A/N: I'm so, so, so sorry about how late this chapter is. T_T I can't believe it's been almost 3 weeks since I updated. AOSDIASDKA. I'm so sorry. I hope that the length of this chapter makes up for it... by the way, if anyone knows any good D/G fics, I'd love to see it. I've just fallen in love with them all over again.
ASH123: OMG, haha ! Your review totally made my day. But I'm seriously-SERIOUSLY-not the best writer on FF. I can give you an entire list of better writers. (: Thanks so much, though. It made me so happy. HAHA.
DISCLAIMER: haha, i'm watching eminem while I'm writing this, and I love the part where he says, "And to the fans, I'll never let you down again, I'm back. I promise never to go back on that promise, in fact." he looks so earnest. LOL well at least as earnest as eminem could look. but seriously, why would they censor out, "get back, click-clack, BLAOW!" WHY? violence is what makes him eminem. you don't just censor that out -_-
Chapter 26—Unwelcome
It's been two weeks and two days since the disaster of a wedding, three weeks and two days since Harry, Ron, and Hermione have disappeared; it's been two weeks and one day since Blaise's parents threw a fit after finding out he was at the Weasleys' instead of at Draco's house like he had told them, and two weeks and a day that I've spent at the Burrow, completely bored out of my mind.
There is nothing to do here. Okay, there are lots of things to do here, but none of them are particularly interesting.
One night over supper—while Ginny and I were having a competition to see who could scarf down a chicken pot pie the fastest—Mrs. Weasley brought up the subject of Hogwarts.
"Your father and I have been talking," she said with overdone casualness.
"Tha's nice," said Ginny thickly, her mouth still filled with potpie. "Hey, no fair, Nessie!"
"It says in the Daily Prophet that Snape's now the Headmaster—"
"Uh-huh."
"—and that Amycus and Alecto Carrow have been hired as the new Muggle Studies and Defense teachers."
"Who're they?" I asked, gulping down chicken.
"Death Eaters," said Mrs. Weasley. She took a deep breath, and continued firmly, "And we believe it best that the two of you not return to Hogwarts next term."
Ginny and I simultaneously gagged and coughed, spewing half-chewed vegetables and soup out of our mouths.
"W-what?" gasped Ginny. I coughed, and Ginny thumped me on the back. "Why?"
"It's simply too dangerous," said Mrs. Weasley with an air of someone who had already made their decision. "I won't allow it."
"Mum!" Ginny yelled in disbelief and anger. "You can't!"
"Hogwarts is mandatory for all underage wizards now," I pointed out. "You'd all have to go into hiding."
"You don't have to do this!" Ginny shouted, pounding her fist against the table. "It's completely unreasonable!"
"Vanessa," said Mrs. Weasley, completely ignoring her daughter's tantrum. "I understand that Arthur and I have no control over any of your decisions, but we strongly recommend that you also not attend Hogwarts this year."
"What!" I blurted, throwing my hands up in the air. "No!"
My voice and Ginny's blended together in a string of protests and refusals. Mrs. Weasley looked helplessly at her husband, who pinched the bridge of his nose and went back to his supper.
"Enough," she finally said. "Enough. You two aren't going. That's my final take on this matter."
"I can take care of myself!" said Ginny. "At least let me go. They're rooting out the Muggle-borns, but I'll be safe. They won't do anything to me. If you want to keep anyone at home, keep Vanessa here. She's the Other Potter—she's Harry Potter's sister. Aside from Harry himself, she's the most wanted person in Britain ."
"What happened to all for one and one for all, Gin?" I said incredulously.
"Oh come on, Nessie," she said, turning on me. "You know it's true. The Death Eaters are gonna jump you the moment you walk onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. If anyone shouldn't go, it's you."
