Author's Note Thanks for the reviews, guys:wink: Next time, will I not have to threaten to stop writing? VERY sorry for not getting this to you on time…things have been really hectic and I've been having a large bout of Writer's Block :cough:…blah blah, you don't care. It's here now! And my question still stands…has anybody heard of the fic that I described in the previous chapter? It'd be fantastic if somebody remembered it and told me the name. Please and thank you!
Warning: Broken hearts are ahead. Maybe some rash action. Hmm…could be something to worry about. Language.
Discretion: So last night I had a dream that I owned Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling, and her/its affiliates…and…er…I woke up and found that I, in fact, did not, but rather was chewing on a giant plush duck that by chance, happened to be laying next to me.
Chapter Four: What If?
"Happy Halloween!" Hermione called out happily from the other side of the Gryffindor girl's dormitory, throwing pieces of candied pumpkin at Ginny's sleeping form.
"Whazgoinon?" Ginny mumbled groggily, quickly waking up at the sight of Hermione's pink flannel, floral-pattered pajamas. "You know, I've always wondered why I never see you in pajamas—I would have been obligated to burn them," she said, turning over, " 'Matter of fact, if I wasn't so bloody tired, they would be in there right now. I'm going back to sleep." She pointed a languid finger at the stone hearth and pulled the covers over her head.
"No, you're not," Hermione said crossly, still miffed at Ginny's pajama comment..
"Bugger off, Hermione, it's Saturday! No class, no work, and no waking up at the crack of bleedin' dawn."
"It's also Hogsmeade day! You don't want to miss the first trip of the year, do you?"
"Hermione. It's. Seven. O'Clock. In. The. Morning."
"Best get some homework done before we go, Ginny," Hermione protested weakly, drawing open a curtain and sending the morning sunlight throughout the dorm room. Several other girls woke and groaned, throwing cushions at Hermione—who expertly ducked to avoid them. Instead, Ginny got a faceful of feathers, rounding on the brunette and glaring. This had definitely happened before.
Two hours later, Ginny, accompanied by several other Gryffindor girls, emerged from inside of their bed-hangings…fully rested. She stretched and yawned, following her classmates to the never-ending line for the showers. This is going to take forever, Ginny thought bitterly, trying hard not to listen to Hermione's voice in her head—reminding her to wake up.
A few minutes passed, and the crowd of girls still had not budged…causing Ginny to grow impatient. She stood, frowning, trying to formulate a plan to rid the showers of these girls in time enough to bathe with a decent amount of warm water. Almost immediately, her face brightened and her brown eyes twinkled mischievously. No one knew what to expect.
"A HEXED TOAD IS LOOSE IN THE GRYFFINDOR GIRLS' SHOWERS," she yelled in her best McGonagall impression, accomplishing the Scottish accent with perfect rhythm and tone, "ALL STUDENTS MUST EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, AS THE ANIMAL MAY HAVE BEEN PUT UNDER THE IMPERIUS CURSE."
Sure enough, hordes of girls tumbled out of the bathrooms as fast as possible, clutching their towels and dripping wet hair on the plush, red carpet of the dormitory.
Amidst the chaos, Ginny slipped into the bathroom unnoticed, picking her usual shower. She let the remaining hot water wash over her face, fully waking her up, and lazily began scrubbing her hair with scented soap. The water turned cold when it was time to rinse.
Soon after, Ginny grumpily finished her bath and exited the empty bathroom, watching her frightened dorm-mates hide themselves under covers.
She shook her head and opened her trunk, pulling out a jade-green jumper and a pair of loose-fitting blue jeans. Thank goodness for no uniform on weekends, she thought, one more day in a tie and I would have donated all of my clothing to Dobby. Ginny began her way to the Great Hall for breakfast, grabbing her robe and a cloak as she ambled hastily out of the dorm.
It's going to be good day. I command it to be a good day.
"Muffin? Eggs? Sausage?" Hermione wheedled, forcing Ron to eat a 'full, nutritious' breakfast before they departed to Hogsmeade Village.
