FIRE AND ICE
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate to say
That for destruction ice
Is also great and would suffice.
--Robert Frost
On a beautiful autumn day, Ginny Weasley lay on the front lawn of Hogwarts, gazing up at the grey-blue sky and reveling in the cool air. Neville Longbottom sat next to her, hugging his knees, gazing out at the lake. Ginny watched his brown hair blow in the soft wind, and smiled. He reminded her a lot of Harry; he was a sort of less-successful version of The Boy Who Lived. Neville wasn't as good in classes or in duels or as comfortable socially, and he was certainly more absent-minded, but just like Harry he was above all a good person. He valued bravery, loyalty and fairness, and she loved him for it. He was her best friend.
"Neville, let's freeze time."
"What's that?" He turned to look down at her.
"Let's freeze time. I want life to be exactly like this moment." He nodded in understanding. The mood was peaceful, content, comfortable, and surrounded by the beauty of fall, Ginny's favorite season. It was the season of all good things coming to an end; bittersweet and beautiful.
"Things will never get better if we stop now."
"They'll never get worse," Ginny said, to play devil's advocate. "But you're right. I want things to be fantastic, not just pleasant. I only said that because..." she glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, "I'm scared, Neville. I'm scared that from hereon in, everything's going to get a lot worse. Voldemort's back. It's been quiet for too long. Something's going to happen; I can feel it."
"Can you really?" Those of the magical world knew better than to brush off hunches and intuition as superstition. Ginny nodded.
"And I feel like...whatever it is, it's coming for me. Alone."
"But you know I'm here, no matter what comes," Neville said, taking her hand. She smiled gratefully at him. "You can't be alone." But he was wrong.
The Slytherin common room was dark as always, lanterns flickering on the walls barely making up for the complete lack of windows. Draco Malfoy sat low in a tall green armchair, rereading a letter from his father and scowling. At first glance, or to the casual (or unfriendly) observer, the letter might appear pleasant enough: I am sure you are working hard at your studies...Your aunt and I are considering a new business venture and will be off to meet with new backers for the next fortnight...We all look forward to seeing you this December...But Draco knew better; he knew enough to read between the lines and understand that his father was threatening him to make sure he kept up with whatever Dark magic he knew, that he and Bellatrix Lestrange were going off on a recruiting mission and was warning him not to send letters, and that "we" meant the Dark Lord, who planned on initiating Draco into his circle that year.
He could do nothing but scowl. He certainly could protest nothing his father said; that would mean opposing the Dark Lord, and while he did not feel ready to become a Death Eater he certainly was not willing to fight. The main reason he did not want to be one of the Dark Lord's henchmen was because he did not want to turn into his father; though he loved him he did not want to be him. Already there were too many similarities—the disdain for Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, their taste in clothes, a dismissive attitude towards witches—and Draco was frightened that he would end up like his father, with a wife who didn't love him and a life spent either avoiding persecution through bribes or working as a pawn for someone else. Draco didn't know what he wanted, but he knew it wasn't that.
No, that was a lie, he realized as his scowl deepened substantially. If he were honest with himself, he would admit he knew what he really wanted: Harry Potter's life, with friends who could actually provide intelligent conversation, with no parents to direct his life for him, with Quidditch skills like his. Not that he himself was bad at Quidditch; not at all. He was pretty damned good. Maybe it was just Potter's broom that he wanted. But his father refused him a better broom until he had beaten Potter at least once, and that had yet to happen. Lucius hadn't even wavered when Draco got Potter kicked off the team. He had just said that now his son had no chance of ever getting a Firebolt. Damn Potter, the gormless, grubby Gryffindor. If only he could—
"Aww, come on, Blaise, can't ye give us a rash? Jus' a bite, tha's all."
"If you two peckerheads don't leave me alone right now I will send curses your way that will prevent you from ever having children. Or even trying to." Crabbe and Goyle shrank off, snickering, as Draco knew they would. Annoying Zabini was a favorite pastime of theirs, but they always stopped short of really angering him. He was, after all, quite a scary seventh year. "Draco, all by yourself? Sulking over our daddy, are we?"
"Piss off, Blaise," Draco said half-heartedly. Zabini didn't really bother him, but his insults hit too close to home. It was no one's business but his own what he thought about his father. He shrunk his letter with a wave of his wand and stuffed it into an inside robe pocket.
"Oh, chin up, now, mate. Can't be that bad."
