Chapter 2: The Weasley Girl

The boys' dormitory was just as Draco remembered it, and a cursory glance at the belongings stacked next to his bed confirmed that the House Elves hadn't forgotten to bring anything up from the Express. His tawny owl had already been settled in the Owlery, and the cage sat empty on top of the trunk. Sliding the cage under his bed, Draco flipped the latch on his trunk and started to unpack.

"What's this?" Crabbe was saying from the bed beside him, snatching a framed photograph off of Theodore Nott's nightstand.

Nott grabbed for the picture, but Crabbe juggled it from hand to hand, a grin on his wide face.

"Who is it then, Nott?" he said mockingly.

"Probably his girlfriend," Goyle chimed in from the bed on Nott's other side.

"It's my mum," Nott replied, trying to dart around Crabbe's body to grab at the frame.

"You're putting a picture of your mum on your nightstand? Oooh, does poor little Notty get homesick without his mummy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Enough," he said sharply, turning on Crabbe and silencing Goyle's stupid laughter with a glare. "His mum is dead, and she was a friend of my family's."

Crabbe scowled, but he tossed the picture back at Nott, who caught it and turned back to his trunk without a word to any of the others.

Draco turned back to his own trunk, ignoring Crabbe's indignant mutterings. "That Weasley girl was a surprise, wasn't she?" Blaise said from the bed to his left.

"Well she is a Pureblood after all. Maybe she's not as nauseatingly goodie-goodie as the rest of them," Draco said easily, thinking of her sharp retorts at Flourish and Blotts and again on the train this morning. She had the famed Weasley temper all right, but it seemed she could also be sharp and cutting – and that was something he'd never encountered in her bumbling brothers. Maybe there was something to the hat's decision, after all, he mused.

"You should've seen Parkinson's face when you let her sit between you."

"I saw it," Draco replied.

"She wasn't happy."

"I gathered," he replied, still not looking up. He knew Blaise was trying to get an explanation out of him, but he didn't oblige. The truth was, she had seemed so fierce before, but in those few moments after the hat placed her in Slytherin, so had looked so…lost. And he had felt sorry for her. That's why he had moved over to make room for her at the table. But all that was much too sentimental, and he wasn't about to admit any of it to Blaise.

"Come on, then. Let's head back down," Draco said, nudging his now-empty trunk under the bed.

They descended the staircase into the Common Room. Pansy and Daphne Greengrass had commandeered a circle of seats. He flopped down beside Parkinson as Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle took the remaining chairs.

"Oh, happy to sit next to me now, are you?" Pansy said crossly.

"It was one meal, Parkinson. And I hardly made you eat off the floor. There was one person between us," Draco drawled.

"A person who happens to be a Weasley. Honestly, letting a Weasley sit next to you…," Pansy said, glowering.

"Aw, don't get your wand in a knot, Pans," Blaise cut in, "You know you're Draco's favorite girl. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Draco smiled easily in Pansy's direction. "Of course it is."

"Speaking of the Weasley girl…," Daphne said, nodding toward the girls' staircase. Ginny Weasley was at the bottom of the steps, worrying her bottom lip as she glanced around the room. A black book was clutched tightly in her left hand. She seemed to notice that the entire Common Room had turned to look at her, and Draco watched a pink flush creep up her neck to her cheeks. He observed her keenly as she shut her eyes for a moment and exhaled determinedly. She opened them again and strode firmly across the room to an empty armchair a few feet from where he and his friends were sitting. She situated herself, then opened her black book, took out a quill, and began to write.

Draco raised his eyebrows. A lesser girl would have holed herself up in her room and cried herself to sleep rather than face the hostile eyes of sixty Slytherins. It seemed that the lost look that he had seen in the Great Hall had been only a momentary lapse. Despite himself, Draco was impressed.

"She's got some nerve coming down here," Blaise observed. Draco's eyes were still tracking Ginny Weasley, and he saw her flush again. She was close enough to hear them, but she kept writing, a determined look on her face.

Pansy made a disapproving noise. "Well I for one don't know what that hat was thinking…putting a Weasley in Slytherin. It's bad enough they let Mudbloods and blood traitors into Hogwarts, but into Slytherin? I bet your father won't be happy when he hears about this, will he Draco?"

"No," Draco agreed, still not taking his eyes off the redhead. "No, he won't."

Pansy smiled, satisfied, and she raised her voice a little louder as she continued, obviously warming to her subject. "I mean, honestly, the sort they let into this school. Did you know Granger's Muggle parents work with people's teeth or something disgusting like that. Can you imagine?"

Weasley's face was getting redder and redder with each word.

