The Widening Gyre, Part 9: For the Best
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to Warner Brothers, J.K. Rowling, and probably some other companies as well. Not me.
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"What I'm really trying to ask, Professor," said Draco casually, "is if you know of any sort of undetectable curses that would affect one's heart?"
He nonchalantly took a bite of a cinnamon biscuit. Professor Snape put down his tea and gave the boy's face a long, scrutinizing look.
They were back in Snape's office, though this time Draco wasn't being disciplined. It was Friday morning, and Draco had stopped by to discuss, among other things, the Darkness Detection Compound that they had brewed two weeks ago.
"And why would you want to know about anything like that?" Professor Snape asked sternly.
Draco swallowed his biscuit and took another from the small plate on Snape's desk. "For my Defense Against the Dark Arts project, of course," he said smoothly. "I told you, I want to research defensive potions. As far as I've read, in none of the tests was there ever a reaction with the drinker's heart."
"No, I don't suppose there would have been," said Snape blandly. He folded his thin fingers together. "What are the three basic areas that most magic performed on humans aims to affect?"
"Head, heart, and hands," recited Draco in an almost sing-song voice. "We learned that first year. Head for spells involving free will, thought, knowledge, and decision making; heart for passions, love, and hate; and hands for animation and dexterity."
Snape nodded. "So, if a drinker's heart lit up, then we can attribute it to passions, love, and hate."
"Love potions?" asked Draco. "Would a love potion count as dark magic?"
"You'll find that depends upon the intent and the specifics of the potion," said Snape, picking his words carefully. "Most love potions, although incredibly unfair to the drinker, are brewed not with the intention of causing physical or mental 'harm,' so to speak, to the drinker or those around them." He unhinged his hands and took a meditative drink of tea.
Draco furrowed his brow. "So by itself a love potion wouldn't be picked up by a Darkness Detection Compound?"
"I don't think so. But it's possible," Snape amended, "if the circumstances were right, and someone had tampered with a usual formula. And then, the potion wouldn't be merely a potion; it would have to be combined with some sort of charm or spell." He eyed Draco critically. "But it would be very rare, and would require a bit of complicated and possibly dark magic to make it work."
"How much is a bit?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "There are very few witches or wizards that could accomplish such a feat. I can think of three living, only two with the privilege of a wand, and only one with the necessary skills, freedom, and lack of morality or ethics."
"Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and the Dark Lord," said Draco matter-of-factly. "The one who would do it being obvious."
Snape nodded. "This is all theoretical, of course, and as such you won't find any information about it in any case studies."
"But why would someone bother with a love potion instead of just doing a straight up enchantment?"
"It's an issue of control," said Snape. "Obedience. Evidence has shown that, when pressed, human beings revert to their most basic instinctual feelings: fear and love. Each has its own power, far more than that of respect or duty. But when someone acts out of fear, they generally do it unwillingly, as an unpleasant but necessary chore, and will often abandon it if a situation arises which makes abandonment a true possibility. But when someone does something out of love, they devote themselves to it; they see their actions through until their goal is met, or they die trying."
Draco chewed on the side of his lower lip. "So by combining a love potion with the initial enchantment, the caster is sort of ensuring that, even if control over the spell fails, the drinker will still act in accordance with the caster's wishes because they believe themselves to love the caster?"
"As I've said, there's no historical precedent or research data to back the idea up. But, theoretically, it could happen.
Draco looked thoughtful. "Would it still require use of a love potion? As in, a tangible liquid medium through which the spell would be passed on to the person it affected?"
Snape closed his mouth and mulled it over. "In most cases, I'd think yes, but the method of transference could possibly be changed depending upon the ability of the caster. It would have to be taken internally, somehow, but not necessarily drank as you normally would do with a potion."
"What about ink?" asked Draco in a nondescript tone. He casually swirled his tea around his cup.
"Ink?" repeated Snape. "I suppose it's possible, if the subject had repeated, prolonged exposure, that the potion would be absorbed through pores on the skin."
"What if, for example, someone chews on their quills," began Draco suddenly. "Wouldn't that speed up the transference? They'd be taking it orally. Sort of."
Snape looked pensive. "Yes, I suppose that would work. But it would have to be a particularly strong enchantment."
Draco mused on the answer. "In Transfiguration, McGonagall—"
"Professor McGongall," interrupted Snape.
"Professor McGonagall," Draco amended, fighting back an eye-roll, "told us that objects can sometimes absorb a bit of the magic that's been cast on them, especially if it's done by a very powerful wizard. That part of the enchantment may always sort of live on in the object. Could the same be true with potions?"
"It's happened before, yes, with things like poisoned necklaces and the like." Snape replied. Draco crunched a third biscuit and looked thoughtful. Snape's apprehension increased.
"And this is all for your Defense Against the Dark Arts project?" he inquired.
"Oh yes," nodded Draco. "I find it quite interesting, and I'm rather anxious to get top marks this time. You know Father, Professor; he expects me to 'rise to my full potential' and all that."
"Mmm," murmured Snape, as Draco flashed a winning smile at him. "Yes, I know."
Draco excused himself shortly afterward.
Troubled, Snape stepped out from behind his desk and over to his fireplace. He picked a small tin box up off the mantelpiece, reached in, and scooped up a small handful of glittery, silvery powder. He threw it in the fireplace.
"Professor Dumbledore," he said. "I'd like a word."
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Draco was deep in thought as he left Snape's office. So deep, in fact, he ran headlong into someone halfway down the corridor.