"Do not call me 'mate'," Draco said with a dark look. Blaise didn't even squirm, something Draco respected him for. Crabbe or Goyle would have been blubbering by now. Blaise was a decent Slytherin. "Are you going somewhere or do you plan on pestering me all day?" In response, Blaise sat down on a chair across from his and grinned.
"Thought I'd bug you all day, if you don't mind. I'm a little bored, myself. Whadda you say?"
"Go bother those two," he gestured towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were snorting over a magazine in the corner. "They clearly could benefit from...more sophisticated entertainment."
"Ah, but Draco, so could I. Not more sophisticated, but at least something more intelligent than, 'heh, heh, look at those knockers, heh.'" His imitation of Goyle was remarkable, and Draco had to smirk a little. The two goons in the corner were, of course, oblivious. "So tell me what dear old dad has to say this week."
"Hey—I'll put up with you, Zabini, but that's it. Don't think you're getting free admission into my personal life. You can sit there, and that's about it, for now."
"Well thank you for your permission, Malfoy, seeing as this is your personal living room, and all. I'll sit wherever I like, thank you. Don't overstep your bounds." Draco was scowling again, and Blaise laughed. "Now that that's done with, I have something to tell you." He glanced around carefully and leaned forward, inspiring Draco to do so, too. "Look I want to show you something phenomenal, but it's outside, and right now the grounds are packed with moronic Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs going for walks or playing juvenile ball games. So I need to know if you're willing to sneak out of the castle at night." Draco had to ponder over this for a while—how much did he really trust Blaise? Though he liked the boy, the truth was: he trusted him as much as any one else, other than his mother; that is to say, not very much.
"Well, what is it you want to show me?"
"Are you joking? I can't tell you here. You just need to know that it's unbelievable. Really fantastic. Trust me, Draco. Do you want to go tonight?"
"Well, tonight, no," he said, hiding his relief, "I have prefect patrol. Tomorrow, too, and the night after that I should really sleep, for our Hufflepuff game. Look, do I need to do it anytime soon?"
"Not really, it's been there for years, but why not go tonight? It's perfect. You can just slip out while on patrol!" Now Draco really was suspicious.
"Look, if I'm going to sneak out of the castle on your advice, you'll be coming with me." Blaise gave him a shrewd look.
"Ah. I see. You don't trust me. That's fine, we'll find a night we can both go. You're the first person I'm telling this to, Draco, and believe me, you don't want to miss out."
"Can you tell me anything about it?"
"Not here. I'm sure if anything like this got back to the professors, they'd destroy it in an instant." That rather piqued Draco's interest, and Blaise, seeing this, grinned. "Yes, my delinquent friend, it's quite off- limits. Forbidden, if you get my meaning."
"It's in the forest?" That was not a good sign. Ever since his first year, when Potter had gotten him detention in the stupid forest, Draco had been secretly terrified of the place. He tried to avoid it at all costs.
"Yeah, but it's not so far in. We can enter far away from that lump of a groundskeeper's hut, and it's only about two or three minutes in. It's completely safe, Draco. Don't let fear keep you from seeing this."
"Fear of what, exactly?" Draco snapped. Blaise wisely said nothing. "I'll think about it, alright?"
"No, it's not alright! Are you crazy? Gods...look, let's meet somewhere more private so I can tell you about it. Can we go now?"
"Where?" Blaise led him out of the common room, up a few moving flights of stairs to the third floor, and down a corridor into a room that had a trap door. "What's down there?"
"What? Oh, nothing. But look, no one ever comes here. C'mon." he walked to the other side of the room and sat down. "Alright," he began in a low voice, "just inside the Forbidden Forest there's this little clearing, right? And I went there and—"
"What were you doing in the forest?"
"It doesn't matter, just listen. So I stumbled into the clearing, and...well, first I fell down, but then a vision came to me. A vision of the future." His voice sped up as he grew more excited. "That's what the clearing does, it shows you the future. It showed me what I would do as an adult and...alright, here's the truth, it showed me showing the clearing to you. I know it sounds crazy, Draco, but I saw myself as an adult and I saw what kind of a life I would lead."
"What did you see?" Blaise's face clouded somewhat and looked away.
"I'd rather not tell you. It's pretty person. But, look, don't you want to see it?" He did, desperately. But he still wasn't entirely sure of Blaise's motives, and certainly wasn't eager to trust anything in that forest. But he knew he would go.
"Alright, look, this Saturday, alright? I can go Saturday night. Will you bring me there?"
"Yeah, definitely! Just don't—"
"Tell anyone, I know." They nodded at each other and stood up. "Let's get out of here before someone catches us."
