Chapter Two: …Ball?
She raised her head as if the weight of the world was on her nape and walked towards him, convinced the best she could do for her loved ones was to be strong. She thought about the irony of Ginny Weasley herself feeling so absurdly alone and feckless when she was known for her strength and impulsiveness — and the presence of Dementors around the school wasn't improving her mood. She was surrounded by Dementors, Death Eaters and ferrets. Perfect.
She stopped halfway and grimaced.
There wasn't any other viable way left to defer the encounter; "confrontation", as her mind insisted on defining. He was standing in an awkward, tense position, facing The Great Hall's entrance as if trying to capture something coming from there. Being where she was, out of his sight, had two distinct aspects: the negative one was she would be deferring the inevitable and postponing her torture session… The positive one was she could observe him for a little bit longer and guarantee he hadn't brought anything lethal that could hurt her severely. Not to mention his wand, of course. At least, she was pretty decent when dealing with wands.
As usual, his outfit appeared to be of excellent quality, dark over the pale skin. She wondered if he was aware of the fact that those black clothes left on him a dreadful resemblance to a corpse… even the savourless Slytherin green would fit better on that white ferret than the absolute black. She noticed the long sleeves, presumptively covering up his Dark Mark which identified him as a Death Eater, and felt shivers as she was reminded of the dark masks enclaving her two years ago at the Ministry of Magic. There wasn't a strand of hair misaligned; she got surprised at his decision to go back on old habits and apply gel on it, as he used to during his first years in Hogwarts, combed back to perfection — and more surprised at the thought of remembering with precision about his hairstyle during those years. People's mind could store the most useless details.
As so many others, she supposed, he had grown up; from that distance, he was almost at the same height as Ron, although thinner. There was no sign of beard, despite of him being close to complete eighteen years old; Ginny couldn't figure out if it was a result of Malfoy's barber or not. Doubtless, he wasn't what Ginny would have by handsome, not with that overlong face, exorbitant paleness and aristocratic countenance… But something was there, she could tell… Nothing that could propitiate a second look, though. That is, save for that night, as she couldn't fight against her natural curiosity. She preferred thinking the sudden interest was due to the forced encounter. Yes, it was certainly due to that.
But nothing else would draw attention to him as the fact that he didn't look young despite of the age: his grey eyes, per usual glistening with arrogance and often begging for a punch or jinx, were then opaque as if waiting for something bad and inevitable to happen. Ginny tried to picture what could have happened to him after the battle at the Astronomy Tower, and for the first time she didn't finish the thought with a "If something bad happened it was well deserved". The last she heard, while still at the Burrow, You-Know-Who had settled in the Malfoy Manor — a guest whose host couldn't afford to displease.
She approached gulping; ordering her legs to at least pretend, given they didn't have the courage to behave with dignity. He sensed her approach and turned his head at her direction: his face didn't show anything at all, just a cold mask which Ginny presumed he had learnt to display during his holidays among giant snakes and lunatic wizards, a few months ago. She remained put, standing in front of him, trying to bring some defiance to her eyes even though she knew it was fruitless; it was too late and she wouldn't accomplish a thing by rebelling. At best she would end up as Neville, injured because of an unthinking act.
And contrary to all expectations that could have been created by her mind, Draco Malfoy held out his left hand, gloved and with the palm up, in a resigned gesture that could only belong to someone who had lost every battle.
His hand kept still as if asking for something. It all seemed to happen in slow-motion, precluding Ginny to find amusement in the situation formed inside her little head: a Malfoy asking for something to a Weasley. Normally it would be funny, but it was also true that, normally, Draco Malfoy wouldn't have bothered to even glance at her.
The whole world had stopped as she raised her right hand; when she was almost touching his, Ginny found out the reason why his eyes had piqued her interest: they were eyes of someone who was just about to cross the thin line between sanity and insanity. At last she laid her hand on his; soon afterwards she realised she trembled at her discovery — for a brief and mad period of time, she thought she could help Draco Malfoy, ask (was he asking for help?) the Order of the Phoenix to protect him, talk to Harry…
He interrupted her incoherent thoughts by raising his eyebrow and staring her hand over his; he knew. He knew she was there and he felt those awkward thoughts running through her mind. Ginny scolded herself inwardly once she understood he had felt her trembling. In a subtle movement he began to walk, leading Ginny, her small and freckled hand on his, and gradually a peculiar image was coming to light — she would lock up herself for an entire week just to avoid the imminent chatter about that scene... whether or not in the midst of a war, people had a tendency to cling to futile pleasures induced by gossips.