"Knut for your thoughts, Malfoy?" asked a deep voice. Draco looked up into the dark face of Blaise Zabini.
"No, not too much," Draco shrugged noncommittally and brushed off the front of his robes. "Just counting down the days until we can get out of this wretched castle, you know. The first years seem to get more and more irritating."
"S'that all?" asked Blaise casually. "You seemed very preoccupied. I thought you might be thinking of a certain young redhead with whom you've been spending your evenings…." He let the statement trail off suggestively and calmly raised a single eyebrow.
"What do you mean?" asked Draco coolly.
"I mean," Blaise replied with equal coolness, "that you and that little girl have wandered off together nearly every night for the past week. What's going on? A few weeks ago you were calling her a stupid blood traitor bitch. Now you're study buddies?" He shook his head disapprovingly. "Oh, no, what would your father say?"
"Hah," said Draco, thinking of a quick bluff. "You think he doesn't know?"
Blaise, Draco noticed with interest, looked momentarily confused but tried to cover it up. "Oh he does, does he? And he approves of such… consorting?"
Draco smirked. "He told me I could play around however I liked as long as I didn't bring my dirty laundry home with me." He was practiced at lying so his words came out smooth. "Apparently I've been doing a bit too much public airing, though, seeing as I've caught your attention."
Blaise centered his dark brown eyes on Draco and tried to stare him down. The other boy held his gaze without flinching. Blaise looked away first, scowling. "I just want to know where your loyalty lies, Malfoy. I feel like the next minute I turn around, you'll be walking down the hall arm-in-arm with Potter, on your way to a Gryffindor quidditch practice."
"I like being on a team that wins, Zabini." Draco said with a dark grin. "Besides, she means nothing to me. But," his lips curved into a devilish grin, "you should feel the things she can do with her tongue." He winked. "You know what they say about redheads."
Blaise broke out into a wicked smile. "You've been holding out on us."
Draco shook his head. "A gentleman never tells about his indiscretions with a lady."
Blaise laughed. "And why do we all know about Pansy's bedroom technique, then?"
"Because," Draco said simply, "she's not a lady."
Blaise laughed and the two boys headed down the hall together, neither one very much at ease.
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Friday morning. The rosy fingers of dawn had long since reached out to uncover the world from its blanket of darkness, and when Ginny Weasley opened her eyes she was greeted by a sky as clear and blue as a sapphire. She breathed deeply and slowly extended her arms over her head, savoring the feeling of her muscles stretching out. She smiled.
Judging by the fact that all the other girls had already left the dorm, it must have been quite late. It was the first time in ages Ginny had not only gotten a full night's rest, but managed to do it in the comfort of her own bed. She took another deep breath and released it slowly, feeling completely relaxed. Even the small round scar, memento of her last nighttime excursion with Tom, couldn't seem to bother her this morning.
The curse, her spat with her brother – things all looked better by the light of day. She suspected it was a result of finally having a night of peaceful rest. And if she was careful with her potions, she had at least two more nights ahead of her. More so, if she played her cards right.
All thanks to Draco…
She furrowed her brow. Well, not all thanks to Draco, she thought. I was the one who had to make my own nose bleed and lie to Madam Pomfrey!
But he was the one who stole it for you. And wasn't it his idea in the first place?
Shut up.
Things certainly had taken an interesting turn with Draco Malfoy. But interesting didn't necessarily mean bad. Ginny found that if she overlooked the arrogance and the insults—which, admittedly, there were much and many—she actually kind of, well, liked him. Maybe like wasn't quite the word. On the spectrum of hating the very ground upon which one stood and considering someone a friend, Ginny felt that her relationship with Draco probably hovered somewhere around 'I think you're funny, but I also sort of think you're a jerk.'
His thoughts had been quite revealing. And, consequences of the curse aside, he seemed to have taken a great risk in showing them to her. Draco Malfoy, prince of Slytherin and son of one of the darkest families in the wizarding world, made sick at the thought of becoming a Death Eater. Quite a position to be in. She shook her head, not sure what to make of it.
At the very least, it was refreshing to be around someone who didn't act so goddamn sanctimonious. Ravenclaws were the ones who were supposed to be snobbish, but lately the Gryffindors could have given them a run for their money. What's the point in being noble, Ginny thought, if you still act like a dick? She shook her head.
She dressed slowly; morning classes had been cancelled due to the previous night's feast, and on Friday afternoons she had back-to-back free periods (to study for OWLs, explained McGonagall as she passed out schedules the first morning back). Ginny found herself with a full day ahead of her in which she was obligated to do absolutely nothing.
She opened the dormitory window. The sun was shining brightly, unusual for the first of November, and while she wouldn't quite describe the temperature as warm, it certainly wasn't as cold as she was expecting. Ginny grinned. She'd been spending too much time cooped up in the dark and dusty corners of the library; a day spent studying under one of the vibrantly-leafed trees of Hogwarts would do her some good.
She dressed and carefully packed her notes and a few books into her bag. She was humming as she descended the girls' staircase and made her way across the common room to the portrait hole. She didn't notice the pair of emerald eyes that morosely followed her.
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Draco found himself spending the rest of the day with Blaise hashing out strategies for their next Quidditch match against Ravenclaw and throwing Filibuster Fireworks into packs of nervous first years. He felt strangely at peace, and the day passed in a semblance of what Draco would have, before October, called normal. In the afternoon, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, the boys headed to the pitch to get in a few laps before dinner.