"You embarrassed to be seen with me, Drakie?" Blaise batted his eyelashes and Draco snarled.
"Always."
"Creevey, kindly allow your partner to handle the hellebore. It is an extremely limited substance, and as we are all aware of your remarkable propensity for destroying valuable materials, I would prefer it if you kept as far away from this one as possible." The Slytherins in the classroom snickered as Colin miserably handed Ginny the hellebore, and Snape swept back to his desk, confident that he had ruined another Gryffindor's day.
"Don't listen to him," Ginny whispered coolly, though she knew that Snape was right. So far that year Colin had spilled jars of aconite, bubotuber pus, stewed lacewing flies, skinned shrivelfig, and dead spiders. And that was only in one month. Colin was really monumentally clumsy, as bad as Tonks.
"Easy for you to say. He never bothers you. You're good at this stuff." Ginny shrugged. That was true too. Potions was one of Ginny's two best subjects, along with Defense Against the Dark Arts. More specifically, they were her only two good subjects. The rest of her classes she rather piddled along in. She was sure Snape managed to take his anger out on her by pairing her with Colin, but of course she never mentioned this.
"He's just a lonely, bitter man," she whispered again. "Ignore him." Colin grumbled, but let her get back to work. He knew she disliked being distracted while concocting a potion. Ginny smiled as she got back to work, contentedly measuring out ingredients for the Draught of Peace. It came as an unpleasant surprise, then, when the door of the class opened and the room grew silent to see who would enter.
Albus Dumbledore entered the room and paid no attention to any of the students whose class he had interrupted. He walked right up to Snape, whispered in his ear for a few protracted seconds, and swept out again. The fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins looked up silently and expectantly at their Potions professor.
"Leave your potions as they are and I will cast a preserving charm on them. You will continue brewing the Draught of Peace in our next class. For now, class is dismissed." There was a very short, stunned silence, but Snape narrowed his eyes and they all hurried to pack their bags. No one dared ask him why they were getting out of class early, but they certainly discussed the possibilities among themselves in the hallway. Ginny told Neville all about it in the common room.
"Maybe he was called for the Order," he suggested in a very low voice. Since the end of last year Neville had known all about the Order of the Phoenix, and Ginny was thankfully free to talk to him about it. "Maybe Dumbledore got word of a Death Eater gathering, and he had to go spy."
"I don't know," Ginny said doubtfully. "Why would Snape not know about it, then? You know, he has the Dark Mark, and all. I kind of thought something bad had happened—don't you remember my...my feeling, from a couple of days ago?" Neville nodded.
"But you said it had something to do with you." Ginny just shrugged.
"We're grasping at straws, here. It could be anything. Harry and them probably know something, but of course they won't tell." She knew that she might be able to eavesdrop on them, though. "I wish we could do something."
"You always wish we could do something. We'll be graduating in a couple of years, then we can."
"Correction; you'll be graduating in a couple of years. I'm graduating in three years. But, cor, Neville, you really think Voldemort will still be around years from now?" Neville flinched at her use of Voldemort's name, but did not complain, as he was used to it from her by now.
"Yeah, Ginny, I think it's very possible."
"I hope you're wrong."
They found out the following morning why Dumbledore had rushed into the classroom. Plastered on the cover of Hermione's Daily Prophet was a photograph of a wizarding family, the Chittocks. They had been attacked in the late afternoon and were all killed, including a 10 year old son named Murray. A Dark Mark had been left floating over the roof of the house.
"Oh, gods, it's really starting," Ginny said in a hushed voice, clutching at Neville's arm. She glanced over at Ron, Hermione and Harry, who were all leaning towards each other over the table and talking in hushed voices. They knew something, she could tell, but how could she get it out of them? All three of them then glanced over at the Slytherin table, and then stood up and hurried out of the Great Hall. Ginny followed the path of their gazes, but she saw nothing noteworthy at the table other than the absence of Draco Malfoy. Shrugging, she read the article. Unsurprisingly, the Ministry planned to do everything it could to find the perpetrators, but Ginny knew they would be unsuccessful. All that mattered was that Death Eaters had been behind it all, and they had already broken out of Azkaban once. The Chittock family would get no justice. "I'm going to class, Nev," she said, and somewhat dazedly got up and left the Hall.
Somewhere along the way to Charms she took a wrong turn, but barely noticed. She was too distracted to really care where she was, and too filled with compassion to turn away from the pale, desperate, miserable figure she stumbled into.
