AN: I feel the beginning of an actual plot coming up, involving Lucius and Voldemort as well as Harry and Co. I've made the decision to stop this story in five more installments, so "Its Like That" Part Fifteen will be the last installment. Happy Reading. Dare I say, Happy Reviewing? Thanks to all my reviewers especially Jessica for reviewing all my work. =) Review again? One more thing: a lot of you told me that Part nine in roman numerals is XI not VIIII. I say in my defense: I was taught that way as a kid.
Disclaimer:
If you feel the urge or need,
To satisfy your ugly greed,
Do not sue me, myself or I,
Because I hereby clarify,
I own neither characters nor setting,
Like, Duh! They belong to JK Rowling.
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Lucius Malfoy sat at his desk in his study. He leant back contemplatively in his chair, a big black affair, which would have dominated many another man. But then, Lucius wasn't just any man, now was he? Lucius' lips curled at the thought, as if at some private joke.
No, not many men brought up their sons to be Death Eaters.
His study was typically spacious, almost cavernous, with the high, bare stone ceiling, held up with a few spells and the tremendous wills of all the previous Malfoys. Lucius liked space. It contradicted the teeming soul-prison he was trapped in.
Lucius looked at the picture of his son which he had on his desk. His son was standing with his wife, lovely, dimwitted Narcissa. Anyone looking at the picture, on the immaculate desk, would have thought that the picture occupied a somewhat obligatory space, as if the owner had only put it there for respectability's sake, and not for any love he bore the people in the picture. It was conspicuously polished, in a rather ostentatious frame that Lucius hated.
The people who thought that would have been wrong.
Lucius looked impassively at the picture. Not by a blink of the heavy eyelids, not by a twitch of the stern mouth did he betray the overwhelming love and guilt he felt when he looked at it.
The Draco of the picture stood completely still, his eyes dark and hidden, as if he strove to make his father proud of him even there. It reminded Lucius of all the times Draco had looked up at him with half-concealed begging for approval and he had returned the look with an icy denial of his own. The Narcissa of the picture, in stark contrast, in white lacy robes and no makeup on her fair, high bred, delicate face, the only resemblance between them the eyes and the haughty tilting of the head, flitting around the picture with deft, fragile movements of the small slim hands.
Lucius thought back over his past. He had become a Death Eater in haste, and had repented it at leisure, as the old Muggle saying went. From the very beginning he had known what Lord Voldemort would do if he knew of Lucius' flagging loyalty. He would seek to destroy him, and everything he cared about. From the very beginning, Lucius had learnt to hide his emotions and conceal what he loved. For all anyone knew, he thought nothing of his son and wife. Nothing could be further from the truth.
But then, he was a fine one to talk about truth.
Lucius had never been stupid. If Lord Voldemort thought Lucius didn't give a damn about his family, then he wouldn't seek to destroy him through them. Draco and Narcissa would be safe.
Leaving Voldemort had never been an option.
From the day he became a Death Eater, his fate had been sealed.
Lucius knew all too well what happened to Death Eaters who deserted.
Like Severus Snape.
They were put on Lord Voldemort's blacklist.
And of all the thousands of people who had ever been put on Voldemort's blacklist, only three remained uneliminated.
Harry Potter.
Albus Dumbledore.
Severus Snape.
So Lucius had sealed off any betrayal of feeling. He had trained himself well. Not by any reckless gesture would he ever betray his feelings. His true feelings.
He'd paid a price. He 'd sealed himself off so well that he became colder and colder every year, until every sensitivity was gone, the last one a desperate, clinging thing that was the only thing he cared about.
He'd paid a heavy price.
Narcissa no longer loved him.
Draco had never loved him.
But it was a bargain he never regretted.
Better they hated him than they were dead.
Well, that was what he told himself anyway.
Ginny sat by herself in the Gryffindor common room, absentmindedly sticking together a few pieces of parchment, unknowingly ruining Connie's long slaved-over Care Of Magical Creatures essay. She was smiling faintly to herself, staring glazedly into space as her hands moved slowly and deliberately. This despite the fact that Connie and Fran had reneged on their plan to meet after classes for a walk. Without telling her in advance. They had mysteriously disappeared from the Gryffindor common room, as well. But Ginny was in such a good mood that even the fact that Fred and George were also missing didn't have an effect on her.
Well, not much of an effect, anyway.
Ginny pushed away the disturbing - very disturbing - thought of Fred and George with Fran and Connie with an effort and thought about something else. The first thought that came to mind was Draco.
The second thought that came to mind was Draco.
The third thought that came to mind was Draco.
And Draco. And Draco and Draco and Draco and Draco.
The faint smile turned into a distinctly satisfied smile, basic and feminine. She replayed Draco's feverish avowals of love the night before in her head. She could hear his voice, low and rough, feel his hot breath on her neck, and see the look in his eyes. The surprise, the hope, the joy.
Ginny's smile grew more feminine. It was a smile only a female could smile.
Deep in the back of her mind was the reminder, hidden but bitter, of Draco with Pansy. Ginny knew she would be called a fool - by her brothers, by her friends, by everyone who knew of the Ginny-Draco saga.
But she didn't care.
She loved Draco. There was no getting around that. It had been a supreme blow to her pride - oh, the Weasleys had that in full measure - but she could deal with that.
She thought she could.
It had hurt.
She had been jealous.
The jealousy had been the worst part. It had been overwhelming, making her squirm at night, making her restless, making her want to weep with rage and frustration, everything storming up within her, until she wanted to twist and turn to get away from it. But she couldn't.