"Isn't that your girl?" asked Blaise, nudging Draco in the ribs and pointing at a large oak tree across the lake. Underneath it sat a small girl with fiery red hair. She was surrounded by textbooks and looked thoroughly engrossed in whatever it was she was writing. Draco saw her pause, lift her quill to her mouth, and delicately give it a nibble. He narrowed his eyes.
Crabbe and Goyle, highly interested, looked over to where Blaise was pointing.
"Ginny Weasley?" asked Goyle. "You're seeing Ginny Weasley?"
"I most certainly am not," replied Draco, his tone acidic. He shot Blaise a dirty look. "And I would appreciate it if certain people would not spread such malicious rumors about me."
Blaise grinned. "Perhaps 'seeing' isn't the correct term for your relationship, then? What would you call it?"
"None of your damn business," said Draco darkly, "that's what I'd call it."
Blaise laughed. "Oh, come on, Malfoy! Just give us a taste! What's she hiding under those robes, eh? How much of that uncharted territory have you managed to map out?"
"Zabini," said Draco, keeping his voice as cool and unattached as possible, "I already explained to you, I will not be discussing the nature of any indiscretions that may or may not have taken place with that girl."
"That's smart," said Crabbe. "She's got, what, fifteen brothers? I don't blame you, mate." Goyle nodded in agreement.
"Thank you so much for your support, Crabbe," replied Draco sarcastically. "I'm always so pleased to meet your approval."
Crabbe grinned at his friend and shrugged. "Don't mention it."
Blaise started to laugh and then abruptly stifled it when he saw Draco's face. He shifted his broomstick to the other shoulder. "None of our business, right," he said, looking at Draco sideways. "Though I don't see why you're so sensitive about it. If this was any other girl the whole school would already know how many fillings she had and what color knickers she wore."
"As I explained to you already, Zabini, she's not an appropriate match for a Malfoy."
"What about for Potter?" asked Blaise mischievously, his eyes dancing with malice. "You think she'd be an appropriate match for him?"
Draco looked disgusted. "The only appropriate match for Potter would be the giant squid. Why would you even bring him up?"
Blaise jerked his head back toward the oak tree. "Because it looks like he's trying to make a play for it."
Draco jerked his head around with a quickness that made Blaise narrow his eyes in suspicion. Harry Potter was heading straight for the oak under which Ginny sat. Draco clenched his jaw firmly. Then, he calmly turned back around and continued to the pitch.
"I don't care who she talks to," he said coldly, looking straight ahead, "and it's none of my concern if she wants to fall for that stupid prat's sweaty-palmed pawings. Make no mistake, though, if I hear of anything happening between those two insipid Gryffindopes, she's as good as dead to me. I'll find some other girl to please me. I don't share my toys, especially not with Potter."
They had arrived at the Quidditch pitch. Draco swung his broom from over his shoulder, mounted it, and shot off from the ground like lightening moving in reverse. He started his first lap at a reckless, breakneck speed. The other three boys mounted their brooms.
"What's got his shorts in a twist?" asked Goyle grumpily, staring after their friend who was flying as if he'd lost his mind.
Blaise shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said reassuringly. "I'm sure it'll all be taken care of." He kicked off the ground, hard.
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She saw him before he realized she saw him. Cursing, she buried her face into her textbook. Maybe he's not coming to see me, she thought without hope of it being true. She glanced up quickly. No, unless he intended to go running off into the Forbidden Forest, it looked like he was coming to talk to her. She took a deep breath and turned a page in her Defense Against the Dark Arts text.
"Er, hi Ginny," Harry said upon his arrival. She looked up without bothering to feign surprise. Both his hands were shoved in the pockets of his jeans, and his shoulders were hunched up awkwardly. She recognized this as classic insecure Harry behavior. At some point in her life she would have labeled it endearing; right now she was just annoyed.
"Yes?" she said simply. She kept her face carefully blank.
"Can I sit down?" he asked. His eyes were wide and sincere, and his expression was earnest. Harry was never one to hide his emotions. He couldn't even if he wanted to; he was not prone to deceit, and they showed as plainly on his face as footprints in deep snow.
Ginny sighed and closed Intermediate Defensive Spells, Volume 2. She rubbed her eyes tiredly with her left hand, and then used it to cup her chin and prop up her face on her knees. She looked up at him, her resolve to stay angry draining away. "Alright," she said.
He sat down next to her and leaned his back against the tree. He started to say something, stopped, knit his brows together, and then tried again.
"I owe you an apology," he said simply.
Ginny snorted and looked at him sideways. "For…?"
"For, you know, last night," Harry said. He picked up a long piece of grass and twisted it nervously in his hands. "I lost my temper, and I'm sorry." He tied the piece of grass in a knot. "It's just, well, I had this great idea in my head, you know? I'd go to the library and bring you the basket, and we would talk and laugh and eat it together…" He shrugged. "I had it all planned out, and you were going to be so happy, and then Malfoy showed up, and I… well, I just lost my cool, I guess."
"Lost your cool?" asked Ginny, trying to repress a laugh. "Harry, you called him a pompous prick and gave him the finger."
Harry gave a small smile. "Yeah, I guess I did. But I was just… I was just so angry! And when you told me to go, it felt like…" He bit his bottom lip and hesitated for a second. He tugged on both ends of the knotted grass.
"Yes?" asked Ginny, not unkindly. She placed her right hand on his knee. "Harry, you can tell me."
