Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me.

Chapter Four

I stepped back into the bedroom, anxiously tugging on my clothes as I surveyed the scene quickly. Malfoy and Zabini were looking very satisfied on the cough, leaving me with no doubts as to what they had been doing while I was taking a shower. Parkinson had been watching them, a very Slytherin smirk plastered on her face, when she saw me, timidly standing half in the bathroom and half out. She cleared her throat, turning the other two's gazes upon me. I shifted from foot to foot anxiously.

"You can sit down," Zabini said, waving his hand out to the other side of the loveseat that Parkinson was sitting on. I approached the seat cautiously, before sitting down just on the edge of the seat. I caught the amused glances they exchanged with each other; well, I couldn't really help it. After all, they were Slytherins; the ones that I had been programmed to hate since I had first heard of Hogwarts. And the same went for them; really, I think the only reason they were being civil to me was because it was Potter that they had caught abusing me. They'd probably do anything to piss him off.

I resolved at least to not let my tension ruin whatever had come over them. I practically owed them my life, and it would be just plain rude to piss them off, and have them throw me out on my ass. I much preferred Malfoy's Head Boy room to staying at Gryffindor tower. So I took a deep breath, shoving all my fear to the back of mind as I visibly straightened and gained a cool and emotionless gaze that could have given theirs a run for their money.

"So…I'm guessing you're going to want an explanation?" I asked, looking at Parkinson first since she was the one that knew the least.

That, I privately reasoned with myself, and with them staring at me I can't concentrate at all.

"Explanations would be nice," Parkinson said, her voice dry and concealing her interest behind disinterest. I nodded, wondering just where I could start this.

"Start from the beginning, if you will," Malfoy's soft voice broke through my musings as if he had read my mind, causing me to glance at him and then away just as quickly. I knew he hadn't really read my mind; I was well shielded and quite skilled at Occlumency. Even if he was even better than me, it would take him some time to find a way into my mind. Besides, I would have felt him if he had tried stealing my thoughts. I knotted my hands in my lap, having no extra fabric to twist as I began my story.

"I suppose the only beginning is with Tom," I said, my mind already starting to drift back into the past. "Everything in our world revolves around him—or, at least, it did. A small part of my life revolved around him, and still does. Tom taught me to question, to learn, to discover. He was the greatest thing that ever happened to me, and I probably would have joined him if he hadn't been so intolerant. As a wizard, he was brilliant, but as a person…he was a perversion of nature, after he gave up his soul for immortality."

They nodded in remembrance of the late Dark Lord. They had all holed up at Bel Sacrificio, Zabini's Italian mansion meaning "Beautiful Sacrifice," when the war had really started, not choosing either side and practically forced to flee the country, to Italy. All three had disappeared, along with Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Vasiliki Zabini, Severus Snape, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Rodolphus Lestrange.

It was the last two that had astounded the population and infuriated Voldemort. I didn't know the full story, like the whys or hows, but Voldemort's most avid follower had seemed to come to a complete turn around, along with her husband, disappearing presumably to the same place where the small amount of remaining Malfoys and Zabinis had gone. They were still wanted, but lawyers were closing their multiple cases every day. Soon enough, they would even be able to walk through the wizarding world without being cursed.

"Did you read the Prophet when it came out with the story on the Final Battle?" I asked. Parkinson nodded, and both of the boys gave miniscule nods as well.

"It was wrong. Edited and glorified, it held just the right amount of horror to silence any who spoke against the Ministry and just the right amount of lies to hide the truth. Who do you believe killed Dumbledore?"

"Voldemort," Zabini said immediately, his voice flat and expressionless. I smiled sadly.

"No. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, killed Dumbledore." Only the briefest bit of surprise shone through their emotionless masks. "Granted, Voldemort had possessed Potter, but I don't know how much was Voldemort and how much was Potter. Afterwards, though, he lost it, and that was how he killed Voldemort: imbued with hatred and loathing from Voldemort, the knowledge that he had just killed Dumbledore proved too much for his pure mind, and he snapped.

"He probably would have been unable to kill him otherwise. Ironic, you know? Voldemort managed to kill Dumbledore, but the corruption he filled Potter with was the very stuff that enabled Potter to kill him." They smirked, but it didn't last long, falling off their faces so they would hear me better, once my voice dropped lower and lower.

"I was there. Hermione suggested that Voldemort's hate be put into someone…less important. After Voldemort's death, his psyche was still in Potter, his malevolence festering like a rotten wound. He wasn't alive, not in any sense, but his—I don't know, his wrath, his perversion—was still in him, and Hermione thought it would be better that their savior remained pure and untouched, a beacon of light they could use to put on a pedestal for all to admire. She wanted someone else to take the psyche."

"That's powerful dark magic, though; I doubt any of those Light mage pansies would even know how to begin that spell," Zabini interrupted, and I nodded.

"They didn't. Hermione only remembered the spell from a warning she once read in her safe and easy books. I knew how to do it. They had initially chosen me to take his wrath. I was the logical choice: I had been possessed by him before, I knew much more dark magic than anyone there, and I knew how to do the spell. Can you guess what I told them when it was proposed to me?" Parkinson smirked.