"I told you, Hermione," Ron said nervously, "I don't want anything. You wouldn't have an appetite either, if your best Seeker was thrown off of the team…for being a teacher."
"Oh, Ron, don't be so stupid. It's just some silly Quidditch nonsense, it should work out soon enough," Hermione said, clearly in a tone that she thought was comforting and reassuring. It only agitated Ron more.
"Hermione," he said, his voice quickly rising, "try being told you're the Gryffindor Quidditch Team Captain because YOU'RE THE OLDEST IN THE GROUP, AND YOU'RE THE LAST CAPTAIN'S BEST MATE!"
The brunette simply stared at her pumpkin juice, pursing her lips.
"Co-captain, that is," Ginny had just arrived, gulping down Hermione's juice and pausing to talk to the two. "It's really no problem, Ron…I can Seek, and Dean can Chase. It'll be fine. Can't talk long, I'm going to visit Harry at the Staff Table. Filch'll have a right heart attack," she grinned, watching Ron sputter and bury his head in his hands. "I'll meet you both at the school gate, we'll go to the Three Broomsticks together."
She strode over to the table with her things, prepared to be next to Harry—even if she had to sit on Flitwick to do so. Harry, seeing her coming, rose from his seat and met her.
"Hello," he said quietly, kissing her on the cheek while pretending to wipe off some dirt from her face.
"Hi!" Ginny replied brightly, kissing him full on the lips in front of all of the students—and teachers—situated in the Great Hall.
"Er…Ginny…I don't think that's such a good idea," Harry mumbled, embarrassed, looking in every other direction. Apparently not noticing his discomfort, she went on, "Three Broomsticks, yes? Of course, we could always go to Madam Puddifoot's…if you'd like," she joked loudly, purposely drawing attention to Harry and herself.
He blushed profusely, but spoke. "I...um…I've been put on School Duty. They reckon that it…er…will do me some good for a while. Give me some 'teacher' experience, they said."
Seeing Ginny's blank face, he tilted her chin with a cold hand and brought it up to his. Giving her a light kiss, he continued, "I'll make it up to you. Next Hogsmeade trip, I'm all yours." And Ron's, Hermione's, and the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team's, Harry thought, glancing at Ginny with a wry look.
Ginny took this to mean nothing, forcing a smile and speaking in an unnaturally strained voice. "It's fine, Harry, really. You have obligations and I need to understand that. I guess I'll see you in class, then." She walked off, not bothering to finish breakfast.
"Three Butterbeers, please," Ginny said dully, shoving some silver on the wooden bar and ignoring Madam Rosmerta's dazzling beam. She grabbed the bottles and three glasses from the other woman, quickly making her way to the table where she, Ron, and Hermione were sitting.
Hermione had a book, Standard Book of Spells: N.E.W.T. Edition, propped up against a bag of Zonko's products, reading furiously and practicing wand movements in the air. Ron pulled it out of her hands and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, scolding her for studying on a Hogsmeade weekend.
Ginny sighed. It was awful not having Harry around.
She sipped her drink in silence, watching groups of students and villagers pour into the pub, and waved unenthusiastically when she saw a small crowd of Hogwarts teachers come in for an afternoon drink. Harry must be bored to death, might as well go back up to school and keep him company. Ginny picked up her cloak and drained her glass in one swig, bidding a very comfortable-looking Ron and Hermione goodbye.
"…Er…Thanks, Prof—Min…er…va…Erm, are you sure I can't call you Professor?"
The voice was unmistakable.
"Speak of the Devil," Ginny muttered darkly, attracting looks that quite evidently questioned her sanity. "Ruddy liar can't even go to Hogsmeade without coming up with some rubbish!" she stalked out of the pub, mumbling few conceivable words as she kicked pieces of litter on the cobblestone roads. "Shove it…School Duty…my…arse…blithering…I'll chuck him!"
She walked all the way to the Shrieking Shack this way, still gathering off-colour stares, when she finally turned back and heard approaching footsteps. Ginny slowly spun around but continued to look at the street, noticing the fine, dragon-hide boots that adorned this visitor's feet. Malfoy. Again. I'm cursed, honestly. She met his eyes, transferring all of her previous anger into a "cold, hard gaze" and forgetting just what she was angry at Harry about.