He took a deep breath. "Well, to be honest, Ginny, it felt like you were choosing him over me." His whole face turned a deep shade of burgundy, and he looked away from her. "And I was so… I was so disappointed, you know? Here I came in on my high horse, expecting you to fall all over me because I brought you some sandwiches…" He shook his head in a self-depreciating way. "And then, I got angry at you! Because you didn't throw yourself at me or whatever I expected you to do!" He peevishly tossed away his piece of grass. "I'm so stupid," he said, leaning his head back against the trunk of the tree and closing his eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have treated you like that."
"Harry," she said softly. "Harry, you're not stupid." She shook his shoulder. "Look at me! Harry?"
He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her. His eyes were impossibly bright and reflected the sunlight faintly like polished pieces of jade. "Were you?" he asked sullenly. "Choosing him, I mean."
Ginny looked taken aback. "Harry, this isn't about you or him!" she said slowly. "I wasn't choosing anyone. It's about me, and it's about people telling me what to do." As she said the words, she realized they were true. "You know my family. It's not easy being the youngest, and the only girl at that. Everyone thinks they know what I should be doing, and that's all anyone ever tells me. I get sick of people thinking they know what's best for me when they really don't. So, last night, when you said we should go, I got a little irritated." She shrugged. "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, but I'm not sorry I did it."
Harry looked surprised. "You're not sorry?"
Ginny shook her head defiantly. "No, I'm not. It's time I started sticking up for myself, Harry. And I'm sorry if you got hurt, but I'm not sorry I said something. And you of all people should understand how I feel, especially given how you grew up."
Harry made a face when she brought up his life before Hogwarts, but then nodded. "Okay. I respect that."
"Good," said Ginny, crossing her arms. "Because I'm done playing the meek little sister."
Harry smiled a little. "I've seen you do a bat-bogey, and I don't think 'meek' really describes you accurately, Ginny."
"Shut up, Harry," she said with a laugh. Then, more seriously, "Can I ask you something?"
Harry thought about it for a moment. "Yes," he said slowly, "but only if I can ask you something too."
"Fair enough," said Ginny. Then—"Did you tell Ron that Draco and I were in the library together?"
"Draco?" exclaimed Harry. His face transformed into a mask of disbelief "You're calling Malfoy Draco now?"
"Watch it, Harry," said Ginny quickly, narrowing her eyes. "I thought we had just come to an understanding. Don't mess it all up by being an idiot."
Harry sighed, and said sourly, "Yes, I told him," He threw his hands up in a defensive gesture as he saw Ginny's eyes alight with anger, "But not on purpose! Not to be a jerk or anything! He came to look for me when he saw I had left the feast, and he knew I was upset. It sort of… slipped out."
"It slipped out?" asked Ginny acerbically.
"I was upset," said Harry. "So yes, I said something. But not," he added quickly, "to get you in trouble or anything."
"Mmm," said Ginny noncommittally.
"Are you seeing him, then?" blurted Harry, blushing all over again. "I mean, I believed what you said before, that you weren't, but that was weeks ago, and... well…"
Ginny gave him a wry look. "No, Harry, I am not seeing Draco Malfoy. Honest answer."
"Okay," said Harry, looking just a little relieved. "But what are you doing with him? I mean, I understand having to be his partner for potions, but are you hanging out together? You didn't seem to be on the friendliest terms with him in the library, but you weren't quite objecting to him either…"
Ginny thought it over. "Well, we're working on a project together," she said. That's pretty much the truth.
"A project?" asked Harry. "For what, that extra potions class you're taking?"
Ginny had a sudden memory of looking down at her steadily glowing heart. "Yes, for potions."
Harry nodded pensively. "And… and when's the project due? I mean, are you going to finish it any time soon?"
Ginny shrugged. "I don't think so," she said, shaking her head. "It's pretty complicated, and we're not entirely sure where we're going with it yet. There are a lot of things we're still trying to… resolve."
When she shook her head, an errant tendril of hair had fallen into her eyes. Harry casually reached out and gently tucked it back behind her ear. She froze. He didn't even seem to notice he'd done it.
"So was that what you wanted to ask me?" she asked quickly, turning her head away so he wouldn't see the blush that was creeping across her cheekbones.
"No, actually." Harry bit his lip again. "Have you," he asked uncertainly, "seen my invisibility cloak? I left if when I left you last night, and I went back later but I couldn't find it." He looked distressed. "You know, it's the only thing I have of my dad's. I can't believe I would have left it!"
Ginny'd been expecting this. In fact, she had thought that would have been the first thing out of his mouth when he came over to talk to her. She looked at him, pursed her lips, and thought about it for a moment. "Yes, I have seen your invisibility cloak. But I don't have it."
"You don't have it?" asked Harry wildly. "Where did you see it? It's not—he doesn't have it, does he?"
He looked so legitimately distraught that Ginny felt it best not to reveal the truth. "I think I know where it is," she said slowly, "and I'll be able to get it back to you. It might take a few days though."
"A few days?" he exclaimed, panic-stricken.
"Yes, maybe a few days. But I should be able to get it back. And you should be thankful that I can do it at all; that's a precious thing for you to just leave lying around, Harry," she admonished needlessly. Harry glowered. "Don't pout," she said, this time more sympathetically. "I'll get it back, I promise."
"Get it back?" he asked. "So he does have it?"
"I'll get it," she said. "Okay?"
Harry grunted and nodded. "Okay," he said resignedly. He looked down at her textbooks. "What are you working on?" he asked lightly.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts," she replied, grateful for the change in topic. "I've got an essay due on Monday, and I'm terribly behind."