His silence didn't unsettle her. In fact, quite the opposite; it was better that way. If they were obliged to do it, it was preferable to get it done quick and bluntly. It was already a relief he hadn't said anything offensive (yet), neither had tried to jinx her or practice Unforgivable Curses on her (yet).
At last they have entered in The Great Hall. The décor wasn't much different, although it seemed more alive, what was a logical impression since The Great Hall was fuller. Ginny noticed that all those considered pure-blood wizards in general had chosen their dates of free and spontaneous will. The exception, of course, resided on those whom were blood-traitors, as she was. She felt her heart sink when Neville came across her mind; he could have chosen a girl to accompany him, but instead he had chosen to protest. She remembered with fondness of how they used to hide in the hallways, painting on the walls words of the Order, spreading for those who had eyes to read the Dumbledore Army was still standing.
The Hogwarts' professors won an honour seat next to the Headmaster at the platform placed for the occasion, and Ginny thought it was similar to a King's stratum, escorted by his most loyal subjects. She couldn't avoid concluding the students were playing the role of court jester, as one of those muggles stories Harry told her once. Some professors appeared to bear the same impression: McGonagall was sitting in such a stance that made her even more adamant than an ogre with torticollis; the plump Professor Sprout was unquiet, as if wanting nothing but the refugee of her greenhouse; and Professor Flitwick was even smaller than usual, threaded in the cushion of his chair as if wanting to be anywhere else but there.
Snape, or rather, Headmaster Snape, was impassive, carrying a defiant expression of "I have killed Dumbledore, does someone have anything against that?" Ginny couldn't look at him anymore; it was painful. Nonetheless, Malfoy had other plans: he decided to go before the headmaster, as if saying "Look at me, I am with the pauper Weasley, I am doing everything you impose me to do". Ginny couldn't help but think he was expecting that, perhaps, by those means, he could get some peace. Amycus Carrow was right next to Snape and not even tried to shun the guffaw when he set his eyes on them. Definitely, the Malfoys are in dire straits, she reckoned with a tad of pity. She shook her head, pushing away that feeling, which while on the subject, was manifesting itself more often than desired.
Still, some students were relaxed, mainly those who belonged to Slytherin; they were dancing to a song from a band unknown to Ginny, but the band wasn't good… maybe she just wasn't in the mood for a song. Then with dismay she realised he was leading her to a group formed in essence by poisonous snakes, also known as Slytherins. Appalled, she sought for Blaise, only to find his obnoxious colleagues: Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode and Gregory Goyle.
Ginny had the urge to leave and search for her Gryffindor compatriots, see how they were holding on, although she knew the majority of them had escaped from more unpleasant dates such as hers... it all led her to believe the Carrow Siblings' creativity had reached their apex when selecting her date. In any case, the unyielding hand of Malfoy was frustrating her wishes, relentless as he kept on leading her — she couldn't get rid of his grip with ease or without getting noticed. That would bin away all the torture which preceded the Ball, all the anger, the nervousness, the temporary resignation... Nothing would have been worth it.
Draco got closer to the group and for the first time he smiled; but it was one of those smiles that would never reach the eyes, which in his case remained opaque and elusive. He pulled her almost with courtesy, as if for a moment she was in fact his date, a decent girl deserving of his company, and Ginny's keen instinct alerted her instantly.
"Why so tense, Weasley?" he said, looking at her with a spark of cynicism in his frigid eyes. "We're already fulfilling our role to entertain the mass" he motioned his head to the Carrow Siblings, and the slight gesture caused for some strands of his platinum blond hair to fall over his eyes.
"I'd rather you a few instants ago, when I thought a hippogriff had eaten your tongue" she said with a scathing tone.
