Chapter Three: Pruning

Every muscle ached. Draco trudged off the pitch in a foul mood. He was so covered in mud that the drizzle wasn't doing anything to wash it away. His shoulder was burning from hefting his broom, so much so that if he looked to the side he saw literal flames.

"If you keep flying like that they're going to throw you off the team."

Or perhaps it was just Weasley-red hair. "Tell me something I don't know," he snarled, not breaking his stride. He didn't even bother to ask what she was doing out here in the rain.

"You look so tired," she said, immediately breaking his rule. Pansy had told him the same thing at lunch. He hated her so much – Weasley, that is.

"No time to chat," he sneered, breezing off into the safety of the boys' showers. He left his mud-spattered uniform in a pile by his bag and stepped into the blissfully hot shower. The steam improved his breathing, which made him realise that he was beginning to get sick. Perfect. That was just what he needed on top of everything else. He leaned against the shower wall and allowed the water to drum against his aching muscles, waiting until they relaxed under the steady stream. At least his shoulder had loosened up a bit. He emerged from the showers in a cloud of steam with a towel wrapped around his waist, considerably cheered by the prospect of a hot supper now that Theo's criticisms were fading towards the back of his mind.

"Took you long enough."

Draco screamed and clutched his towel tightly. "What are you doing in here?" he shrieked at the Weasley girl, who was seated beside his bag.

She was utterly unfazed. "Get dressed," she said, tossing his robes at him.

Too surprised to do anything else, he caught them against his body, nearly losing his towel in the process. His robes had been in his bag. "Have you been going through my things, you crazy bint?" he asked in disbelief.

"Get dressed," she repeated, and he retreated to the showers with his cargo.

As he yanked his pants on, disbelief quickly gave way to red-hot anger. "This is the last straw, Weasley," he seethed as he pulled his robe over his head. "You've got thirty seconds to put back whatever you've stolen or I'm reporting you to McGonagall. I should anyways, for being in here in the first place." He stalked back out of the showers, socks in his fist. "I've had enough of your-" He stopped short. She had her wand trained on him.

"Do be quiet," she said, "and sit down."

His wand was in her other hand. "Ten seconds," he said, glaring at it pointedly. "Put it back."

She opened his bag and laid his wand beside some phials that hadn't been there when he'd left for practice. "I've got some Dreamless Sleep in here for you, and some mild calming draughts."

Dreamless Sleep. He could've kissed her. "As if I would ever ingest anything you gave me," he sneered. "Now get away from my bag."

She let the bag fall closed. "I'm trying to help you."

"I'll bet you are. Why are you really here?"

"You're always alone," she said, "even in a crowd. You can't be arsed to bother Harry and Ron anymore. You're preoccupied, and all of your energy is going into keeping secrets."

Every word was a poisoned dart nailing Draco to his seat. He fought for breath, but the very air had thickened. Magic. Draco threw up his Occlumency shields as best as he could while quietly panicking. "What are you doing?" he croaked.

"I'm not doing anything," she murmured, but she was; the words washed some of his panic away even as he recognised the lie. "You're crumbling under the weight of your secrets. I'll bet you barely sleep and spend most of your waking hours doing things no one would understand."

"Stop it," he whispered. Her witchery was stripping away his defences.

"I'm not here to make you feel badly," she said quickly. "I want you to know that I understand."

"How can you possibly understand?" he hissed, not bothering to deny anything she said. He supposed he was going to have to kill her too, and soon. She already knew too much.

"I do, and I'm here to help you."

His laugh came out more like a sob. "You don't mean that."

"It's true. I brought Drea-"

"We're enemies, Weasley." He'd meant to sound harsh but his voice had a desperate edge to it.

She turned the full force of her gaze on him then, and he sucked in his breath as he was bathed in compassion. "We may be adversaries," she said softly, with the calm and patience of an immortal, "but I'm not your enemy."

Draco bowed his head, blinking back sudden tears. The grace radiating from Ginny Weasley was so pure as to be divine, and it was more than he deserved. She absolved him from judgement and offered to share his burden. The kindness was too much for him to bear. He buried his face in his hands, awash in humiliation and relief. "I can't just tell you everything," he mumbled when he could trust his voice.

"Of course not. It's too dangerous for both of us. But if there are things you have to share – hopes, fears, dreams – I'll listen."

"I'm so afraid," he whispered, the confession an unworthy offering for her altar.

"I should've come to you earlier. I'm so sorry."

Her influence over him began to subside, leaving him weak-kneed and clammy but less anxious than he'd felt in days. "What magic is this?" he asked again.

"I'm not doing anything," she repeated with a tiny, reassuring smile.