I stood up abruptly. The chair protested and squeaked against the floor. "Why the hell do you care—"
Ginny eyes widened in alarm. "I didn't mean it like that—"
"—You wouldn't give Peter Pettigrew's slimy rat's ass about me if I was Harry fucking Potter's sister. Well you're not my family and"—I turned to Mrs. Weasley—"You're not my mother. My mother is dead; she's lying under a tombstone in who-knows-where without any idea that I'm still alive. But she's still my mum. You can't replace her no matter what you do."
"I never tried to replace her, dear."
I stalked out of the kitchen, drowning out the rest of her words with my footsteps. I stomped up the stairs and into Ginny's room. I could still hear them talking softly about me, and it thoroughly annoyed me. Though not as much as the bright orange posters slathered across Ginny's walls, a clear reminder that this was her room, and not mine; that she belonged here, and not me.
I stormed out of her room and into the bathroom across the hall. I stared around at the rusted metal appliances, and above my head, the ghoul rattled the pipes loudly. I couldn't help but think,
This is the place Slytherins belong.
For shizzle my whizzle,
This is the plot
Listen up you bizzles forgot
Slyzzles don't give a fuck.
The next couple of days were awkward. I had packed up the little belongings I had in a little rucksack that used to belong to Harry, and I carried it across the hall to Fred and George's now empty room, where I found Sebastian hiding under the bed, playing with one of the twins' unfinished products. I scooped him up and threw his toy out the window before he could hurt himself.
A couple times a day, I'd see Ginny or Mrs. Weasley when I walk out of Fred and George's room for a bathroom break, and they'd open their mouths like they had something to say. Then they'd close it, as if I wasn't worth the effort. So I'd walk in the bathroom, and stare at myself in the mirror. I'd look past the dark hair and green eyes, everything that made me Harry's sister, and I tried to see what made me Slytherin. Because that was what repelled the Weasleys from me. And that's what made Draco my friend.
Because despite everything, his necklace stood hung around my neck, serving as a reminder for what would have been, what should have been, and—I usually didn't let myself think it—what still could be. I had swore loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix , to Dumbledore, and to Harry. But something kept me from unclasping the necklace. And while I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to see what Draco saw, I think I knew why; the necklace symbolized hope. While the necklace remained close to me, hope was still alive. Barely, but there.
This kind of naivety is the result of growing up to bullshit fairytales.
Someone rapped sharply on the door. I jumped.
"Who is it?" I called.
"Who do you think, stupid?" said Ginny's voice. "Open up."
"I'm taking a shit," I lied.
"That's gross. I'll wait out here then."
"No! That's gross. Do you want to hear every fart and every plop of my shit?"
"Yeah, all right, I'm leaving. Come talk to me later, okay?"
Ginny's footsteps retreated, and I heard the sound of a door clicking shut. I looked back at the mirror. Suddenly, I couldn't see the sharp angle of my cheekbones, or the slight glint in my eye, or anything else that made me look remotely like a Slytherin. I saw my wild black hair and bright green eyes that stared right into my soul.
I ran a hand through my hair, studying it in the mirror, pursed my lips and blew out a long stream of air.
"Shit," I muttered.
I made my way over to Ginny's bedroom, where she greeted me by asking whether or not I thought she could fit another Holyhead Harpies poster in her room. The honest answer was no, as you couldn't even see what color her walls were anymore, but I told her that she could definitely fit a few dozen more on the ceiling, or something. We spent the rest of the afternoon laughing and joking, pausing long enough just to breathe, and then we'd launch into another fit.
By the time Mrs. Weasley called us down to dinner, I knew that everything was fine between us again. She caught my eye as we descended the flight of stairs, and she said,
"I'm sorry."
That's all I wanted to hear, anyway.
I shoot for the moon,
But I'm too busy gazing at the stars. I feel amazing, and
I'm not afraid.
We talked it over. Actually, Ginny talked while Mrs. Weasley peeled potatoes and refused to listen to anything we had to say. Then, Ginny threw a tantrum and threatened let Mafalda Prewett stay over. She was a first year Slytherin who I discovered was something like Ginny's second cousin or third cousin, or something like that. That was when she caved. There were some conditions though; something about not sneaking out, or attracting attention, or getting into trouble. We weren't exactly paying attention.