Ginny frowned slightly, but pushed the old echoes of jealousy away, as she had always tried to. She blocked it out of her mind, purposefully thinking of something else. Thinking of the way Draco had kissed her, with surprise and desperation, his hands clutching tight on her arms, not letting her go.
Ginny smiled again.
Harry pulled up a chair and looked at Ginny. She looked slightly thoughtful, as if she was thinking about something else even as she looked at him with polite surprise. Harry's heart fell. There had been a time when her cheeks would have turned red and her hands would have fluttered to each other, as if struggling for supremacy in her lap. Now her cheeks were as pale as only a red-headed person's can be, and her hands were purposefully sticking together what looked to be an old essay. "Hi." He said awkwardly.
"Hello." Ginny said simply. She looked at him. "Where are Ron and Hermione?"
Harry's first impulse was to say, Don't group me with them, dammit! And so, like the stupid teenage wizard he was, he said it. He caught himself toward the end, omitting the dammit. He smiled weakly. "I mean, - "
Ginny looked at him strangely, almost - God forbid - pityingly. There was an awkward pause, and then, in an obvious attempt to make him feel better - which naturally just made him feel worse - she said hesitantly, "I know what you mean. It used to frustrate me when people just referred to me as Ron's little sister -" obviously realizing that Harry had been -been - one of those people, she backtracked - "I er- got over it eventually."
Harry nodded inanely. "Erm - yea."
They sat in silence for a while, Ginny's red head bent over the essay she was mutilating. "So, how are things?" Harry finally asked, wishing he was somewhere else. He had a fleeting thought - is this how love is supposed to be? Me not knowing what she wants? Is Ginny just another Cho? He banished the thought, although it shocked him somewhat. He thought about it, forgetting what he had asked. Ginny wasn't another Cho, and he knew it with a core certainty that shocked him even more. He knew Ginny, he knew what she was like with her friends, he knew what she was like with her brothers, he just knew her.
Or maybe he was in denial.
It was possible.
Most things were.
Ginny looked at him. "Um -" she looked down again quickly. "Well. I got back together with Draco."
Harry looked at her.
Ginny didn't look at him.
"You -what?" Harry asked quietly.
"I got back together with Draco." Ginny said. She shrugged in a pseudo-casual move, that just came off as defiant and uncertain. "Listen, don't tell Ron yet, all right? I don't want him throwing another fit -"
"He will." Harry said with a short laugh. "No, I won't tell Ron." I won't tell anyone. He could have added, the pain in his heart making him not quite know what he was doing. It was as if he was detached - all his feelings for Ginny stored in a little compartment along with his feelings for everything else. I especially won't tell me.
"What made you break up with him in the first place?" Harry asked, almost dully.
Ginny wouldn't look at him, and her hands started working slightly faster. "Nothing, really."
Harry knew what that meant.
He got up.
This pain - he hadn't felt this much pain when Cho had gone with Cedric to the Yule Ball.
He hadn't felt this much pain when he'd seen Cedric die.
He'd never felt this much pain.
He looked down at Ginny's head and felt an unbelievable tenderness suffuse over him, making him feel heavy and softly sad. No pain, no stinging at his heart. Just an unbearable soft sadness that made him lean over and gently kiss her on the forehead.
He whispered something, maybe she didn't catch it.
It didn't matter.
He had said it.
Ron was furiously shaking his wand. "Why won't it work?" he stormed angrily. Hermione, watching, rolled her eyes.
"Maybe it's not your wand." She said.
"Maybe it's not your wand!" Ron mimicked, growling as he shook it furiously. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.
"What could it be, then?" Ron demanded, pointing the wand at her. "Godammit, Hermione, don't just stand there looking at me like that! I have to learn this spell!"
Hermione scowled at him. "Stop yelling at me! It's not my problem you don't know which end of the wand to hold!"
Ron turned a deep magenta. It was rather surprising how purple he got in such a short time. "Don't make me angry right now, Hermione. What with Ginny being in such a funk and her two friends spiriting my brothers off -"
Hermione kept on scowling. "Don't make me angry right now, Hermione-" she mimicked in return. How low I have stooped. "What with Ron being such a jerk and Harry being in a coma -"
Ron let out a yowl of frustration and slammed the thick book shut, making a book-fly screech out of the book in a flurry of dust and assorted insects. He pointed the wand at Hermione, shaking in fury. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE GOING TO HELP ME!"
"I THOUGHT YOU HAD A BRAIN!"
Ron picked up the book and looked ominously at her. "That does it, Hermione Granger!"
"How cheesy." Hermione sneered. She knew she was being mean. She was already ashamed of herself. Her brain told her to stop. Her hormones told her to duke it out. "That does it?"
Ron turned purple again. Regally he swept his wand into his sleeve and swept out of the room. At the door he turned around - another cheesy move - and said in a calm voice that belied the vein throbbing in his chin, "I am going to study by myself, and I am going to beat you in the next Charms test."
"I am going to hit you by myself and I am going to beat you into the ground!" Hermione screeched, flying at him, robes pushed back, wand arm out. Luckily, he managed to duck as she sent a binding curse at him and before she could try another curse, he fled down the corridor.
Hermione collapsed at a desk, the adrenaline slowly diffusing out of her bloodstream. She looked in horror at herself, the dusty robes, the tingling wand, and swallowed in her hoarse throat. "What have I become?" she moaned tragically, slumping at the desk amidst a pile of brown curls.