If Only You Knew Chapter Thirty Six, a harry potter fanfic

Uggg...Because I'm tired and in desperate need of sleep, FF decided to be a pain in the butt and not upload right. I think I finally got it all sorted, but man was it a nightmare trying to post this chapter. And then, I couldn't get the default line to work either, so you'll have to deal with hyphens. Sorry. But, at least I updated fairly quickly. Woot! (pats back) Anyway, thanks for yet again wasting your time on me. And thanks to all of my darling reviewers. You're all absolute dolls.

Disclaimer: No profit is being made from this fanfiction. Everything you recognize belongs to the wonderful J. K. Rowling and not to me. Must you on crushing my dreams?

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"Would someone please pass me the jam?" He asked politely, and Ginny glared. There wasn't a single thing on his plate that could possibly require jam, so the only reason he could be asking was to get on her nerves. And he'd succeeded.

Idiots, Draco thought, looking around at the other occupants at the table. The Golden Trio was happily chatting away with Bill, and Percy sat sulkily at one end of the table, glaring at his doubles, and the rest of what Draco had begun to term "the other Weasleys" were talking to Mrs. Weasley about boring, mundane things. Not a single one of them had noticed how upset Ginny was. Typical, he thought, that she should get so ignored. Typical Gryffindor behavior to ignore the only other semi-interesting one in the room. They were probably just intimidated by the fact that she seemed to have all her chromosomes.

Very politely, and in a slightly elevated voice, he asked again for the jam. She would have continued to happily ignore him, except her mother had now heard. "Ginny Weasley, where are your manners?" She demanded, and with a frustrated sigh, Ginny passed the jam.

Draco smiled very pleasantly at her, and she glared in response.

"May I be excused?" Without waiting for a response, she stood and left the table.

"You'll have to excuse her, dear." Mrs. Weasley said kindly. "Ginny's not much of a morning person. What were we talking about, May?"

"Harry, are you okay?" Hermione asked, looking concerned.

"I'm fine." He said, but he didn't look fine. She could tell from the dark rings around his eyes that he hadn't been sleeping well, and this was the third time that day alone that she'd caught him rubbing his head.

"Are you sure? Is it your scar?"

He nodded.

"Harry, I really think you should tell someone about this. You've been getting headaches an awful lot lately." She said, putting a hand on his shoulder and biting her lip.

"Leave his alone, Hermione." Ron said. "He's already got my mum coddling him. He doesn't need you as well."

"But, Harry what if-?"

"Oh, come off it Hermione. It's not as if You-Know-Who is just going to storm into the Burrow with the whole Order surrounding him."

The girl bit her lip again. "Well maybe, but do promise me you'll tell me if anything new happens, won't you?"

"Didn't you have a question for Snape about your potions homework?" Ron asked.

"Oh is he leaving?" Hermione asked, rushing out of the room.

"She may have a point, Harry." Ron said, once she was safely out of earshot.

"But you just-"

"Oh, of course she's right." He said, waving a hand dismissively. "She's always right. But she doesn't need to know that, now does she?"

Harry smiled and conceded. "Yes, I know. I just don't want to upset anyone's Christmas.

Ron sat down on the bed, frowned, and pulled something from out beneath him. " I hate to say it, but you should probably talk to someone before then. Dumbledore, maybe."

"No." Harry said fervently. "Dumbledore's got enough on his plate."

"Sirius then." Ron suggested, examining the something he'd sat on. It was a chocolate frog, which he unwrapped and popped in his mouth. "Listen," he said, in what he no doubt thought was a conspirator's whisper. The effect was somewhat lessened, however, by the bits of chocolate in his mouth. "There's a reason Malfoy's here. It's no coincidence that he magically shows up and then your scar just starts hurting all of the sudden."

"But Ginny-"

"Ginny's a bit like Hagrid." He said, sounding weary. "She take in the foulest, most vile, horrible creatures and say they're just misunderstood."

Hermione had returned, holding a roll of parchment and looking crestfallen. "He's already gone. I haven't got a clue how he disappeared so quickly."

"Oh well, you've still got loads of time to do it."

Hermione shook her head nervously. "I haven't got loads of time, Ronald. I'd like to have it all done before Christmas so I can enjoy the rest of my holiday without worrying. Potions is the last subject I've to do."

"Christmas, that's five days away yet!" Ron cried.

Hermione frowned. "Four, Ronald! And that's counting today. Really, I can't see how you pass any of your classes."

"My charm, I suppose."

"Oh, Ron." She reprimanded, slapping him gently on the shoulder. She sounded annoyed and tired. And she was biting her lip in the way she did when she had something very important to say and was avoiding saying it.

"Just spit it out, Hermione." Ron said.

"It's just- Harry- have you given any thought to what exactly you're going to do when you encounter You-Know-Who?"