"And Longbottom's parents are completely 'round the bend…they're permanent residents of St. Mungo's. It's like pedigree doesn't even matter anymore!" she finished, exchanging a satisfied look with Daphne.

Weasley's voice cut in loudly. She had obviously had enough and had turned to glare at Pansy, eyes bright with anger. "Well, last I heard your father was under Ministry investigation for selling dragon dung on the black market, so I wouldn't get too high and mighty," she retorted.

Blaise actually laughed a little at that, and Daphne gasped. Parkinson's father was, in fact, under investigation for selling dragon dung, but it wasn't the sort of thing anyone dared bring up in front of her.

Pansy sprang to her feet, glaring daggers, and suddenly they were facing each other across five feet of space, their wands drawn. The Weasley girl had a fierce look in her eye that made Draco fairly certain her hexes would be nothing to trifle with. But Pansy had a year's worth of learning under her belt, not to mention some darker spells her father had taught her….

"How dare you?" Pansy spat.

"What? Can't take what you dole out?" Weasley snorted derisively. "That's pretty pathetic, don't you think?"

Beside him, Blaise sucked in a breath. They both knew that would be the last straw for Parkinson. The older girl's cheeks flushed furiously, and she raised her wand.

On instinct, Draco sat forward and grabbed Pansy's arm to pull her back down. "For Merlin's sake, Parkinson, calm down, will you?" he said sharply. "You don't need Snape giving you detention before classes even start."

Pansy glared at him for a moment, but he just looked back, eyebrows raised. Finally, she huffed and sank back onto the sofa beside him.

Weasley was still standing, fury coming off of her in waves, and now her eyes slid over to glare at him. As if he hadn't just saved her from a nasty dark hex! Her expression was full of loathing, and it took a surprising amount of willpower to hold her gaze. He forced himself not to shift uncomfortably in his seat. Then, without saying another word, she stalked past them and down the passage that led out of the Common Room.

"The nerve of that filthy little blood-traitor," Pansy hissed, clenching her fists.

"She's probably friends with Granger," Daphne put in. "Her brother is, anyway. And Longbottom too."

"Well everything I said was true," Pansy ground out.

"Of course it was, Pans," Daphne agreed, patting her friend's arm soothingly. Pansy looked slightly appeased, and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, suddenly feeling impatient and restless. Weasley's look had unnerved him somehow. All of her looks had been affecting him strangely today.

Abruptly, he stood. "And where do you think you're going?" Pansy said sharply.

He turned on her. "Do I have to explain my every move to you, Parkinson?" he replied harshly. "I'm going to make sure the Weasley girl doesn't lose us House points by being out after hours." Without waiting for her to respond, he strode out of the Common Room.

Weasley was no where in sight as he headed down the passageway and through the cellar wall into the hallway outside. At this time of night, the dungeons were chilly, and Draco shivered a little as the cold air hit him. Still no sight of her – he should've been able to spot that garish red hair easily. Where had she gotten to? And why was he following her anyway?

Just when he had decided he was acting like an insufferable moron, he heard muffled voices from around the corner. He stilled for a moment, then began to walk more quietly in the direction of the sound. As he came closer, he could make out the words.

"…and what are mum and dad going to think?" He recognized Ron Weasley's voice immediately. The git really had a unique way of sounding furious and borderline hysterical all at the same time.

"I don't know," Ginny was saying. "I haven't written to them yet, but I'm sure Percy's already spread the news."

"How could you let this happen, Ginny?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Now she sounded defensive.

"I've been doing some reading," another voice cut in. Granger, this time. "I haven't been able to find a case of someone being allowed to switch houses after the sorting, but I'm sure if we speak to Professor Dumbledore…."

"Doubtful," Ron interrupted. "I talked to Percy, and he said he's already checked with McGonagall. You've got yourself in a right mess, Ginny," he finished accusingly.

"You think I wanted this to happen? I'm the one stuck in Slytherin!" Ginny replied, voice rising. She sounded like she was fighting back tears.

Draco peered around the corner. Ginny was standing with her back to him, face-to-face with her red-faced brother. Granger was hanging back a little, and there was Potter beside her, of course. None of them could function without the other two glued to the hip, Draco thought derisively.

"WHAT EXACTLY IS GOING ON HERE?" a loud voice cut in from behind Weasley. Snape stepped into the light, his black robes swirling around him and his eyes flashing. Draco ducked back a little to be sure he wouldn't be seen.

"Really, Weasley, Potter," Snape continued, "Apparently almost getting expelled earlier this evening was not enough to deter further rule-breaking. Perhaps another two detentions each for being out after hours will do the trick. And you'll get the same, Granger. For an insufferable teacher's pet like yourself, you do get in a great deal of trouble."