Harry smiled a little. "You know, I have a little experience with that subject."
"Oh really?" Ginny returned his smile. "Do you know the three effective counter-spells for curses that inhibit movement?"
Harry grinned. "I might be able to remember. Let me see what you've got so far." Ginny passed him her parchment and he began to read. She smiled and leaned back against the trunk of the oak, closing her eyes and relishing the last dregs of warmth from the November sun.
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The weekend passed uneventfully. Draco spent his time with Blaise and the rest of his Slytherin cronies; he avoided the library, the Great Hall, and anywhere else he may accidently run into Ginny. He'd caught glimpses from his broomstick of Ginny and that wretched prat Potter under the oak tree, and the image of Potter reaching out to brush Ginny's hair away from her face was burnt onto his retinas so deeply he could still see it when he closed his eyes to sleep.
Not that it mattered to him. It's not like they were involved or anything. She was just some wretched little girl who'd gotten him wrapped up in her own petty problems, and he'd had the ill fortune to serve witness to her dark magic revelations. He was just in it for the ride, for the intrigue of it all.
But the audacity of Potter, the sheer impudence he must possess to think he could so casually reach out and positively stroke her hair like that—her beautiful blood red hair, a lock of which was still wrapped in a snow-white handkerchief bearing the initials DLM and tucked carefully away in the inside pocket of a certain young man's robes. The arrogance! The obscenity!
Not that it mattered to him. There were a million girls who'd kill to be his girlfriend. Hell, there were a million girls who'd kill to simply have the pleasure of taking his trousers off with their teeth.
Funny, though, that he didn't seem to want any of them.
He angrily ground his spoon into his bowl of oatmeal. He didn't feel much like eating this morning. He hadn't felt much like eating all weekend.
The rustle of wings heralded the morning mail. He spotted the white-and-brown-speckled markings of his family's owl flying over the heads of the more common brown owls. The owl swooped low and dropped a single thin envelope onto Draco's empty breakfast plate before swiftly flying out of the hall.
Draco picked it up and looked at it with interest. He recognized his father's precise handwriting instantly. He flipped the envelope over and noted that it was closed with his father's finest sealing wax – wax enchanted so that none but the person to whom the letter was addressed could open the envelope. Draco withdrew a small folding knife from his robes and carefully slit the letter open.
Draco,
It has been recently brought to my attention that you've been enjoying the company of a charming young witch. Your mother and I are delighted you've found someone whose companionship pleases you.
We would very much like to meet this new girl. We request her presence at the manor over the Christmas holidays. We will host a party on Christmas Eve; she will come and stay the evening. The house elves will make up a room for her in the visitors' wing.
We have a big surprise planned for the party. You might even call it life-changing. I don't want to ruin the surprise by naming it in this letter; you'll have to wait and find out.
We hope you liked your early birthday present and trust you are wearing them as we requested.
Your father,
Lucius Malfoy
Draco paused for a moment and then read the letter a second time. He let the full implications sink in. Someone'd been telling stories about him.
He read through it again, his brows furrowed. Several things were apparent from the letter: first, that someone had been informing his father about his activities at school; second, that his father was far too interested in the affair than general parental curiosity should allow (if, indeed, such a thing as 'general parental curiosity' was possible from Lucius); and third, that Ginny Weasley was expected to show up at his family's home on Christmas Eve.
Lucius didn't make requests; he simply told others what to do, and they did it with the full knowledge that going against orders would have not-so-nice results. When his father said Ginny would come to their house during the holidays, it meant that Ginny would come to their house during the holidays. Draco had no doubt that if she failed to appear he would face dire consequences, and she might as well.
They already knew who this 'charming young witch' was, he was sure of it. The rumors about him and Pansy had spread all through Slytherin house after the Yule Ball, and the Parkinsons themselves were good friends with the Malfoys; still, his parents had shown no interest in Pansy whatsoever. Word had gotten out that he was supposedly dating a Weasley, and his father probably intended to 'nip the problem in the bud,' so to speak.
Of course, that was assuming this was really about Lucius' disapproval of the relationship and not some way to draw Ginny closer to the Dark Lord. But how would Lucius know? Draco thought about Ginny's most recent nightmare. Things were happening to her, and according to her they were very real things that hadn't happened in the entire time she'd been having these dreams about the Dark Lord. If the Dark Lord had been controlling her, been getting ready to use her, perhaps if he'd gotten wind of Lucius' son's relationship with the girl, he'd try to monopolize it and use it to draw her to him. Draco tried to banish the thought from his mind.
He looked at the letter again. He couldn't speak for his mother. She might, he thought wryly, actually be 'delighted.' Though his father tried to squash it, his mother possessed quite a romantic nature. Draco's first memory of her was when he was scarcely older than six, tucked beneath a black velvet bedspread and listening to his mother read Le Petit Prince to him in the original French. Every so often she would sigh and tenderly push his hair away from his forehead.
She'd paid for those moments in blood. She 'knew better than to bring dirty muggle books into the house' screamed his father one October evening after a house-elf had discovered it folded into the sheets under Draco's mattress. He'd backhanded her across the face with such force she fell to the ground. The heavy gold ring molded in the shape of a dragon that Lucius wore on his middle finger ripped across Narcissa's skin and left in its wake droplets of blood and bruises that blossomed across her cheek like dark autumn flowers.