"Good to know there is a side of me you'd rather" his eyes fell on her, ruthless. "That will remind me of never demonstrating this side when near to you." She tried to remove her hand curtly, but he closed his fingers around hers with a painful pressure. "You won't get rid without causing a stir and I assume this is as much as unwelcomed to your cause as is for mine. We have to play this comedy for a little bit longer" he said with his teeth clenched, as if the words were coming out with a lot of effort.
"I don't believe it's really necessary, everyone has seen how good we are behaving ourselves" she tried to loosen the grip. "I've smiled so much without willing that my face will be like this forever," she complained more to herself than to him, after a moment of silence.
"It wouldn't be all bad, then. It would divert the focus from others disagreeable aspects of you" he finished with a cynical giggle and Ginny understood what prompted Harry to cast a spell such as Sectumsempra on him; if she could, she would have done very similarly.
However, she didn't let her irritation slip through in her reply. "Are you saying I have such a glaring smile, Draco?" she emphasized his name, and for a millisecond, she felt his hand getting rigid. Ginny was then ecstatic by her petty revenge. "Does your life need smiles so badly? Oh, I see it needs! Living with no prestige under You-Know-Who's wings must be depressing" she completed with a poisoned smirk; his eyes gained a metallic lustre which Ginny's mind registered as an obvious sign of danger.
He tightened even more her hand in his, and she couldn't avoid a small groan of pain. "Would you care to meet some people?" It was his only response to her insinuation about his family situation, apparently disgraced before Voldemort's eyes.
Malfoy wasn't interested in waiting for an answer as he kept leading her towards where he wanted. Soon she found herself in the middle of a circle, still hand in hand with him, a growing claustrophobic panic within her. All of a sudden, she was no longer Ginny Weasley, the popular girl, Quidditch player, symbol of strength and independence; she was an eleven years old girl, reddening as much as the red of her hair when near to Harry Potter, terrified of diaries, hidden underneath her mother's skirt.
Then Malfoy said, with his drawling voice more alive than she thought it would be, "Ladies and Gentlemen, may I introduce you to the filthiest pure-blood witch of the United Kingdom… as deplorable as her dress." He released her hand.
Between barely contained giggles and venomous gazes, everything collapsed on Ginny's head — and the most aggravating was to deal with the surge of impotence, which she hadn't experienced for at least five years then. The humiliation before those people made her think about Neville, about Dumbledore sprawled in a weird position on the ground, about George with his ear gushing out, about Bill scarred on a hospital bed, about Ron lost because of a close to impossible mission… and looking at those people, which parents were directly or indirectly connected to all the misfortunes her family had gone through for the past years, she just couldn't take it any longer.
She turned and ran without worrying about bumping into someone and, for the first time since she came back from The Burrow, since she noticed Harry was gone after Bill's wedding, for the first time… she truly cried.
Ginny ran for a while, and only stopped after going through lots of doors and vaults as her breath didn't allow her to go any further without asphyxiating. Everyone is entitled to a few moments of cowardice, she thought with bitterness, even the 'perfect' Ginny Weasley. Maybe that was the exact point: she was tired of playing the "perfect and strong" part. She just wanted everything to end as soon as possible so she could get her life back.
Ginny kept wandering until she realised she had went to some kind of a huge terrace, which had a great and wide sight of the school landscape; she was able to see the beginning of the Forbidden Forest and a portion of the Great Lake. She held her breath, stunned by the fact that, after six years studying there, she still hadn't visited all the places that could be visited. However, not even the beautiful sight provided by the terrace could stop her from throwing away her shoes with violence, imagining they were the heads of all despicable Slytherins on Earth. Once again she had the urge to rip out her dress and throw it away as well, but somewhere deep in her subconscious her rational side projected a scene of her walking through the hallways of the school up to the east tower, where the Gryffindor Common Room was located, semi-nude, trying to sneak behind armours and old curtains. Upon careful consideration of that scene, she halted her Weasley temper.
Ginny limited herself to sigh, and with a small leap she settled down on the border of the terrace, her back turned to the access door and her little feet swinging carelessly. The probability of getting hurt by falling from up there was quite inexistent; not because the lack of people who would like to pull her, but because despite of her unbridled escape, she hadn't gone beyond the ground floor of the castle. Therefore, even if the terrain was irregular, the fall wasn't high enough.