Granger began to protest vehemently, but Snape silenced her with a stern glare. "There will be no arguments. Miss Weasley, go back into the Common Room. You three, come with me."

"Hey!" Ron said loudly, "She was out after hours, too! Why is it just the three of us get detention?"

"She was not lurking around other students' common rooms, Weasley. Now is two extra detentions enough or shall we add more?"

Ron made a face, but he fell silent and followed Snape down the hall away from Draco. Granger followed, but Potter hung back.

"Why didn't you just tell the hat you didn't want to be in Slytherin?" he asked Ginny in a low voice.

Draco saw her redden slightly as Potter spoke to her. So the littlest Weasley had a crush on the great Harry Potter, did she? Draco snorted. How quaint. That lowered his opinion of her somewhat, he thought. Then he realized that this was the first time he'd ever had an opinion of a Weasley that could even be lowered.

Contemplating this, he completely missed Ginny's response. When he looked up, Potter was speaking again.

"The hat wanted to put me in Slytherin too," he said. Well that was news. Harry Potter in Slytherin?

"Potter! Do you have wax in your ears? Follow me," Snape yelled from down the hall.

Potter turned his head and finished quickly. "But it gave me a choice, and I picked Gryffindor. Why didn't you?"

Ginny's eyes flashed angrily. "Well, the hat didn't give me a choice, Harry," she said testily, and Draco smirked. Take that, Potter.

Potter shrugged and moved away, following Weasley and Granger out of sight around the corner. As soon as the others were out of sight, Ginny exhaled deeply and ran a weary hand over her face. She turned back in the direction of the Common Room…and nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught sight of him around the corner.

To her credit, she recovered herself quickly, and with a venomous glare, she pushed past him down the hallway.

"I wasn't aware that you enjoyed spying on private conversations, Malfoy," she said acidly as he fell into step beside her.

"Hardly," he replied, even though he had been spying, albeit unintentionally. She snorted. "Not winning any popularity contests tonight, are you?" he continued.

"Sod off," she grumbled.

"Do you really want to alienate another person? I'm sure you could set some kind of record," he answered coolly.

She was silent for a moment as they moved through the dungeon, but then, to his complete and utter horror, her shoulders hunched and she began to cry. She swiped angrily at the tears and glared at him through watery eyes, just daring him to make a snide remark. They were stopped just outside the cellar wall that led to the Common Room passage.

"You'd better not go in there crying," Draco observed. "Pansy can smell weakness."

"I'm not crying," she said defensively, swiping at her face again.

"Oh, and I suppose the running nose and the tears all over your face are just part of your usual charm," he countered dryly.

She didn't reply, but her shoulders heaved a little with a sob, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he had reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, which made him want to roll his eyes, but she didn't move away, and now that he'd done it he was committed to it. If he drew back now, he would look like a complete idiot.

To compensate, he gripped her shoulder rather tightly to dispense with any idea that he was trying to comfort her. He hoped she would assume that he was just holding her in place.

"If you're going to survive here, you're going to have to get control of yourself, Weasley," he said harshly, holding her gaze. "Slytherin isn't like your precious Gryffindor. No one's going to hold your hand and ask you if you're settling in all right. And nobody gives a damn about you. At all. Reputation is the only thing that matters."

"And here I thought it was blood status," Ginny said snidely.

"And Merlin knows you've got little enough of that," he replied without missing a beat. She glared. "So you'd better learn to keep your mouth shut in the Common Room. You've already made an enemy out of Parkinson, and trust me, you don't need any more. Start making some allies."

"Don't you mean friends?"

Draco smirked condescendingly. "We're obviously going to have to shake that Gryffindor naivete out of you."

She scowled at him suspiciously. "We?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You're interesting, Weasley. I want to see how you turn out, but that means I have to make sure you survive Pansy's wrath and make it through this year without transferring to Beauxbatons."

"I don't need your help," she said fiercely.

He regarded her coolly for a moment, then shrugged again and stepped back. He said the password, and stepped through the cellar wall. "Suit yourself," he said shortly. He headed back into the Common Room without a backward glance, leaving her gaping after him.

Ginny thrust her book bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed, swiping angrily at the corners of her eyelids. She hated that she was crying so much lately. At least none of the other first year Slytherin girls were in the dormitory. It had been enough to cry in front of stupid Draco Malfoy. She didn't need Bridget Avery, Rachel Rosier, or the reserved Carrow twins to see her break down too.

She stared up through watery eyes at the green and silver canopy. These days, she was surrounded by green and silver – the bed hangings, the Common Room, even her robes and scarf. The red and gold sweater her mum had knitted her over the summer had had to be shoved to the bottom of her trunk.