Everything you love, keep it secret, his mother whispered into Draco's hair a week later as she hugged the boy tightly to her chest. Everything you love can be turned into a weapon and used against you. Those words felt strangely weighty to Draco's childish mind, and he never forgot them.
It was those words that came to him unbidden as he read the letter for a third time.
And what was that about a surprise? That part of the letter was completely uncharacteristic of Lucius. A life-changing surprise. Draco snorted. The only thing life-changing his father had ever done was take the Mark.
The Mark.
Draco felt like a ghost had walked through him. For a moment, he forgot how to breath. Surely, surely that wasn't what his father meant. He swallowed. No, unless his father was going to announce the whole family was packing and moving to Albania, he was certain his father was referring to receiving the Mark.
He folded the letter up and tucked it away into his bag. His face, he was certain, had betrayed nothing about the contents of the letter. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up.
"Any interesting news from home today, Malfoy?" asked Blaise Zabini, who had been sitting across from him. His face was genial except for his eyes, which glittered dangerously like those of a cat at the hunt.
Draco shrugged arrogantly and said in a blasé tone "Just the usual, mother going on about new decorations for the parlor or some nonsense like that." He turned away from the table and nonchalantly walked toward the doors.
He waited until he got to the Great Hall for his eyes to narrow and his teeth to clench. Well, that solved one mystery. Blaise's father had been on the Hogwarts Board of Governors at the same time as Lucius, and since then he and Draco's father had become well acquainted. Most likely Blaise wrote a note to his father, mentioned Draco's involvement with Ginny Weasley, and the elder Zabini took it upon himself to inform Lucius.
Blaise wouldn't have given himself away so easily if he didn't have a reason. Draco thought back to what Blaise had said on the Friday before. I just want to know where your loyalty lies.
And where did Draco's loyalty lie, if indeed he had any? The answer to that question had been getting more and more muddy ever since Draco had started hanging around that damn girl. He cursed the day he'd interrupted Snape's fifth year potions lecture and saw her standing there, all fire and defiance and passion. Even though he'd taken great pains to avoid her all weekend, he found he couldn't stop thinking about her. No matter what he did, the image of Ginny Weasley haunted him like the ghost of a dead lover.
He'd have to see her soon. And not just because of the letter; even if she'd been careful with the Dreamless Sleep, she would have exhausted her supplies over the course of the long weekend. Plus he still had Potter's invisibility cloak. He suspected she would ask for it back, and while part of him wanted to keep it (it was, no doubt about it, an incredible magical artifact, and he still hadn't gotten his revenge on Potter for the third year mud throwing), he knew he would give it to her. Draco didn't know where this distressing bit of integrity was coming from, but he had an inkling it had something to do with the way her brown eyes bored into his own. She had a way of looking at him that made him feel squeamish, as if she had put a magnifying spell on him and was examining his very pores.
Very well. If he went to the library tonight, he was sure he'd find her. He'd have to keep it secret, though. Obviously he had been too careless, as he had given Blaise enough to feel like the boy needed to inform Draco's father of his son's actions.
Draco curled his lip as he though about Blaise. He'd have to think of an appropriate way to put the boy back in his place. No one narks on a Malfoy.
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o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o
Ginny sensed him without seeing him.
"You've been avoiding me all weekend."
She didn't look up from her parchment. She was sequestered in the very back and unpopulated area of the library, working on an essay for her regular potions class with Snape. She'd just listed the ingredients for the Draught of Peace and was about to start explaining how a differentiation in hellebore levels could affect the potion's viscosity when she felt a tingling around the area where Tom had burned her. She inexplicably knew Draco was near.
She heard a shuffling noise as the chair across from her pulled itself out. "It's not like you've gone out of your way to talk to me," he said grumpily.
Ginny snorted and dipped her quill into her bottle of ink. "Oh, yes, that would have gone over well. Next time I see you chatting with Blaise I'll just stop by and say 'hello,' shall I?" She looked at the chair. "Could you take that off? It's a bit unnerving, conversing with thin air."
Draco pulled the cloak off and disheveled his hair in the process. Ginny tried not to think about how handsome it made him. "Thank you," she said archly and turned back to her essay.
"Here," Draco rudely shoved the cloak across the table. "You'll be wanting this back, right?"
Ginny looked up, surprised. She'd expected she'd have to flatter and cajole him into returning the cloak (and of course hexing him when he refused to), but here he was handing it over without a fight. "Yes, actually," she said, setting down her quill and grabbing the invisibility cloak. She stuffed it in her bag.
Draco scowled. "I'm sure Potter wouldn't appreciate you treating his cloak like that," he said moodily. He flicked the table in annoyance.
His tone made her automatically put up her defenses. "Since when do you care about what Harry would 'appreciate'?" she asked nastily. Her lip was curled up in an affronted sort of way.
"That's what he talked to you about last Friday, right?" asked Draco before he could stop himself. Ginny's mouth formed a perfect 'O' of outrage. "That's right," Draco continued, his words falling out of his mouth faster than his self-control could contain them. "I saw you together, under the oak. Continuing your date from last Thursday? Good for you, you're finally getting what you always wanted, eh Mrs. Scarhead?"
"Don't even pretend like you have any idea about anything I've ever wanted, Malfoy," Ginny said in a low, dangerous voice.
"I know one thing you've been wanting, but as soon as I handed it over you were back playing with Potter without a second thought!" He reached into his robes and pulled out one of the small vials of Dreamless Sleep. He tossed it at her. Ginny dove out of her chair and caught it scarcely before it hit the floor and smashed into pieces. "Bint," Draco positively spat at her."
