds which should become self-explanatory as the story develops.
I also feel like I should note that this story will include mentions (not graphic descriptions) of rape and violence.
I hope you enjoy this chapter - do review and let me know what you think!
AMOUR DE SOI
According to familiar accounts, Rousseau held that humans are actuated by two distinct kinds of self love: amour de soi, a benign concern for one's self-preservation and well-being; and amour-propre, a malign concern to stand above other people, delighting in their despite. [N. J. H. Dent and T. O'Hagan, "Rousseau on Amour-Propre" in: Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volumes, Vol. 72 (1998), pp. 57-73+75]
Rousseau attributes to all creatures an instinctual drive towards self-preservation. Human beings therefore have such a drive, which he terms amour de soi (self love). Amour de soi directs us first to attend to our most basic biological needs for things like food, shelter and warmth. Since, for Rousseau, humans, like other creatures, are part of the design of a benevolent creator, they are individually well-equipped with the means to satisfy their natural needs. Alongside this basic drive for self-preservation, Rousseau posits another passion which he terms pitié (compassion). Pitié directs us to attend to and relieve the suffering of others (including animals) where we can do so without danger to our own self-preservation. [Jean Jacques Rousseau in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy]
Indeed, Rousseau's account of amour-de-soi– a pre-societal, more instinctual form of self-love – may be at work here. Humans may be interdependent without showing desire for esteem or approval ('non-relative' desires); such as the desire to help others because of the pain we imagine to 'feel' ourselves when seeing one of our own suffer. [Theodore Bass, "Freedom, Morality and Self-Love? Reinterpreting Rousseau's Amour-propre as Fundamental for the Virtuous Citizen", in: Reinvention: an International Journal of Undergraduate Research, Vol. 6, Issue 1]
Monday, 4th January 1999
The Potions classroom in the dungeons looked brand new. Back in Snape's time it had always smelled of old damp clothes, a stench which Ginny gathered it had acquired through its vicinity with the Lake. Now, however, said stench was gone. The room was bright and clean like a St Mungo's operating theatre. Gone were the dusty jars, vials, flasks and other overall dodgy artefacts Snape had kept in his classroom, gone were the stacks of books piled up on shelves. The otherwise bare walls were now decorated with diagrams presenting the cultivation of plants and the correct treatment of various ingredients available to expert brewers, including, it seemed, pulverized narwhal tusks (which should be stored in opaque glass jars, airtight, preferably vacuumed, to avoid lumps) and fern flowers, which need be handled with extra care due to their rarity and fragility and used no later than a week after harvesting. At the back of the classroom there was a new board, covering almost the entire wall.
"Good morning class. No need to sit down just yet, please wait at the back of the room - just form a row, if you may, and do so with as little noise as humanly possible. You may or may not have seen me at the Sorting Ceremony last week, my name is Adelaide Archambault and I am your new Potions teacher."
Ginny moved her chair with a screech, assessing the new Professor quickly. She was a very tall black woman, rather large, with a neat turban on her head and a modest set of indigo-coloured robes. She had a sonorous voice with a slight French accent and the expression of someone who is not used to hearing the word "no". Her voice, although calm and composed, also had an authoritarian tinge that didn't sit very well with Ginny.
"I believe I should let you know I am only here temporarily", Professor Archambault continued. "I have taken two years' leave from Beauxbatons to assist Professors McGonagall and Flitwick in running the school and preparing you lot for your NEWTS, which shall be at the start of July, and setting you off toward adult life. I want you to understand that you are at a very privileged position to be back at school for those six months, so use them well. Potions is a demanding subject, so I expect you to be diligent and dedicated, and, believe me, it will pay off in the future.
"Now, the reason why I asked you to move to the back of the room is because we will be trying out a rather innovative set-up this year. Some of you will be condensing two years' worth of an education into two terms, so I need you to do your absolute best in class and outside of class. We are going to achieve this by splitting you into pairs. There should be six pairs, if I remember correctly, un, deux, quatre, six, yes, that's right.
"You are from now on Potions partners. You will sit with your partner in class; you will consult your partner first when unsure about an ingredient or method before coming to me; you will aid your partner with homework, if need be; all in all, everything you do, you do with your partner. You help each other, you work together, you challenge each other, you test each other out. Ideally, one of you should be slightly more advanced, so if there is anything you can explain to your younger partner, you do it. I have no interest in your private animosities. You are supposed to be colleagues, not best friends. I shall now read out the names and you will take your cauldrons and your books to your designated desks, three pairs in each row. Have I made myself clear?"
"Yes, Professor," twelve bored voices replied.
"Good. The pairs are, as follows. Number one, Miss Brocklehurst, Ravenclaw, and Mr Nott, Slytherin. Take your stuff over to the desk on the left. Thank you. Next: Miss Bones, Hufflepuff, and Mr Milligan, Gryffindor. Number three, Miss Barros, Hufflepuff, and Mr Goldstein, Ravenclaw. In the back row: Miss Seeger, Ravenclaw, and Mr Bellamy, Gryffindor. Miss Parkinson, Slytherin, and Miss Weasley, Gryffindor."