And it looked like she would be stuck with green and silver for the next seven years of her life. She had finally gone to see Professor Dumbledore to ask him – beg him, really – to let her transfer into any other House. I'm sure if you just give me another chance with the hat, I can make it change it's mind, she had said desperately.

Unfortunately, Miss Weasley, the Professor had replied, that's just the problem. You can't force the hat to do anything that it does not wish to do. It's role is to look into your mind and heart and determine in which House you belong.

But I don't belong in Slytherin! The same words she had said to the hat on the night of the Sorting. They worked just as well as they had then.

Apparently you do. It may not be what you expected, but perhaps in seven years time you will look back and appreciate the hat's decision.

But the hat doesn't even know me! I'm only eleven – how can it possibly know that I belong in Slytherin! Now she was just babbling, echoing Percy and Fred and George and Ron.

We sort precisely when we mean to sort, Miss Weasley.

But maybe you sort too soon!

Dumbledore's eyes had sparkled strangely at that, and he had looked distant for a moment, as if he was thinking of someone else. But then he had shaken his head. You will be fine, Miss Weasley. Many accomplished witches and wizards have come out of Slytherin. You just need to put your assumptions aside and befriend those around you. He should have said "make alliances," Ginny thought.

She had given the Headmaster one last pleading look, but he had merely shaken his head again, and Ginny's hopes had fallen around her.

Swiping at her eyes again, she pulled Tom from her robes and flipped him open.

I'm stuck in Slytherin for good, she wrote, and the words seemed to sink into the parchment with harsh finality.

I don't know why you keep complaining about that. Slytherin is a great house, Tom replied, and Ginny was taken aback. Tom had never been impatient with her before.

Slytherins are cruel and unfriendly, she wrote, feeling defensive.

They're better than any of the others.

Well I hope you're right. Dumbledore thinks I should start making friends with them.

Dumbledore is an old fool, Tom said, and for a moment she thought she could almost hear him spitting the words into her ear, and an image flashed unbidden across her mind – a much younger Dumbledore, beard not yet grey. She shook herself, but Tom was writing again. You don't need friends. You have me. The ink blotted at the end of his word as though he had pressed a quill hard against the page, letting anger seep onto the parchment.

But you just said –

Why must you be so dense, Ginny? Tom wrote. I said Slytherins are better than the rest, but you don't need friends. All you need is me.

The words seemed to crackle on the page with a strange energy, almost alive, and Ginny suddenly felt incredibly uneasy. What had her dad always told her? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't tell where it keeps its brain. And where did Tom keep his brain? She didn't know. And he was angry…how could a book be angry?

Do you hear me, Ginny? You don't need anyone else.

He was still writing. Ginny backed slowly away from him, mind racing. Her heart was suddenly pounding. She felt totally…wrong.

Then, before she could lose her nerve, she grabbed Tom between thumb and forefinger and tossed him into her trunk. But as she slammed it shut, she felt her chest constrict sharply. She gripped her bedpost to steady herself as the sensation faded. For a moment she had gotten that horrible feeling of missing a step on the staircase, as though her insides had suddenly hollowed out.

She stood there, breathing hard. She knew what she had to do. She shook herself and exhaled determinedly, turning away from her trunk and focusing her mind on the task at hand. She wasn't going to cry alone in her room any longer. She wasn't getting out of this House, so she would have to adapt. As Malfoy had said, she would have to survive.

He was in the Common Room, sitting with one arm along the back of the sofa and the other slouched easily around Pansy's shoulders. His feet were up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The whole little group was laughing at something Daphne Greengrass had just said.

Ginny walked right up to them and stopped, not taking her eyes off Malfoy and forcing herself to ignore the look of loathing Pansy shot her.

"Malfoy," she said. "A word?"

The entire group fell silent. Draco met her eyes, eyebrows slightly raised. Then he disentangled himself from Pansy and strode over to her. She followed him a little ways from the circle of seats, but from the hushed and stilted whispering that started up behind, Ginny knew that they were all straining their ears to hear.

"So?" he said shortly, eyes boring into her, and she swallowed.

"Your offer, from the other night…." she began. He didn't cut in, so she forged ahead. "Does it still stand?"

His eyebrows went up a smidgen further, and for a moment she was fairly certain he was going to refuse. But then he nodded shortly. "It does."

"Good," she answered. "And thank you." She added it almost as an afterthought, but if felt right to say it. She extended her hand.

He took it.

Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - I really appreciate all of your encouragement! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Harry Potter Wiki lists Bridget and Rachel as two Slytherin girls that appear around 1992 (I added the last names). And since we don't know what year Hestia and Flora Carrow are, I figured I'd put them in Ginny's year. I'd love to hear your thoughts about the chapter!