Another thing was that Mrs. Weasley had agreed to take Ginny and me to Diagon Alley to see Fred and George's new shop, and also to get school supplies. Blaise and I were planning to meet up there—after he ditches his parents, as they haven't exactly taken a liking to me.
Hagrid met us at the entrance to Diagon Alley. Security purposes, as Kingsley had put it. Now, I don't have anything against Hagrid or other half-giants, but I do have something against being seventeen years old and having to be baby sat.
"We're in a bit of a hurry," said Mrs. Weasley, nervously checking her pocketwatch as Hagrid affectionately ruffled my hair. "At this rate, we won't have any time to check on Fred and George's shop."
"Don't you worry, Molly," said Hagrid, his eyes twinkling. "I'll take care of the books and supplies. You lot go ahead; those troublemakers are waiting for you in that shop of theirs, I reckon. Best not keep them waiting."
"Are you sure, Hagrid?" said Mrs. Weasley, though she looked relieved. "It's an awful lot of trouble..."
He waved a dustbin lid sized hand around dismissively. "It's nothin'."
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and I made our way through Diagon Alley, and I couldn't help but noticing that a good percentage of what had been cheery stores were now dim and boarded up. We passed by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and Gambol and Japes, shaking our heads mournfully at the sad, deserted state in which they were left.
"Whoa," said Ginny, stopping in her tracks so that I nearly ran into her.
Surrounded by the gray and black slabs of concrete, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes stood out like a beacon. The brightly lit shop was absolutely packed... not that I was surprised; Fred and George did have a knack for attracting attention.
Ginny and I walked in as if we were in a trance, our heads swiveling back and forth; there was just so much to look at. I barely noticed that I was getting pushed and shoved from every side by hordes of the twins' customers.
"Ginny, Ginny," I said, tugging at her arm excitedly. "Look at that, do you think we could-?"
The arm I was grasping tore out of my grip. I spun around and found myself face to face with a brown haired boy with freckles and a disdainful look on his face.
"Who're you?" I asked blankly.
"Not Ginny, that's for sure," he snorted, put on a falsely cheerful face and did an annoyingly accurate imitation of my voice. We were soon pushed away by the sea of people, but I caught him giving me one last condescending look before disappearing.
I scowled and scanned the crowd, looking fruitlessly for the fiery red hair of Ginny Weasley—or any Weasley for that matter. Where did they go off to? Well, as long as my ride home isn't any where to be found, I might as well have a look around.
I skirted the WonderWitch shelves, which were surrounded by giggling girls sniffing love potions and cooing over the Pygmy Puffs, which were admittedly cute despite their appearance as a large pink hairball. The area around the Skiving Snackboxes was particularly crowded with Hogwarts students; Niles Hanley nodded at me in acknowledgement, Mandy Brocklehurst waved, and several others sniggered loudly.
"Hey Potter!" called Tracey Davis, who was sneering. He's held a grudge against me since I spilled undilated bubotuber pus in his lap during Herbology in our third year. "Check this out."
He tossed me a bundle of paper, making some of the kids laugh and jeer. I didn't exactly understand why it was so humiliating for me to be thrown a newspaper. Although, it was the Daily Prophet, so I suppose they could have been metaphorically throwing shit at me.
I very pointedly rolled my eyes at Davis , and opened the newspaper to the front page.
DRACO MALFOY PRONOUNCED DEAD, the headlines screamed at me.
I drew in a sharp breath, but feeling Davis and others' eyes on me, I kept my face emotionless.
"What about it?" I said.
Tracey Davis looked unfazed. "Read the headlines, Potter."
I looked back down at the newspaper folded in my hands. "'Draco Malfoy Pronounced Dead'. What of it?"
Several of the onlookers burst into laughter, and Tracey Davis's sneer grew more distinct.