She could concentrate on her thoughts; the yearning for home and the thirst to get into the fight... and growing up! That stupid Ball and the incident with the white ferret had taken the biscuit, and as a matter of fact, she had thought there were no more biscuits to be taken. A winter wind blew with more force, raising her long and red hair which she hadn't made the effort to tie: it was pulled back, almost reaching her hip. She remained so for several minutes.
Ginny realised she was cold, inside and out.
"This intensive Quidditch practice got you a pretty fine conditioning, Redhead. It took me some time to find you here." Blaise came forth, catching his breath. Ginny turned her head to see him, and the look she gave him was to all appearances far from friendly, as Blaise raised his hand right after in a gesture of surrender. "I came in peace."
"Where were you when I was being eaten by those baby basilisks? You would've been very useful since you're immune to their poison." Although her anger was lessening, leaving room for sheer frustration, she still had to disburden somehow. "I thought you'd be with them for the night and maybe I'd have someone I could to talk to... At least while the toffee-nosed ferret was by my side." She sighed.
Blaise reckoned it was safe enough to attempt an approach and propped his elbows on the border, using his hands as a holder for his chin. It was an outlandish sight, as if she was seeing Zabini, the tall Zabini, from the top for the first time ever. He offered her one of his famous tight-lipped smiles in response to the nickname Ginny put on his friend. "I was looking after my interests... and devising excuses to get rid of Pansy, who wouldn't stop yakking about Draco and his distant demeanour. See, both of you share the appreciation for badmouthing my dear friend Malfoy." Ginny simulated a vomit over the comparison. "Or it might be just because of his poor finesse when it comes to women." He wondered.
Ginny decided to ignore Parkinson's complaints and Malfoy's "poor finesse"; her attention got caught by something else.
"What sort of interests?" she asked with her usual vivacity back.
"Politics. A word well put for the Headmaster here, an insinuation to the Carrow Siblings there… In politics and negotiations all that matters is the right connections." He explained absentminded.
Again Ginny felt that Blaise was an awful person to keep around. Schemer, selfish, egocentric, arrogant... dangerous. She knew he was using their "friendship" as a second plan, in case things got ugly to Voldemort; but she couldn't stop asking herself if he hadn't sufficient guarantees that nothing would happen to him if Voldemort fell. Besides, after months of acquaintanceship, Ginny didn't have anything concrete against him, and she'd be a valuable witness if necessary. She stared at him for a few instants.
"Sometimes I wonder why you bother looking after my presence. You already know I could get you Harry's indulgence, and so the wizarding world's, if needed." She said with callous.
"A good question indeed, which I ask myself very often. I know the seeds I planted in your noble Gryffindor soul will bear fruits," he made a dramatic pause, "if needed. Therefore, I conclude I look after you only because I truly enjoy your presence."
She widened her eyes. This was so wrong! Blaise Zabini saying he truly enjoyed Ginny Weasley's presence! He might just have started to defend the peaceful living between muggles and wizards.
He laughed, guessing her thoughts. "Oh, no, you should efface those ideas about a world divided in bad and good people without any intersection between them. Furthermore, don't delude your poor little heart about the verb 'enjoy'. You're definitely not my type, Redhead."
Ginny opened and closed her mouth before answering, wavering between utter shame for thinking he could have any love-related interest on her, and utter outrage for he had just admitted, openly, he used their "friendship" for political purposes.
However she chose to turn, come down from the border with a jump, and walk barefoot towards the door.
"Come on, Blaise. It's time to get some news about Neville and go to bed. The wizarding world may end tomorrow and I don't want to die knowing I've spent my last night with you." She stated with a playful blink as he nodded and followed her, unfathomable as ever.
She wanted nothing but that day to end soon... as all the other days to come, she was certain.
Perhaps she also wanted, more even, to forget about that one time she thought she could help Draco Malfoy. People like him were beyond salvation.
Or weren't? Involuntarily she went away with that thought on her mind.
Notes:
No, dear guest, I did not. In fact, I forgot all about it; thanks for reminding me! People's mind can also discard lots of important details, apparently.