"You told them that as the caster, you weren't able to take his psyche into yourself." I smirked in return.

"Of course." I sank farther into the couch, my confidence growing. I knew that if I played falsely modest, they'd only see me as a fake, since I was really proud that I had managed to trick the Golden Trio plus nearly all of the Order members.

"In the end, the decision was quickly made by Potter's growing desire to kill everyone surrounding him. My noble brother and the loyal book worm would do the brave thing, the good thing; they would share Voldemort's evil." I smiled wickedly at this, before feeling it fade. No, it had been a good trick to play on them at the time, but it had only turned out worse and worse. "It wasn't too hard, but by the time I was done, it was too late for anything to be done if they ever wanted to reverse its effects. They would all be stuck with a piece of Voldemort in them, forever."

That was one of the most ironic parts, that the three heroes from the Light, the ones that spend the most time in the press and spotlight, were now each the owner of one third of the mental imbalances of the most determined megalomaniacs to ever grace the earth.

"Originally I had done it to get back at them, a petty retribution for trying to land me with Voldemort again. Tom wasn't bad, not by a long shot, but Voldemort wasn't even Tom any more. A few months later, Harry asked me out. My parents believed it was a match made in heaven; too bad I wasn't too keen on hooking up with the one boy who I would never like again. But for their sake, and the sake of Harry himself, I went out with him. He was decent, I suppose, but he never really made me come to a passionate boil." I exchanged a glance with Pansy, and we both smirked. We knew what that felt like, for sure.

"A few weeks in…he tried casting a spell on me, a spell that would make me 'like him more,' if I remember correctly. Foolishly, I was willing to give it a try. After all, I had spent years pining over him, so I owed the boy that much, even if I didn't feel any more love in that sense for him than I did my own brother. It was…dark magic, very dark. It made me unable to curse him, to hurt him with magic; he was impervious to it from me. It probably only worked because he had used my wand, too." I sneered in disgust at myself and him. Malfoy looked livid.

"The Power Bind?" he asked coldly. I nodded in confirmation.

"The asshole," I commented offhandedly, before returning to my story. "After that, he started beating me." A tiny noise from Parkinson made me look towards her, but I dismissed it. She looked normal from here.

"It wasn't that bad, at first; a few words here, a slap there. But it got worse…slaps turned to punches, punches turned to curses, words turned to full-fledged insulting." My voice was quiet now, and I was inspecting my white knuckled hands in my lap as I spoke barely above a whisper. "Soft and gentle kisses went to demanding and harsh…slow caresses became rape…" I trailed off, my voice aching with remembered horror.

"He took his anger out on me, and it wasn't as if I could go to anyone. My parents adored him, the other two were just as corrupted, and honestly, who would listen to me? Ginny Weasley, younger sister of Ron and known in the Order as a dark mage, or Harry Potter, the Boy Who Just Wouldn't Die?" I was turning bitter, my hands were gripping each other tighter, and I was feeling more and more rage and suppressed tears welling up inside of me. Next to me, Parkinson was just as tense, and the other two were looking murderous.

"What time is it?" Parkinson asked in a cheerful voice. I turned to her, wondering whatever had caused her to be so cheerful, and found that she was smiling a queer smile that looked obviously forced.

"Nearly nine," Zabini answered in a guarded tone. She brightened, before standing up quickly.

"If you'd excuse me, I need to go do some…business." She smiled, before heading towards the door swiftly.

"Pansy…" Malfoy said, stopping her in her tracks. "You can't go kill Potter. He'd be surrounded by the whole lot of Gryffindors, in the middle of the Great Hall. You'd go to Azkaban for sure, and you won't do any good for us there." She turned around and scowled, gripping her wand tightly.

"Draco, no! The little shit deserves to have his balls cursed right off! You know it, I know it, we all fucking know it! You can't stop me from doing what Weasley over there wants to do!" she said, her voice rising louder and louder as her actions got more and more violent. I shrank into the couch; this was beyond what I had seen the Slytherins at. Usually, they kept there cool, but now…Parkinson was practically hysterical.

"Shh, Pansy love," Zabini cooed, standing up and heading towards her cautiously. The wild girl was panting, her shoulders rising up and down with each breath as her eyes darted from all three of us to the exits, and back again, looking for all the world like a cornered animal. What in the seven hells was going on?

"He's not here," Malfoy said, standing up slowly as well as his boyfriend got closer to Parkinson. When he was close enough to touch her, she burst into tears. I stared, bewildered; there was something that I was obviously missing, but I couldn't figure out what. There was no way in hell that Parkinson was getting this emotional over me. Zabini embraced her sobbing form, pulling her to the bed and murmuring into her hair as he held her protectively. Malfoy shot a glare at me, as if to say "this is your fault," before heading over to both of them while I sat, dejected and feeling like a complete intruder, on the couch. I stood up and headed for them, wanting to help but knowing I would be unable to.

"What's wrong?" I asked softly. Both Zabini and Malfoy shot me dirty glares, but Parkinson's sobs quieted down to sniffles.