"You don't fool me, Potter," he said. "Don't you know that—"
"What's going on here?" demanded a familiar voice in a completely unfamiliar tone.
I turned and saw George Weasley standing right behind me, a disapproving expression looking completely out of place on his usually happy-go-lucky face. Fred peered around his brother's shoulder and grinned at me. Behind me, Tracey Davis and his friends got some of the others to start singing a song that went something like, "Draco Malfoy's dead, Draco Malfoy's dead." Their creativity will never cease to amaze me.
Fred and George turned toward Tracey Davis, confusion on their identical faces, then their eyes directed them toward the crumpled up newspaper in my hands. Suddenly, their expressions were murderous.
"Okay you, out," said Fred, taking Tracey Davis by the shoulder and steering him out of the shop.
"And you, you, and you," said George, pointing at the group of singers. "Get out, and don't let us catch you in this place again. Hey, I saw that. Do you want me to shove this up your—Yeah, you better run."
The twins scattered the rest of the group, alternating between death threats and horrible insults. Many of the students shot dirty looks and made obscene hand gestures. A few looked close to tears.
"So," I said casually, holding up the Prophet and ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach. "Is this—Is this true?"
"Naw," muttered George, taking it from me. "It's another joke item. The headlines are supposed to reflect your deepest fear. We thought it might've been a nice prank."
"Oh," I said, heat flooding my cheeks. So that's why they were laughing.
"Oh, don't worry about them," said Fred cheerfully. "They're all a bunch of pricks."
My gaze lingered on George for a moment; he looked a bit peeved.
"Don't worry about him," said Fred in an undertone. "It's just the kids. They've been commenting on his ear all day."
"Just because I only have one ear doesn't mean I can't hear you," said George, glowering.
"Of course it doesn't, mate," Fred backtracked. "I didn't say that."
"Yeah, okay. Hey Nessie, you might want to try out some of our new Love Potions. We formulated them with you specifically in mind." George winked, suddenly cheerful again.
"No thanks," I grimaced.
"Hey mister," said a small boy, tugging on the hem of George's robes. "What happened to your ear?"
Fred looked slightly afraid, as if George was a ticking bomb that was about to go off. But he just took a deep breath and ignored the kid.
"Are you sure? Free of charge."
I looked at the pair of them suspiciously. Charity from the Weasley twins was never a good thing.
"Lighten up, Ness ," said Fred, punching my arm lightly. "We're trying to do you a favor."
"By turning me into a frog?" I said skeptically.
"Where's the trust?" they asked, laughing.
"Trust? You two? Oh no—no way. I've learned my lesson about that."
"Mister," said a little girl, holding a lollipop and gazing innocently up at George. "Where's your ear hiding?"
As Fred predicted, George exploded, yelling and stomping his feet, and scaring the little girl out of her wits. Fred led me away before they attracted too much attention, and—you know—someone recognizes the Other Potter. I've tried to tell him not to worry about it, that no one knows or cares who I am, anyway, but he won't believe me; he says it's different now that everyone knows that Voldemort is back, and Harry's apparently gone into hiding.
"V! Hey, V—hey kid, get out of the way, I'm Blaise fucking Zabini." Blaise headed toward me, pushing a gaggle of kids out of the way. "I've been looking for you everywhere! Why weren't you at Florean Fortescue's like we planned?"
"I'll see you later," muttered Fred, forcing his way back to George, who was surrounded by children ogling at the hole in his head.
"Because it's been closed down, you thickhead. It's all boarded up."
"And it would've been the perfect rendezvous point! Merlin, V, use your head." He rolled his eyes. "Have you gotten your supplies yet? I need to head over to Madam Malkins'. I just ditched my mum by Slug and Jigger's. She might be slightly irritated, so it's possible that she won't get my robes for me. No worries, though, I nicked some gold from her." He grinned and jangled his pockets.
"You're such a Slytherin," I said, unsure of whether or not I should be worried for him.
"Thanks V; that means a lot. So are you coming, or what?"