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire,
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate to say
That for destruction ice
Is also great and would suffice.
--Robert Frost
On a beautiful autumn day, Ginny Weasley lay on the front lawn of Hogwarts, gazing up at the grey-blue sky and reveling in the cool air. Neville Longbottom sat next to her, hugging his knees, gazing out at the lake. Ginny watched his brown hair blow in the soft wind, and smiled. He reminded her a lot of Harry; he was a sort of less-successful version of The Boy Who Lived. Neville wasn't as good in classes or in duels or as comfortable socially, and he was certainly more absent-minded, but just like Harry he was above all a good person. He valued bravery, loyalty and fairness, and she loved him for it. He was her best friend.
"Neville, let's freeze time."
"What's that?" He turned to look down at her.
"Let's freeze time. I want life to be exactly like this moment." He nodded in understanding. The mood was peaceful, content, comfortable, and surrounded by the beauty of fall, Ginny's favorite season. It was the season of all good things coming to an end; bittersweet and beautiful.
"Things will never get better if we stop now."
"They'll never get worse," Ginny said, to play devil's advocate. "But you're right. I want things to be fantastic, not just pleasant. I only said that because..." she glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, "I'm scared, Neville. I'm scared that from hereon in, everything's going to get a lot worse. Voldemort's back. It's been quiet for too long. Something's going to happen; I can feel it."
"Can you really?" Those of the magical world knew better than to brush off hunches and intuition as superstition. Ginny nodded.
"And I feel like...whatever it is, it's coming for me. Alone."
"But you know I'm here, no matter what comes," Neville said, taking her hand. She smiled gratefully at him. "You can't be alone." But he was wrong.
The Slytherin common room was dark as always, lanterns flickering on the walls barely making up for the complete lack of windows. Draco Malfoy sat low in a tall green armchair, rereading a letter from his father and scowling. At first glance, or to the casual (or unfriendly) observer, the letter might appear pleasant enough: I am sure you are working hard at your studies...Your aunt and I are considering a new business venture and will be off to meet with new backers for the next fortnight...We all look forward to seeing you this December...But Draco knew better; he knew enough to read between the lines and understand that his father was threatening him to make sure he kept up with whatever Dark magic he knew, that he and Bellatrix Lestrange were going off on a recruiting mission and was warning him not to send letters, and that "we" meant the Dark Lord, who planned on initiating Draco into his circle that year.
He could do nothing but scowl. He certainly could protest nothing his father said; that would mean opposing the Dark Lord, and while he did not feel ready to become a Death Eater he certainly was not willing to fight. The main reason he did not want to be one of the Dark Lord's henchmen was because he did not want to turn into his father; though he loved him he did not want to be him. Already there were too many similarities—the disdain for Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, their taste in clothes, a dismissive attitude towards witches—and Draco was frightened that he would end up like his father, with a wife who didn't love him and a life spent either avoiding persecution through bribes or working as a pawn for someone else. Draco didn't know what he wanted, but he knew it wasn't that.
No, that was a lie, he realized as his scowl deepened substantially. If he were honest with himself, he would admit he knew what he really wanted: Harry Potter's life, with friends who could actually provide intelligent conversation, with no parents to direct his life for him, with Quidditch skills like his. Not that he himself was bad at Quidditch; not at all. He was pretty damned good. Maybe it was just Potter's broom that he wanted. But his father refused him a better broom until he had beaten Potter at least once, and that had yet to happen. Lucius hadn't even wavered when Draco got Potter kicked off the team. He had just said that now his son had no chance of ever getting a Firebolt. Damn Potter, the gormless, grubby Gryffindor. If only he could—
"Aww, come on, Blaise, can't ye give us a rash? Jus' a bite, tha's all."
"If you two peckerheads don't leave me alone right now I will send curses your way that will prevent you from ever having children. Or even trying to." Crabbe and Goyle shrank off, snickering, as Draco knew they would. Annoying Zabini was a favorite pastime of theirs, but they always stopped short of really angering him. He was, after all, quite a scary seventh year. "Draco, all by yourself? Sulking over our daddy, are we?"
"Piss off, Blaise," Draco said half-heartedly. Zabini didn't really bother him, but his insults hit too close to home. It was no one's business but his own what he thought about his father. He shrunk his letter with a wave of his wand and stuffed it into an inside robe pocket.
"Oh, chin up, now, mate. Can't be that bad."