As soon as the word hit her ears, Ginny snapped. "Why are you here, then, you stupid ass?" she cried from her position on the floor. "If you find me so goddamn offensive I wonder why you even bothered coming to find me at all!" She stood up and recklessly tossed the small glass vial in the air. With a flick of her wand she sent it careening violently into Draco's head. He cursed as it hit his face with such force that it shattered.
Ginny had never in her life felt this angry. Even when Ron had screamed accusations at her in the Gryffindor common room she hadn't been this enraged. Draco, it seemed, had a supernatural ability to bring her from neutral to positively fucking insane in about three seconds. Her hands shook, and her eyes burned with her fury. Her face was hot and flushed.
"You were the one who followed me in the middle of the night," she said, pointing her finger dramatically at him. Incredibly aware of where they were, she tried to keep her voice quiet. "You wanted me to stage a goddamn heist of the Hospital Wing with you, and you were the one who invited me into your fucking head," she used the finger she'd been pointing at him with to tap roughly on her own temple. "So don't you dare try and purposely antagonize me about who I decide to talk to. I didn't ask for any of this. Don't you think I have enough problems in my life without you creating more?"
She paused to take a deep breath. During her whole tirade, Draco hadn't said a single word. He was simply glaring at her as if she'd purposely broke his broomstick, his eyes narrowed to angry little slits, the opaque white potion slowly dripping off his chin. If she hadn't been so damn angry, she would have found the whole situation comical. She was about to go off on him again when she noticed a strange gleam in Draco's eyes underneath his resentment. A thought suddenly struck her.
"You're not… are you jealous?" she asked incredulously.
This brought Draco back to reality immediately. "That's ridiculous!" he declared loudly. "Jealous? Of Potter? Why on earth would I be jealous of Potter?"
"I don't know, Malfoy, why don't you tell me?" challenged Ginny, crossing her arms and looking at him expectantly.
To Ginny's immense satisfaction, the entirety of Draco's face turned red. He didn't say a word; he merely glared at her, then extracted a white handkerchief from an inner pocket. He deftly cleaned his face with it before he looked down at it, seemed to come to some sort of sudden realization, and hastily shoved it back in his robes.
"Well?" she asked again, but less meanly. She was never one to stay in a temper for long, and she found herself distracted by Draco's apparent embarrassment. "Are you going to say anything?"
"Back to 'Malfoy,' now, is it?" Draco asked bitterly, standing up from his chair. "I'm not surprised. I should expect as much, from you."
Ginny glared at him, confused. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.
Draco scowled. "I can't depend on anything from you. You're completely unpredictable. One minute you're telling me to go fuck off, and the next you're winking at me and letting me take Potter's toys away." He shook his head. "You're mad, you're positively mad. If you want to hate me, then hate me, fine. But stop playing with me like this."
Oh Merlin. That sounds like it was ripped right from a melodramatic article in Witch Weekly. "Playing with you?" Ginny asked incredulously. "Playing with you? How on Earth am I playing with you?"
"Everything! You claim that I'm the one avoiding you when you're the one who doesn't want to talk with me! You were the one who showed me your thoughts; I wasn't trying to see them, so I wouldn't have if you didn't want me to! You—you—" Draco struggled to find something else to accuse her of. "You just—you act like you want me around, then you act like you don't! It's bloody confusing!"
"Why would I want you around, if you're going to say things like that?" she asked venomously. "Why would anyone?"
"I never wanted to be your friend," he said harshly. "But you got me dragged into all of this!"
"I didn't drag you into anything!" Ginny protested, offended. "I never wanted you to help me!"
"You just wanted me to do your research, let you stay in the library after hours for you, steal some potions to make your life a little easier."
Ginny flushed again but shut her mouth. When he put it that way, he might have a point. Not that she would ever actually admit it.
"You offered those things," she said. "You offered. Why should I say 'no'?"
"So you admit, you used me for what I could get you?"
Ginny made an incredulous noise in the back of her throat. "You are the most self-absorbed person I've ever met."
Draco turned on her. "Self-absorbed? Self-absorbed?" He stood up and leaned across the table, fixing his intense gaze squarely on her eyes. "Believe or not, you stupid little weasel, I've never gone out of my way to help anyone before. Not a single person. The least selfish I've ever been in my life has been when I've been around you." He paused to take a deep breath.
Ginny quaked under his gaze. She was completely taken aback by what he'd said about himself. She thought about their encounters, the time he took to help her with her research, how he hadn't revealed to anyone the secret about her curse. The ostracizing he would surely face if his housemates discovered he was spending so much time with her. Perhaps she was being a bit unfair. Perhaps, if you put it all into perspective, he was actually being civil to her. Maybe even more than civil.
"You think this is easy for me?" he continued in a harsh, passionate whisper. "My family hates you and your family. Your family hates me and my family. That's how it's been for centuries, and that's fine. I was perfectly O.K. with that being the status quo. But then, but then you had to come along and fuck everything up. You, with your nightmares and your curses and your stupid bloody hair!"
Ginny glared at him, her annoyance resurfacing at the mention of her hair. "Oh, so I should rejoice that you deign to talk to me? Thank you, gracious Lord Malfoy, for granting me the mighty privilege of your presence!" She dropped into a mock-curtsy.
"You think this is funny?" he asked spitefully. "Do you have any idea what's going to happen to you if my father gets a hold of you?"
Ginny stared at him. "Your father? Your father? What the hell does he have to do with any of this?"