"Hermione!" Ron cried.

"Well, honestly, don't get angry with me. It's a perfectly reasonable question."

"I- I don't know." Harry said. Whenever he'd come face to face with Voldemort in the past, he'd never had to think about what he was going to do. He didn't plan these things. "It's not just something I can study up on, Hermione. It's not an exam."

"Oh I know, Harry." She said quickly, biting her lip again, and Harry felt bad for snapping at her. "I just mean, it never hurts to be prepared, does it?"

"Hermione, Harry is prepared. He's stopped You-Know-Who four times already." Ron said.

"But that time with Quirrell- that was just luck." Harry said, filling with dread. Really, Hermione was right. The only assurance he had that should Voldemort attack he would be able to defeat him was the fact that he had before. And he hadn't really done anything those times. "And the night my parents died-that wasn't me either. As for the graveyard- if it hadn't been for my wand…and now that Voldemort can touch me-"

"Don't say his name." Ron hissed, looking around as if to make sure no one had heard.

"-I've really got no protection."

"Harry, I didn't mean it like that." Hermione said, horrified. "I just meant- maybe we should practice some stuff over the holiday. Or-or get the D.A. running again."

"The D.A. was great and all, but there's no way that stuff's going to help defeat Voldemort." Ron made a strangled sound and Harry ignored him. "I won't be able to face him with a Patronus and Expelliarmus."

"Harry-" Hermione said slowly. "What do you mean?"

"If I'm going to face him, I might as well level the playing field. If he can use Un-"

"Harry!" She cried sharply. "You can't use Unforgivables!"

"Voldemort's not going to hold back and if I can't-"

Hermione, very sorry she'd brought the topic up, looked at Ron for support, but he was very carefully studying his shoes. "I'm not talking about the morality of it." She said, "Although it is wrong. I just mean you can't use them. Unforgivables are very powerful, advanced, dark magic. The Killing Curse must be at least twelve times as hard as a Patronus and it took you weeks to master that. And besides, Harry, for Dark Arts to work you have to really want to hurt who you're cursing, and you don't want that." The last part had come out sounding a bit more like a question than Hermione would have liked.

Harry didn't reply, but he didn't need to; they all knew what he was thinking.

I do, his eyes said, I do if it will make this all just end.

Ginny sat, staring out the window, one hand absently playing with her hair. He felt almost ashamed watching her, and he couldn't really explain why; he wasn't doing anything wrong. Once, he'd cleared his throat, half hoping she would turn around and notice him, but she was either too deep in thought to notice or hadn't heard him at all. The cold breeze rushed in through the open window, tousling her hair, and Draco was almost overcome by the mad urge to rake his fingers through her long mane…He let out a low moan, and turned around and headed back up the stairs. He lay down on the bed and tried to occupy his mind with very dull, non-redheaded things. Flobberworms came to mind, but really, who wanted to spend their evening thinking about great, ugly worms.

From his spot on the bed, he could just barely see the bit of ground outside the treeline where he and Ginny had had a snowball fight just days before.

He rolled over, and closed his eyes. It was only seven o'clock, but really, what else was there to do?

Ginny was standing in what looked like a girl's lavatory. She wasn't facing him, but there was no mistaking her long, vibrant hair. For a moment, nothing seemed amiss but then, he noticed that her shoulders were heaving up and down in great, dry sobs. He took a step forward and felt the awkward resistance of water around his ankles and looked down to see that the floor had been flooded nearly a foot high. It all poured from the sink in front of her, an unbelievable amount of water for a single faucet.

"Ginny?" He asked, putting a hand on her shoulder and spinning her around. She looked up at him, startled, holding both hands out in front of her. There were wet trails across her cheeks where she had been crying.

"It won't come off." She said in a low, dead sort of voice. The kind of voice that came once the point of despair had been pasted and there was nothing left but acceptance. "I've tried and I've tried and I can't wash it off."

"Ginny, there's nothing there." He said, looking at her small, pale hands. He reached around her and turned the sink's handle, but the water continued to flow freely.

"He told me it wouldn't come off. I didn't understand though." She abruptly looked up at him, horrified, as if she was realizing something for the very first time. "I've done something awful, and it won't come off."

And, then, suddenly, she turned back around and plunged her hands into the water, rubbing them together so forcefully it looked painful.

Draco grabbed her wrists, forcing her hands out of the sink. Even after they'd left the water, she continued scrubbing. "Look at me, Ginny." He said, making her turn around to face him. "Ginny, there's nothing there."

But instead of being comforted, fresh tears streamed down her face and she thrust her hands out in front of her to show him. The small arms before him were stained almost to the elbow in thick, black ink.

"It won't come off." She said, sobbing now. And suddenly there was a faint, bitter, metallic, smell and a deep bloom of red blossomed at the center of each palm, running down her arms. He cringed as the warm liquid touched his fingers.