"Do not call me 'mate'," Draco said with a dark look. Blaise didn't even squirm, something Draco respected him for. Crabbe or Goyle would have been blubbering by now. Blaise was a decent Slytherin. "Are you going somewhere or do you plan on pestering me all day?" In response, Blaise sat down on a chair across from his and grinned.
"Thought I'd bug you all day, if you don't mind. I'm a little bored, myself. Whadda you say?"
"Go bother those two," he gestured towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were snorting over a magazine in the corner. "They clearly could benefit from...more sophisticated entertainment."
"Ah, but Draco, so could I. Not more sophisticated, but at least something more intelligent than, 'heh, heh, look at those knockers, heh.'" His imitation of Goyle was remarkable, and Draco had to smirk a little. The two goons in the corner were, of course, oblivious. "So tell me what dear old dad has to say this week."
"Hey—I'll put up with you, Zabini, but that's it. Don't think you're getting free admission into my personal life. You can sit there, and that's about it, for now."
"Well thank you for your permission, Malfoy, seeing as this is your personal living room, and all. I'll sit wherever I like, thank you. Don't overstep your bounds." Draco was scowling again, and Blaise laughed. "Now that that's done with, I have something to tell you." He glanced around carefully and leaned forward, inspiring Draco to do so, too. "Look I want to show you something phenomenal, but it's outside, and right now the grounds are packed with moronic Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs going for walks or playing juvenile ball games. So I need to know if you're willing to sneak out of the castle at night." Draco had to ponder over this for a while—how much did he really trust Blaise? Though he liked the boy, the truth was: he trusted him as much as any one else, other than his mother; that is to say, not very much.
"Well, what is it you want to show me?"
"Are you joking? I can't tell you here. You just need to know that it's unbelievable. Really fantastic. Trust me, Draco. Do you want to go tonight?"
"Well, tonight, no," he said, hiding his relief, "I have prefect patrol. Tomorrow, too, and the night after that I should really sleep, for our Hufflepuff game. Look, do I need to do it anytime soon?"
"Not really, it's been there for years, but why not go tonight? It's perfect. You can just slip out while on patrol!" Now Draco really was suspicious.
"Look, if I'm going to sneak out of the castle on your advice, you'll be coming with me." Blaise gave him a shrewd look.
"Ah. I see. You don't trust me. That's fine, we'll find a night we can both go. You're the first person I'm telling this to, Draco, and believe me, you don't want to miss out."
"Can you tell me anything about it?"
"Not here. I'm sure if anything like this got back to the professors, they'd destroy it in an instant." That rather piqued Draco's interest, and Blaise, seeing this, grinned. "Yes, my delinquent friend, it's quite off- limits. Forbidden, if you get my meaning."
"It's in the forest?" That was not a good sign. Ever since his first year, when Potter had gotten him detention in the stupid forest, Draco had been secretly terrified of the place. He tried to avoid it at all costs.
"Yeah, but it's not so far in. We can enter far away from that lump of a groundskeeper's hut, and it's only about two or three minutes in. It's completely safe, Draco. Don't let fear keep you from seeing this."
"Fear of what, exactly?" Draco snapped. Blaise wisely said nothing. "I'll think about it, alright?"
"No, it's not alright! Are you crazy? Gods...look, let's meet somewhere more private so I can tell you about it. Can we go now?"
"Where?" Blaise led him out of the common room, up a few moving flights of stairs to the third floor, and down a corridor into a room that had a trap door. "What's down there?"
"What? Oh, nothing. But look, no one ever comes here. C'mon." he walked to the other side of the room and sat down. "Alright," he began in a low voice, "just inside the Forbidden Forest there's this little clearing, right? And I went there and—"
"What were you doing in the forest?"
"It doesn't matter, just listen. So I stumbled into the clearing, and...well, first I fell down, but then a vision came to me. A vision of the future." His voice sped up as he grew more excited. "That's what the clearing does, it shows you the future. It showed me what I would do as an adult and...alright, here's the truth, it showed me showing the clearing to you. I know it sounds crazy, Draco, but I saw myself as an adult and I saw what kind of a life I would lead."
"What did you see?" Blaise's face clouded somewhat and looked away.
"I'd rather not tell you. It's pretty person. But, look, don't you want to see it?" He did, desperately. But he still wasn't entirely sure of Blaise's motives, and certainly wasn't eager to trust anything in that forest. But he knew he would go.
"Alright, look, this Saturday, alright? I can go Saturday night. Will you bring me there?"
"Yeah, definitely! Just don't—"
"Tell anyone, I know." They nodded at each other and stood up. "Let's get out of here before someone catches us."