"Weasley," he said clearly, taking a step closer.
"Malf—No. Goodbye," Ginny quickened her pace and began walking back to the village.
"No, wait," Draco paused, watching the auburn-haired girl do the same, "I saw you come out of the Three Broomsticks. What was the matter? Did Potter snog another girl?"
"Yes, that's it," Ginny lied, continuing briskly," And why do you care? More importantly, why were you following me?"
"I don't believe you. And I wasn't following you, can't a bloke have a look at the most haunted house in Britain? I can't possibly see why not—"
"Don't talk to me about lying, Malfoy, you've seen the Shrieking Shack more times than you've…well…you're all the same. Men!"
"Look, I'm just trying to be friendly, you know? Make up for all of those times I was a prat. Turn over a new leaf, if you will."
"I won't. And I don't know. Just piss off, Malfoy, I'm not interested. And it would take much more than harassing me, quite like you're doing now, to 'make up' for anything."
The two were nearing the village, merely feet away from the Three Broomsticks, when the door opened and the Hogwarts Staff exited—considerably less…alert…than half an hour before. Madame Rosmerta followed them out, giggling and blushing as she pecked each male staff-member—Harry included—sinfully on the cheek. Ginny felt a prickle of jealousy travel through her body, wishing she could reach out and smack the middle-aged woman on the same spot she had just kissed.
Evidently, Draco had noticed Ginny's anger, and could not stop laughing.
"Silencio! Goodbye, Malfoy," Ginny said sweetly, running towards the Hogwarts Castle with an indignant, silent Draco tailing.
"Gin, I'm really sorry! I didn't want to tell you because I thought you'd get upset…"
"Upset? Upset? Upset…LIKE THIS, HARRY?"
Harry determinedly looked the other way, being sure not to fall under Ginny's fiery gaze. He remained speechless, waiting for the Molly Weasley-like ranting (and possibly, a hex or two) to come his way.
"It's not the fact that you went to Hogsmeade. Drink pints and pints of mead, Harry, go get yourself damn smashed with Slughorn and Flitwick, for all I care, just don't lie to me about it!" she stopped abruptly and buried her head in a cushion, looking ashamed.
Harry still did not know what to say.
"Look…I'm sorry. I've just been really buggered lately with N.E.W.T. classes, Quidditch, and not being able to spend more than five minutes with you. You're not even supposed to be in here, are you?" Ginny waved a hand in the air, indicating the Gryffindor Common Room, the crimson sofa they were sitting on, and the scarlet and gold pillows that each were holding.
"It's not your fault. And I can be here if I—well, let's just head down to the feast before anyone finds out about this."
The couple stumbled through the corridors towards the Great Hall, attached to each other by the lip, and much to the Fat Lady's annoyance, leaning on everything that resembled a wall—portraits included.
"OOF! That t-ah-ah-tickles!" She said less-than-gaily, shooing them away but smiling wistfully after them all the same. "Oh ho ho, to be young and in love…"
During their "travels," Harry and Ginny had made a wrong turn at the Entrance hall and accidentally found themselves in the dungeons. Not particularly minding it, Harry began removing Ginny's robes and shirt as he pressed his already bare back against cold stone.
"Eurgh! It's bad enough that you do that while we're all trying to eat breakfast, Potter, but don't 'show off' by coming here!"
"Oh…sorry," Harry turned around to see who was speaking, "MALFOY?"
"In the flesh. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I have some business to attend to," he punctuated, purposely giving Ginny an icy glare.
He retreated into a shadowy passageway and disappeared, leaving the two Gryffindor alone—and half-naked.
They dressed quickly, re-buttoning their shirts only partway and pulling their ties sloppily. Ginny smoothed out her hair and tied it neatly in a bun, trying to fix Harry's stubborn mop of black. She failed on several occasions, and soon gave up.
"Er…Harry? I think we should actually go to the feast now."