"Sure. Let me just find Mrs. Weasley..." I peered around for a moment.
Blaise rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Let's go."
He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the exit. I thought about protesting, but it wasn't as if that would stop Blaise fucking Zabini. Besides, I'll be back before they even know I'm gone.
"Have you heard the rumors?" Blaise asked, once we were back out on the street. His voice was hushed, though there was no need; the small amount of people on the streets were walking quickly and focusing on their own business. "It's not exactly... all over the papers. But there are a few stories on the underground stations. You know... the ones that aren't with You-Know-Who. Ernie Warmen says—"
"Who's Ernie Warmen?"
Blaise stumbled slightly. He caught himself before he hit the ground and looked around nervously as he straightened his robes and pretended that he hadn't just tripped over his own feet. "You're telling me... that you live with four Order members, and you don't know who Ernie Warmen is?"
"Er—"
"He's amazing; I don't know where het gets all his intel from, but he knows everything that's going on with You-Know-Who. Especially the stuff the Prophet's been husing up. And—well," Blaise suddenly grows solemn. "There've been a couple rumors... a few sightings... People think that Ashley might still be alive."
I scoffed, shaking my head. "You take wishful thinking to a whole new level, Blaise. We saw her body, remember? She had a funeral, and all."
"It's not exactly impossible to fake a death, V. Complicated spell here, transfigure something there, and poof, the world thinks you're dead. Ashley's not stupid."
"Yeah but... I don't know, she'd have told us, or sent us a sign, or something. She wouldn't just leave us hanging like that. She's not like that scumbag, Pettigrew."
Blaise was silent, deliberating. I sighed and kicked at a rock.
It would be amazing if somehow, Ashley were still alive and out there, but even I couldn't bring myself to hope for that much. And it wasn't to say that I didn't miss her; I missed her with each passing day. Sometimes, while I lay awake in bed, I'd remember some of the crazy things that we had done that past year, and I just couldn't believe that she was really and truly gone. I've been telling myself for months to get over it, that she wasn't going to come back. But for some reason, I keep coming back to the night she died, feeling that there's something crucial that I've been missing. These days, an unfamiliar hatred would fill my body, making sleep even more impossible. And on these days, I swore I would kill Aiden Moore, even if it was the last thing that I did.
"Okay, so how about this," said Blaise, jolting me out of my reverie and launching into a new and equally preposterous theory of his. "Don't jump out at me, it's just a theory. We need to consider all the options. Okay, consider this: Maybe Moore didn't kill her, after all. Maybe he helped her fake a death, and they're both alive at this very moment, working together."
"Yes, and maybe Ashley's really an Animagus, and she's running around Hogwarts as a flobberworm," I teased.
The other Slytherin's eyes widened dramtically. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "That's exactly what I'm talking about here. I'm glad to see you're thinking outside of the bum now, V."
"Box. Outside of the box."
"Like it matters," said Blaise with a roll of his eyes.
"If you're going to be quoting muggles, you might as well respect them," I said reprovingly.
Blaise dug a finger in his ear, looking confused. "I'm sorry; did I just hear 'muggle' and 'respect' in the same sentence?" I sighed, shaking my head. Blaise peered down a small alleyway. "I think Madam Malkins is down this way... Yes, here it is." He pulled at the door handle, making bells jingle softly inside the shop. Holding open the door with a smirk, Blaise bowed mockingly and said, "After you, sir."
"Ladies first," I said, smiling sweetly and gesturing.
Blaise grinned toothily and fluffed up some nonexistant hair. "Such a gentleman! Your mother must be oh-so-very proud."
I grinned back at him, amused by the familiar antics of my friend. Blaise, meanwhile, was scanning the small shop.
"Huh. It's empty. Madam Malkin must be in the back with a customer. Hey-what's this?" Blaise walked briskly over to the countertop, his expression unreadable. He picked up the wand and twisted it in his fingers, eyes narrowing. "Vanessa, this is-"
At that moment, a door in the back slammed shut with a loud thud, announcing the arrival of Madam Malkin and her apparently hot-tempered customer. A familiar voice rang out, thick with irritation and indignation.