"You embarrassed to be seen with me, Drakie?" Blaise batted his eyelashes and Draco snarled.
"Always."
"Creevey, kindly allow your partner to handle the hellebore. It is an extremely limited substance, and as we are all aware of your remarkable propensity for destroying valuable materials, I would prefer it if you kept as far away from this one as possible." The Slytherins in the classroom snickered as Colin miserably handed Ginny the hellebore, and Snape swept back to his desk, confident that he had ruined another Gryffindor's day.
"Don't listen to him," Ginny whispered coolly, though she knew that Snape was right. So far that year Colin had spilled jars of aconite, bubotuber pus, stewed lacewing flies, skinned shrivelfig, and dead spiders. And that was only in one month. Colin was really monumentally clumsy, as bad as Tonks.
"Easy for you to say. He never bothers you. You're good at this stuff." Ginny shrugged. That was true too. Potions was one of Ginny's two best subjects, along with Defense Against the Dark Arts. More specifically, they were her only two good subjects. The rest of her classes she rather piddled along in. She was sure Snape managed to take his anger out on her by pairing her with Colin, but of course she never mentioned this.
"He's just a lonely, bitter man," she whispered again. "Ignore him." Colin grumbled, but let her get back to work. He knew she disliked being distracted while concocting a potion. Ginny smiled as she got back to work, contentedly measuring out ingredients for the Draught of Peace. It came as an unpleasant surprise, then, when the door of the class opened and the room grew silent to see who would enter.
Albus Dumbledore entered the room and paid no attention to any of the students whose class he had interrupted. He walked right up to Snape, whispered in his ear for a few protracted seconds, and swept out again. The fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins looked up silently and expectantly at their Potions professor.
"Leave your potions as they are and I will cast a preserving charm on them. You will continue brewing the Draught of Peace in our next class. For now, class is dismissed." There was a very short, stunned silence, but Snape narrowed his eyes and they all hurried to pack their bags. No one dared ask him why they were getting out of class early, but they certainly discussed the possibilities among themselves in the hallway. Ginny told Neville all about it in the common room.
"Maybe he was called for the Order," he suggested in a very low voice. Since the end of last year Neville had known all about the Order of the Phoenix, and Ginny was thankfully free to talk to him about it. "Maybe Dumbledore got word of a Death Eater gathering, and he had to go spy."
"I don't know," Ginny said doubtfully. "Why would Snape not know about it, then? You know, he has the Dark Mark, and all. I kind of thought something bad had happened—don't you remember my...my feeling, from a couple of days ago?" Neville nodded.
"But you said it had something to do with you." Ginny just shrugged.
"We're grasping at straws, here. It could be anything. Harry and them probably know something, but of course they won't tell." She knew that she might be able to eavesdrop on them, though. "I wish we could do something."
"You always wish we could do something. We'll be graduating in a couple of years, then we can."
"Correction; you'll be graduating in a couple of years. I'm graduating in three years. But, cor, Neville, you really think Voldemort will still be around years from now?" Neville flinched at her use of Voldemort's name, but did not complain, as he was used to it from her by now.
"Yeah, Ginny, I think it's very possible."
"I hope you're wrong."
They found out the following morning why Dumbledore had rushed into the classroom. Plastered on the cover of Hermione's Daily Prophet was a photograph of a wizarding family, the Chittocks. They had been attacked in the late afternoon and were all killed, including a 10 year old son named Murray. A Dark Mark had been left floating over the roof of the house.
"Oh, gods, it's really starting," Ginny said in a hushed voice, clutching at Neville's arm. She glanced over at Ron, Hermione and Harry, who were all leaning towards each other over the table and talking in hushed voices. They knew something, she could tell, but how could she get it out of them? All three of them then glanced over at the Slytherin table, and then stood up and hurried out of the Great Hall. Ginny followed the path of their gazes, but she saw nothing noteworthy at the table other than the absence of Draco Malfoy. Shrugging, she read the article. Unsurprisingly, the Ministry planned to do everything it could to find the perpetrators, but Ginny knew they would be unsuccessful. All that mattered was that Death Eaters had been behind it all, and they had already broken out of Azkaban once. The Chittock family would get no justice. "I'm going to class, Nev," she said, and somewhat dazedly got up and left the Hall.
Somewhere along the way to Charms she took a wrong turn, but barely noticed. She was too distracted to really care where she was, and too filled with compassion to turn away from the pale, desperate, miserable figure she stumbled into.