For the first time, he wondered if the magic was coming from him.


Supper tasted better than any meal in recent memory, even though he'd barely reached the food before platters started disappearing. Draco credited Ginny for this minor miracle, too. His interlude with her had infused him with energy, and he intended to run down to his dorm to collect Vince to keep watch for him so he could visit the Room. He didn't make it further than the Slytherin common room, where all of the sixth-year boys were lounging. "Greg, run my bag up to my room. Vince?" He inclined his head towards the door he'd just come through.

Blaise smirked at him from a chair. "We're not going up there until you get her out of there."

"Sorry?"

"Pansy," Greg supplied.

"She's gone 'round the bend," Vince added.

"She drove us all out of the room with her histrionics," Blaise sighed. "Now go clean up whatever mess you've made."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "For the love of...does anyone know what her problem is?"

"She says it's you."

Draco muttered more choice words under his breath as he trudged to his dorm. Pansy was sprawled on his bed, looking a fright – hair mussed, makeup smeared beyond repair, robes rumpled. So much for the wonderful evening he'd been enjoying. "I suppose you think you're clever," was the first thing she said, her voice low and raspy.

"Not particularly," he rejoined, dropping his bag at the foot of his bed.

"How long?" Her lower lip quivered. "She brought you a book that time."

What? "Look, could you at least tell me what I've done wrong so I know what you're referring to?" he snapped.

"Her."

Draco looked at her expectantly, every inch the haughty Malfoy heir, but inside, he quailed. It was too soon. No, Ginny was supposed to be his secret solace. Pansy wasn't supposed to know anything, she couldn't. He'd kept her utterly separate from his whole mission, partially because including her was forbidden but also because part of him relished the notion of falling into her when this whole business was concluded and knowing that she was still whole, that he'd been able to keep the full horror from her.

"You got Theo to cover for you and didn't think I'd ever catch on, didn't you? God," she muttered, swiping at her cheeks. "I saw the two of you together." She waited for a response, but he remained mute. "I went to meet you after the boys said you were doing extra Quidditch drills. She met you on your way to the showers. You both went in. You didn't come out for – well, I don't know," she admitted, her voice thinning to a whisper. "After twenty minutes, I couldn't wait any longer."

"You've got it all wrong. She's the enemy, you know that," he crooned, the lie slipping from his lips so easily because it had been the truth for so long. "She tried to incite me into giving something away for her precious Potter."

Pansy's hair flew out around her as she gave her head a vehement shake. "You can't fool me. Never again."

"I'm telling the-"

Draco flew backwards and slammed into the wall. Pansy's wand flicked a second time before he even had time to draw breath and his wand arm started to tingle unpleasantly.

"Finish that sentence and I'll hex your bollocks off, I swear I will. We both know you haven't told me a single truth in a long while."

His arm started to writhe of its own accord, the tingling sensation intensifying. "Stop," he gasped.

"We're through, Draco," she muttered. "You don't trust me and you don't respect me."

He wasn't sure if it was the mounting pain in his arm or the matter-of-fact tone of her voice, but the significance her words didn't register with him immediately. Never in his imaginings had he thought that Pansy would end things calmly – and it was a thing he'd imagined often since things became rocky between them. "Don't do this," he said, because it was the only thing he could think to say.

"I'm not doing anything," she said and he shivered with deja vu, half expecting her head to break into Weasley-red flames. "You did this."

Maybe when all of this was done he'd be able to return to her and explain the circumstances, salvage what they'd had. He knew from her calm that tonight was not the time for such gestures, that her mind was made up for now. He filed his relationship with Pansy aside – he'd been doing it for so long that it was old habit – and focused on the next issue at hand. "What are you going to do?" he asked, caution making him whisper as he grasped his arm, trying to still it even though it only made the pain worse.

She looked surprised, as if his supplication had softened her, and she cancelled the jinx that was making his arm flail. "Get on with my life, I suppose. I'm done crying over you."

"No, I mean about her."

Her features hardened in an instant and she gave a mirthless titter. "I'm going to sit back and enjoy the show, luv. I'm going to let you hang yourself with this one – if her brother doesn't kill you, if the ridicule of your house isn't enough when this breaks, she'll do you in herself."

The relief that swept through Draco clarified his mind. She wasn't going to tell anyone. He could keep Ginny and he'd finish his task unmolested. His mother would live.

"She's not like you, Draco," Pansy warned him. "She'll never understand your dark corners, and she'll run from you in the end."

Little did she know. "You should probably go," he said.

Her mouth dropped open. "That's all you have to say to me? After all this time?"

He shrugged.

She stomped to the door and flung it open. "I loved you once," she snapped. "Merlin knows why."