"...not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."
There was a clucking noise, made presumably by Madam Malkin. "Now dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child-"
"Watch where you stick that pin, will you!"
Draco Malfoy himself appeared from behind a rack of clothes, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes which-in my very biased opinion-made him look absolutely stunning. He strode to the mirror, admiring himself. I heard Blaise mutter something along the lines of conceited git, and though it possibly couldn't have been heard across the room, Draco's chin tilted up slightly, and for the first time, he noticed Blaise and I reflected in the mirror over his shoulder. His eyes widened, then narrowed as he spotted Blaise holding his wand delicately between his fingers.
"What are you doing with my wand, Zabini?" said Draco coldly.
"Preparing to shove it up your ass," Blaise, taking a step toward his former best friend.
"Now, now," said Madam Malkin, scurrying over to Draco with a tape measure and wand, "there's no need for such language."
"Where's your mummy at, Zabini?" sneered Draco. "I bet you wouldn't talk like that in front of her. Scared she'll give you a time out, aren't you?"
"That's quite enough!" said Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. "Madam-please-"
Narcissa Malfoy strolled out from behind the clothes rack and met my gaze evenly.
"Pleasure to see you again, Vanessa," she said. "And you, Blaise, I suggest you not talk to my son again that way again, or I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."
"Really," said Blaise. He looked furious. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"
Madam Malkin gasped and cluthced at her heart. "Really, you shouldn't accuse-dangerous thing to say-!"
I felt incredibly awkward. I had no desire to threaten Draco or Mrs. Malfoy with my wand in their faces and yet, I felt as though I should say something to defend Blaise. I couldn't bring myself to, though. I couldn't get over the fact that Draco was here--right in front of me.
His eyes flicked over to me, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn't understand the expression in his eyes; it was almost... pleading. Oh yes, I was supposed to be angry with him, I realized. He killed Dumbledore... He hurt Bill... He was the reason why George lost an ear... He's standing right in front of me.
I opened my mouth to say something-anything, but I didn't get the chance. Blaise tugged at my arm, trying to draw my attention. I turned toward him expectantly, but he was still glaring coldly at the Malfoys.
"Come on, Vanessa. Now that we know the kind of scum that shop here... We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tattings."
And with that, he dragged me out of the shop, taking care to chuck Draco's wand in his direction as hard as he could.
"Can you believe this?" Blaise was muttering as the door swung shut behind us. "Of all the rotten luck... We had to walk in at the precise moment that Draco and his mummy..."
Blaise was walking in the completely wrong direction, still muttering incoherently. I doubted he even realized that I wasn't with him anymore. Against my better judgement, I looked back, meeting Draco's eyes through the window of the shop. I inhaled sharply.
"Fuck," I cursed, scurrying back over to Blaise
Okay, quit playing with the scissors and shit, and cut the crap.
I shouldn't have to rhyme these words in a rhythm for you to know it's a rap.
You said you was king, you lied through your teeth.
And for that, fuck your feelings, instead of getting crowned,
You're getting capped.
A/N: oh thank god, I'm finally done with this chapter. I really didn't plan on it being this long. I planned on it ending exactly at the point in which it ended, but when I went back to edit, I realized that there was so much I needed to do before they return to Hogwarts, which they are definitely going to do next chapter. Finally, you know?
Oh, and by the way, all the lyrics are from Eminem. Not Afraid, and Till I Collapse. I recommend listening to Not Afraid. Not so much Till I Collapse. The lyrics are amazing, as usual. But it's several years old, and Eminem's practically yelling in your ear.
What d'you think of this chapter? I worked really hard on it, so I'd love to hear feedback. I've fallen asleep lots of times with my laptop next to me, open to my Other Potter files. I've pulled an all nighter once, too. (: So... review, please?