Oh Merlin, Ginny thought. Merlin, no, no, please, please don't say it.
Pansy Parkinson threw her a sour smile as she dropped her cauldron on the desk.
Please don't. Don't let it be true. Please, Merlin, I beg you.
"Miss Lovegood, Ravenclaw, and Mr Malfoy, Slytherin."
Fuck, Ginny thought.
"Any questions, doubts, thoughts about this setup are to be discussed after this class. I am in my office until nine in the evening, you can come in at any time if you wish to complain. You will now open your textbooks on page six and start reading. If you do not finish the chapter in class, you are expected to read it in your own time and make notes. There will be a test on this next time round. Good luck."
Ginny hid her face in her hands, casting a glance to the desk on the right. Malfoy had already opened his copy of Advanced Potion Making and he seemed to be skimming it disinterestedly, chin rested on the back of his hand. Ginny thought his calm very suspicious. To his right, Luna was currently leaning backwards to pull her hair up in a bun. She, apparently, didn't think him suspicious at all.
"Miss Weasley, page six please."
Ginny looked up and met Professor Archambault's unnervingly steady gaze. It was then that she decided she didn't like her. She cast another glance at Malfoy, who was turning a page in a menacingly slow move, and opened her book.
Friday, 1st January
The familiar ride in the Hogwarts Express had been especially uneasy. Ginny had expected relief, a warm sense of familiarity and homecoming, or at least some indescribable sort of comfort, but instead she was struck by how empty the train was, how dark, how hostile. She'd waited for Luna at the station, as had been agreed upon. Luna had actually insisted on coming, against Ginny's advice. At least we'll be in this together, Ginny had thought, looking out for her friend's characteristic dirty blonde mane and fluffy coat. I'll make it up to her, she'd thought, that horrifying year, I'll make sure she loves it and appreciates it. I owe her that.
Her whole family was there with her – mum, dad, George and Ron, Hermione and Percy, even Harry, though she hadn't wanted him to. She could barely hold back tears when they were saying their goodbyes, and after entering the compartment she stopped trying and cried for a long time, until she grew tired with the effort. She thought of our goodbyes almost exactly a year before, long hugs, kisses, whispers; only that Harry, Hermione and Ron hadn't been there, they'd already gone, and Fred was there, Fred, he'd winked at her from behind Molly Weasley's back and insisted that Ginny continue the clandestine Wizard Wheezes trade among the oblivious first-years; and Molly had scolded him, as always, but good-naturedly, she was very proud, wasn't she, she was so proud of him and George…
She knew Ron had got very involved in running the establishment with George. They were currently doing some important new developments and were staying together in London, in two tiny flats above the shop, one for George and whoever he happened to bring home and one for Ron and Hermione, with a neat little desk by the window and a balcony where Hermione had planted tomatoes and strawberries and where Ron would go to smoke his Lucky Strikes. Harry had a mattress in George's flat, in the kitchen or in the living room, depending on the day, where he stayed full time after several failures at being a responsible Auror-in-training who has their own flat and doesn't have to sleep in other people's kitchens.
Ron promised he'd write, he whispered the promise in Ginny's ear, hugging her tightly, and she responded with the same. She felt that this was a commitment she could stick to without remorse, and because he was her brother, her own brother, their correspondence wouldn't increase the feeling of exclusion from their tight little trio that she'd always had and that had increased after her break-up with Harry. George, too, promised he'd write, and write often, although in all honesty Ginny suspected he wouldn't, and that would be okay; as long as he didn't reverse to the sleepless nights and fits of rage he'd had during his months at Shell Cottage, as long as he didn't scowl at everyone and scratch his arms absent-mindedly and lie in apathy for hours on end, Ginny would be happy. He was still very thin and had considerably less hair on his head than he used to, probably due to the fact that he wasn't eating, but his smile was warm and genuine, and the minute they let go Ginny knew that he would be the one she'd miss most.
Ginny and Luna were alone in the compartment, and they were silent throughout the journey. Not that they didn't want to talk; it just didn't seem right. Ginny thought of how in a similar compartment, only a year earlier, they'd sat with Colin and Neville, snacking on Bertie Botts', playing cards, exchanging holiday memories, Colin flooding them with his pictures from the Isles of Scilly and Portugal. She thought of how excited he'd been to see Harry when he was eleven, and how eager he'd been to be his friend; she thought of their countless little sneak-outs to the kitchens for hot chocolate, how he'd always ask for extra marshmallows, how he would always get so messy and spill some on his jumper or his Arsenal trackies. She thought of all that and she cried even harder thinking of how he wasn't going to be there this time. He was gone. He was – he was somewhere else.
His parents and Dennis had gone to North America during the summer, to live there permanently, that was what she'd heard. She wasn't sure and she wasn't going to go around looking for them.