"Whose blood is this?" He demanded, but she was crying to heavily now to hear him. "Ginny, whose blood is this?"

"I've done something terrible, Tom. And now it won't come off."

Draco woke in a cold sweat, and he knew that a floor below, Ginny was now awake too. He tried to stand, but his sheets were so twisted around his legs that he found it difficult. Once he'd untangled himself, he went directly to the window, throwing it open and letting the cold air clear his mind.

He was both comforted and annoyed, which he decided was probably an inappropriate reaction to have at the time. But this dream had lacked the distinct wrongness of the others, and that was reassuring. It was just a nightmare and nightmares he could deal with; everyone, after all, had nightmares.

The fact that worried him, however, was that this time he hadn't meant to enter her dreams. When Mr. Borgin sold Draco the necklace and ring, he'd, of course, warned that this might happen. The fact that both items were run partially through spells but mostly through emotions- well he didn't think it would be a problem. But now, he was concerned. If her dreams had leaked into his, it was definitely possible this worked in reverse. How many times had she been audience to his own dreams?

Draco took the ring from where it sat on the bed stand and stared at it, as though it might answer his question. Staring at it, Sylvia's words came rushing back: You have complete and absolute control over this girl, and what have you done?

His fist tightened around the ring, and he took a deep fortifying breath to strengthen his resolve. He stepped through the door and made it carefully down the first flight of stairs in the dark. He paused a moment at the bottom in front of Ginny's room and light flooded out through the crack beneath the door. He turned, still clutching the ring, and headed downstairs.

Ginny sat on her bed, breathing heavily. She'd wanted to go and soak in the cold water for a while, but that required crossing the hall. Even from where she sat she could see the inky blackness slinking under the door jam. In here, in the light, she was safe, but should wander out into the darkness, she knew it would rip at her, tear her apart, consume her.

Don't be stupid Ginny. There's nothing out there.

She forced her legs to uncoil and venture over the edge of the bed.

Get on with it! She ordered her self, and she forced her feet down to meet the floor and stood. She took one slow step toward the door and then another.

Suddenly, she stopped. There was a noise like footsteps. Almost inhumanly still, she stood, holding her breath, because she knew that even moving so much as to exhale would unravel her. The footsteps stopped right in front of her door and Ginny shut her eyes tightly, willing the thing to go away. An eternity passed, and when it was over, the footsteps resumed, growing more distant as they moved away.

Once she could hear nothing, she hazarded a breath. The blood pounded in her ears, and her heart heaved in convulsed, sporadic beats.

"There's nothing out there, Ginny." She said aloud. "There never was. You imagined it."

And she knew she had imagined it. The Burrow was very old, and host to all the creaks and twangs of an old house. She had probably just heard the wind knocking at the shutters, or the dishes downstairs settling in the sink, or any number of other things.

Even so, it was another ten minutes before she could force herself to move. All courage abandoned, she planned only to return to her bed; she wouldn't sleep, but there at least she would feel safe. She turned hesitantly around, and took a cautious step toward the bed.

She could still feel her heart pounding, only now the feeling was painful, as if each time it expanded it beat against her chest, fighting to break it's way through her ribs. She gasped in pain, as the feeling suddenly became hot. Instinctively she threw her hand to her breast, and then, only then did she realize the source of her pain was not her own beating heart, but the necklace.

It had been dormant for so long she had almost forgotten it's presence expect in a vague, formless kind of way. It frequently grew warm, especially at night, but that too had blurred into normality and she'd almost forgotten this as well. But this, this was a new pain, on a level even higher than that she had felt the day Draco had called her to the restaurant.

She focused on this new pain, not resisting, letting it drive her through the door and into the darkness that lay beyond. An invisible hook dug itself deeply into her chest, pulling at her, tugging her down the stairs. She allowed herself to be towed through the living room and to the kitchen, where she could see had been illuminated. The hook pulled her into the door and the vanished, and the pain was immediately swept away, as if it had not been there at all.

And there stoop Draco Malfoy, clad in silk pajamas and holding two mugs.

"Hot chocolate?" He offered.

Er...not entirely too fond of this chapter because Harry's really emo and kinda random and er...yeah. But still, there were a few important bits thrown in throughout this chapter that I couldn't work in any other way so forgive me my emoness. And besides that, this is really the second chapter in a row with basically no Draco-Ginny interaction at all, but again, I needed it to lead into the next chapter which will be incredible fun to write and that's all the information you'll get from me. I do however, really love the dream. I wrote it in like, the dead of night and kinda freaked myself out. A lot.

As always, thanks SOOOOOOOO MUCH to everyone who reviewed last chapter.

And a special thanks to my armodillo friends, who sit on thrones in my head, eat pie, and make snarky comments.