Draco reached forcefully into his bag and pulled out the letter he'd received that morning. He threw it at Ginny. "Here, see for yourself," he said.
She picked up the letter from where it'd landed on the table. It was written on heavy, expensive parchment. Unfolding it, she scanned it quickly. She looked back up at Draco, her eyes dark and unreadable, but her face pale. "So?" she asked, trying to stay calm. "This says nothing about me."
"He knows. He knows we've been… whatever we've been doing!" said Draco. "Talking! Consorting! And he doesn't like it!"
Ginny shrugged. "Rumors. It's just rumors, how would he have found out about a thing like this?" She laughed weakly. "It's not like he has spies at Hogwarts, right?"
Draco sneered. "You don't understand, your family isn't part of our world." He shushed Ginny, who was about to speak up in defense of her family. She shut her mouth, fuming, as he continued. "Everything is a competition. Everything is a race to see who will be in the best position when He comes back. I'm an extension of my father. I'm a Malfoy. That means something, in certain circles." He frowned. "Family pride, blood pride, is a staple of Slytherin house. And we're all only looking out for ourselves."
"So?" asked Ginny arrogantly. "Am I supposed to be impressed by that?"
"No, you idiot," Draco retorted irritably, "I'm just trying to explain to you why my father would find out about this. Your family… you're not one of us. You're muggle-sympathizers, and by talking with you I'm besmirching my family name."
Ginny couldn't help but say something. "Just so you know," she added hotly, "it's not like my family would be thrilled to see I've been hanging out with you."
"You don't get it!" Draco cried. "By doing… this thing, whatever, with you, I'm compromising my family's position." He scowled. "My father would do anything to be the Dark Lord's right hand man when he returns to his full power. And that means keeping tabs on me, to make sure I don't do anything to make him look stupid. And correcting whatever behavior he sees as unfit."
Ginny gritted her teeth. "So this—this invitation," she said, "what is it, then? Seems to me like he's getting awfully chummy."
"I don't know what he's going to do," said Draco. He put his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "I don't know. But it's going to be part of the correcting, believe me."
Ginny took a minute to let everything sink in. Draco's father had been informed about their relationship. Friendship, she sharply corrected herself. He felt it was undesirable because it did not conform to behavior fitting a Death Eater (or, in Draco's case, possible future Death Eater). He wanted Ginny to come to the manor on Christmas Eve, for some unknown but possibly terrible… uh, thing.
"What if I refuse to go?" she asked. "He can't make me, after all. My parents wouldn't allow it anyway."
"Then he'll find some other way to get the message across," said Draco. His voice sounded deflated. "If you don't come, he'll assume I didn't tell you, and therefore disobeyed his wishes. And I'll be… corrected." Draco rubbed his left forearm. It seemed to be an unconscious act, but to Ginny's watchful eyes it revealed what he was really afraid of.
"The Mark," she said softly. "You think he'd make you do it?"
"He's been hinting at it, yes," said Draco. "For the past year now. And you saw the letter. This surprise… it's the Mark. I know it is. I thought they were going to wait until graduation, but I guess they've decided to speed things up a bit."
Ginny was silent for a moment, mulling things over. She put Draco in danger. They were a danger to each other. So—"What if we just walked away?"
Draco furrowed his brow and looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean, walked away?"
"Walked away." Ginny gestured to the air around them. "From here, now. What if we walked away from each other, stopped meeting here, stopped talking. We'd only see each other in potions, and even then we don't even really have to speak to each other."
Draco sneered. "I don't see what good that would do."
"I do," retorted Ginny. "We make all this go away. Make it seem like this really was nothing. Tell him whatever you want – tell him you were just using me for, you know, physical stuff." she shrugged. "Shouldn't be a hard sell, not with the rumors I've heard about us lately. Whoever's been telling your father about what you've been doing won't have any more fodder. They might even mention that this has stopped. Maybe your Father will ask you about it and revoke the invitation once he sees there's nothing going on."
Draco scowled. "I don't think he'd do that."
"But you don't know, Draco," she said, his given name spilling from her lips unconsciously, naturally. "You can't know, not for sure. And if it's in both our best interests, if it will protect us from him…" she shrugged. "Isn't it at least worth a try, then?"
Draco bit his lip. He picked her quill up off the table and played with it. "Is that what you want, then? Really?" he asked, his voice cool and collected. His face was a blank mask, with the exception of the little oblivious nibble at his lower lip. He didn't look at her, only stared at the quill in his hands as if he were examining it.
Ginny made an indistinct noise in the back of her throat. "I don't think I've ever gotten anything I really wanted," she said bitterly. "But I think… I think this is the best, for you. For us."
"Fine," said Draco. His face revealed nothing about what he was thinking. "You're probably right." He turned and shouldered his backpack. He quickly turned back around. "Take this," he said, reaching into his robes with his right hand. He withdrew one more of the small medicinal vials and held it out to her. "Sorry. I only brought the two. I didn't think you'd break them."
She reached for it, and as she took it her fingers brushed over his briefly. He pulled his hand away. "See you Thursday," he said indifferently, and then turned and walked away.
Ginny stood, blinking, and watched him go. She sighed. It seemed like they were always watching one or the other walk away.
Her fingers itched where they'd touched him.
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o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o o.o.o
A/N: A big thank you once again to those who've reviewed, added me to their various alerts, and those of you who simply have stumbled along for the ride. Thank you for your patience as I get these longer chapters out.