"Yeah," Harry said sullenly, "Let's."
"Blasted…thing…" Pansy Parkinson was trying to detach a rusty, but still sharp, sword from it's owner, a suit of armor. A normal pre-Halloween-feast activity to many, or at least that's how she felt.
Pansy was mad. And when she was mad, the whole world was mad. Draco had promised her the world, after fixing that damned Vanishing Cabinet…but no! He vanished, himself! And left her with what? A pouch of tarnished sickles and a "romantic" I-O-U note. Rubbish!
She had been planning his destruction since the day that he left—without her—having gone through various plots that included several Medieval torture devices, a castration, and numerous brands of leather with Unforgivable Curses to boot.
All too cliché. She had rejected them as soon as she…and/or Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Avery…had thought of them.
But this was good, this was the plan. Pansy was truly a villain, and so she did what all villains do: vocalised her plans.
"Draco Malfoy, I'll get you for this! When the whole school hates you, what are you going to do with your new Firebolt FD Flame (not even released in stores, might I add), your three vaults full of estate galleons, and your mother's Pinkestone diamonds…not to mention all of your little Dark Arts thingies—"
"They're not 'thingies,' Pansy, and here's a tip; if you're plotting against me, try doing it where I can't hear you," Draco swept past her with a snake-like smirk pasted on his face, immediately going back to his dormitory to gouge his eyes out.
I can't believe I just saw that…and got jealous? ME? JEALOUS OF POTTER?
Another voice popped into his head.
But the Weaslette is quite the looker, you can't deny that. It's just your poor, sex-deprived—
It, nor I, are sex-deprived, thanks! But yes, I suppose you're right, Draco concluded, Then it's high time to formulate a plan: Pop Goes the Weasel, and Happy Goes Draco. He looked quite pleased for a moment, then frowned, No, the name's too long. Just 'Catch the Weasel,' then.
He sat on his bed and thought very hard, scribbling furiously on a scrap of parchment for a few minutes. Draco had written on half of the sheet when he was interrupted.
" 'Lo, Draco," a baritone voice called out forcedly, "What're you up to?" Blaise Zabini stood at six feet tall, bronze skin and blue-gray eyes shining in the dim light of the dungeons.
"Why the bloody fuck are you talking to me?" Draco spat, standing up and matching Blaise's height.
"Er…because…I've been a real arse, and I just thought it'd be well if we were friends again…" The way Blaise said it sounded more like a question than anything else.
" 'Er' nothing. You are an arse, but that's why I liked you in the first place! This is because of Pansy, am I right?"
"Yeah," the brunette seemed happy to admit it, "it is. Something about lost gold and a broomstick…" Quickly changing the subject, he added, "So, what have you there?"
"Just a little plan," Draco said mischievously, brandishing the parchment. Blaise scanned it with his eyes, a grin spreading across his handsome face.
"Excellent. I think I'll put some money on that, if you please."
"I please. What's the word?"
"Hmmm…" Blaise stroked his chin thoughtfully, "If you don't go through with it, you have to give me your broom and let me have a go at her."
"And if I do…You'll have to shag Pansy—"
"Easy enough."
"And be my personal slave for the rest of the term."
Blaise groaned. "Then let's set a time limit, shall we?"
"Yes. You're betting, so you decide."
"I give you till Christmas."
"No, too short. She's still attached, remember?"
"Okay, fine. I'll give you till Valentine's Day."
"Perfect."
Author's Note: Again, I'm SO, SO SORRY that this took long. I'm writing chapter 6 as we speak, so you should be getting that by the weekend, if not sooner. Please don't hurt me!
Next time, on Square One:
-The beginnings of Blaise and Draco's wager
-Harry, Ron, and Hermione's reactions to it
-Pansy's plot taking its course
-…Much, much more that I cannot think of right now but will definitely do so soon.
REVIEW…S'il vous plaît (please).
I really, really, REALLY would appreciate it. Even if it was to reprimand me, or tell me that my story sucks (which I hope it doesn't), I need input.
I still love you!