Luna was very sad, too. It didn't necessarily show, but Ginny perceived it. Through the years they spent together, as Ginny went from a thinly concealed disdain for Loony Lovegood to the most fervent friendship she had ever had for anyone, she'd learnt to recognise the small changes in Luna's peaceful countenance that betrayed sadness, anger or disquiet. To a stranger, Luna in her present state could appear perfectly serene, even chirpy; she'd gained weight over the summer, her face was bright like the full moon and her voice light and airy. But as the hours of the train ride passed and Luna did not say a word and simply bored her stare into the window, it was clear as day that she was very, very sad.
They did not speak to each other once throughout the journey; Ginny had questions, of course, because although Luna had spent the entire summer and autumn with Bill and Fleur at Shell Cottage, Ginny only saw her a couple of times over November and December as she popped into the condo above the joke shop for dinner; they spent Christmas together as well, at Shell Cottage, as the Burrow was still undergoing repairs, but that wasn't nearly enough, and anyway during those times they could hardly get any privacy. But they were not in the mood for talking.
It was only after their arrival, as they were getting out of the carriage, that Luna spoke:
"I wonder what dinner is going to be. I'm quite hungry."
Ginny tried to smile in response but only managed a lopsided smile and a quiet sob. She recalled her first night at Hogwarts, on her own in front of the Great Hall, trembling under the Sorting Hat, and the warm flood of relief and pure, pure joy on hearing its confident Gryffindor above her head. She then sat between Hermione and Holly Hamilton, a small curly-haired girl from her year - she thought briefly about the big fight they'd had in fourth year and she asked herself if they were going to share a dorm again this year – opposite Fred and George who kept throwing things at her. Next to them was the very dashing Oliver Wood, who smiled. Then Ginny cried again, harder, because she remembered her eleven-year-old self looking up and seeing Dumbledore at the High Table, for the first time.
Now she stood in front of the entrance to the Great Hall, hand in hand with Luna, hesitant before their first step.
When they stepped into the castle, Ginny felt overwhelmed by nausea. She felt very uncomfortably out of place. Everything looked as it had before; the same staircase, the same paintings on the walls. But it felt different. There was a different smell. It smelled like a hospital. It felt new.
They were one of the last people to enter the Great Hall, and, inevitably, they parted before heading to their respective tables. There were very few people, and as Ginny glanced over to the group of nervous first-years standing below the High Table, Professor Flitwick shushing them vigorously – how many were there? Maybe thirty? Not very many – she thought that their arrival wouldn't fill the Great Hall in any way. It had never been this empty before. She glanced up at the ceiling; it was darker than usual and there were very few stars.
She sat down between Neville, whom she greeted with a long hug, and Holly Hamilton, who looked just as uneasy as herself. Apart from Holly there were only three people from Ginny's year: Sam Bellamy and Luke Milligan, two pillars of professor Flitwick's tenor section, and Selena de Soto, her and Holly's roommate and Gryffindor's chief heartbreaker. The year above was represented only by Neville, Seamus and Dean. She looked around to assess the state of the other houses. There weren't many more people, although the years below were much more numerous.
The only exception was the Slytherin table. It seemed as though half of the students, if not more, were gone. From the year above there was Pansy Parkinson next to Draco Malfoy, who was talking to her under his breath, Daphne Greengrass, who was further down the table next to her sister Astoria, and a boy with his back to her whom Ginny guessed to be Nott. There were only five people from Ginny's year, huddled together in a tight group, and the years below didn't look much better.
Ginny wasn't too surprised. Many of the old Slytherin families, even those who hadn't had very strong ties to Voldemort, had fled or perhaps sent their children abroad, to Durmstrang, Beauxbatons or Castelobruxo. Ginny wondered what it was that had kept those of them who'd decided to stay. No surprise with the Greengrasses, whose families, although pureblood, had never been affiliated with Death Eaters. The Parkinsons had been much closer than appropriate to Voldemort's inner circle members, but Ginny imagined the link hadn't been strong enough to be accused of anything, so with some effort and networking they didn't risk much in staying in the country.
Malfoy and Nott, though? What were they doing here? What were they even thinking?
As far as Ginny knew, Nott pére had been put on trial and forced to pay war reparations, which for Ginny seemed reason enough to flee and never return. Why would he send his son to Hogwarts? Why would the son in question choose to?
And then there was Malfoy, now bowed down so low that his face was almost entirely concealed, muttering something to Pansy's ear. He had also been a frequent guest of the Wizengamot over the summer, and how he avoided Azkaban having attempted murder was beyond Ginny's understanding. As he spoke, Pansy nodded vigorously and rubbed her face every now and again, in a gesture which, if Ginny didn't know better, she would attribute to someone wiping away tears.
Ginny thought Malfoy was very thin, and his hair had grown.
She fixed his eyes on him, imagining his Dark Mark on his left arm, just under his sleeve.
She thought that every morning, when buttoning his shirt or pulling a jumper over his head, he glanced at his forearm, checking if it was still there. She thought of how fabric glided over it, barely touching it, as if it, too, was disgusted by what it was.
Was it hurting him? Did it sting him at night? How does it feel, thought Ginny, having this imprinted on your body? Does it itch? Does it burn? Does it remind him every day of the cowardly scoundrel he is?
Ginny hoped so. She thought he should have cut his arm off.