"Why should I tell you?" she hissed at me, the effect ruined by the ill-timed hiccup that interrupted her. All three glared at me, and I resisted the urge to cower. After all, they were incredibly intimidating.

"You don't have to, I'll just be leaving…" I said, quickly turning around and making a break for the exit. I heard a muffled curse from either Malfoy or Zabini, before a hand was dropped on my shoulder, causing me to spin around. It was Parkinson, her face a bit red and damp with tears.

"No, stay. You deserve to know, anyway." Confused, but willing to listen, I followed her back to the bed, where she sank into the embrace of the two Slytherins and I sat uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. I would wait for her to start on her own time, and it took her a few moments to compose exactly what she was going to tell me, a Gryffindor and a Weasley, without revealing too much. "Silence is key" seemed to be their motto.

"I was abused, too. Not raped, but abused. Not by a boyfriend, either, but my own bloody fucking father." The last word was said with such vehemence that it was obvious that she didn't even think of the horrid man as anything resembling a father figure. I thought it was bad with Potter, but if my own father started abusing me…? I tried imagining it, but just couldn't. The notion was too abstract, too impossible, too disturbing for me to even consider. She didn't expand beyond what she said, either, and that made it all the more horrible.

"I…" I tried searching for words, but a simple "I'm sorry" wouldn't even begin to encompass the empathy I felt for her. Instead, I reached forward, tracing a symbol onto her closest hand and chanting the incantation in my head. The symbol I traced flared dark red, before sinking into her skin. It used to be used upon warriors who had suffered a certain fate, or accomplished a certain task, uniting them together in life and death as brethren of whatever task or horror they did. I had changed it slightly, so now it was only like a sorrow symbol, making her know that I felt exactly how she did.

"Weasley…" Her voice trailed off, but her violet eyes met mine and no words needed to be said. She understood.

We sat like that for another twenty minutes or so, Parkinson composing herself while the other two Slytherins and I offered our silent support. I had begun to zone out, thinking of nothing in particular, when she sprung out of their arms as if nothing had happened.

"Well, Weasley, you don't intend on returning to that blasted red tower of yours, do you?" I looked at her, trying to figure out what she was getting at, before shaking my head as a no.

"Now that I'm out…I don't think I can go back in." She nodded firmly.

"Good." Now I began to doubt her sanity. That definitely was not a good thing, being exiled from one's own house. Well, maybe that was a bit drastic, but if Potter decided to turn the whole house against me, that was essentially what it was going to be like. "You obviously can't stay here, since they shag like bunnies…" She waved her hand, gesturing to the two boys, who grinned maliciously, the look they shared with each other filled with dark promises. "…so the only other choice is with me." I blinked; did she really just say what I thought she said?

"…what?" I asked, trying to decipher her meaning. She grinned a purely Slytherin smirk.

"You. Will. Stay. With. Me," she repeated, as if she was speaking to a foreign person who understood no English whatsoever.

"But…isn't that against some kind of rule? And staying in Slytherin house…are you sure that's a good idea?" She shook her head brightly.

"Of course it's a bad idea! My whole house hates you out of default! But, they'd better suck it the hell up, or else their asses are the ones that are going to be sent home in tiny boxes." Was this woman insane? I questioned in amazement. She probably had some obscure mental disease that wasn't obvious until it sprung out on you, like it was doing now…

"But…I don't even know you. We hate each other, remember?" I tried feebly. Parkinson shot me a death glare that silenced me.

"I don't know you either, but I know you well enough…err, I don't know you well enough, but I won't let you go back there to bloody Potter," she spat his name out. I grinned at her fellow loathing.

"What about my things? And meals? Classes?" I fired off at her. She ticked them off on her fingers.

"We'll get a house elf to grab your stuff, although I don't think most of it would be fit to clothe one of those blasted creatures…meals, we can grab from the kitchens until I'm sure that Potter won't attack you at meal times, and for classes, I'll just have a few Slytherins make sure that Potter doesn't kill you," she smirked in triumph.

"How are you going to coerce a few Slytherins into guarding a noble lion?" I asked, wondering about that. Parkinson looked mischievously at the two boys lounging on the bed, who had started snogging without me even noticing. I had to drag my eyes away with a blush before I stared too long, though.

"We'll just threaten them with the two Princes," she said in amusement. She beckoned me to rise. "Come. Let's leave them to their…questionable activities. We've got a lot to do if we're going to get you moved into my room before noon."

A/N: Woah, loads of explanation! So, I won't be updating until at least Monday, since I'm heading down to San Diego for a soccer tournament...but that doesn't mean you shouldn't review! Check my profile for review responses, and I would be tremendously thrilled if you went and answered some of my questions. They help me improve my writing. :D

I didn't really look over this one once I had updated it, so if there's a few mistakes, tell me, and I'll fix them. It looked fine in Word, though.

I didn't know if I should mention it or not, but I'm basically ignoring the fact that there were any books past the Order of the Phoenix. Otherwise, it's completely wrong. So I guess you could call it AU, or whatever, but I'm just living in my own little dream world. So, whatever.

Until later!

-Rapture