Legend
Chapter XXV: I'll Be There
by Marie McKinnon
Worn out, both emotionally and physically, Draco plopped down onto his bed. He let out a sigh of relief at being back in his room, away from the people and situations that frustrated him. A moment later he leapt back to an attentive position, noticing a movement in the shadowy corner. He focused hard on it, and could discern a darker shadow in the centre that looked suspiciously like a cloaked person.
His suspicions were confirmed when Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the corner and seated himself disdainfully in Draco's desk chair. "What, no hug for your father?" He scoffed.
"I haven't hugged you since I was three," he replied coolly. "I've thought better of it, if you will. It brings to mind that phrase -- what is it-- I embrace my enemy, but only to smother him."
Lucius smiled in spite of himself. "I have taught you well, then. There is the small matter of your joining the Death Eaters that must be resolved before too long, however."
He shook himself mentally, remembering that there had been no letter on the table when he'd come in. "Don't worry, Father. I've already made the decision." He tried to look as excited about the prospect as he was sure his father had.
"Oh, then seeing Dominic helped?"
"In a way," Draco said, smiling deceptively. "I saw him on the occasion that he had murdered my girlfriend's roommates and attempted to rape her."
"All to aid Lord Voldemort," he said, as though that were all that really mattered. "I'll take you to meet with Him soon, so you can get your Dark Mark."
"May I finish? Thank you. Seeing Dominic persuaded me to oppose the cause rather than support it. After all, he murdered and spoke lightly about it, and regretted that he hadn't finished with Ginny. Perhaps it was just that he had been trying to take advantage of *my* girl, but that's not likely."
Lucius' face contorted in fury. "What did you do to Dominic?" He demanded.
"I had the whole conversation recorded, so I gave it to Professor Dumbledore. Dominic should be arriving at Azkaban sometime soon," he added, completely without remorse.
"You jackass!"
An expression of mock-concern found its way onto Draco's face. "I wouldn't say that if I were you, Father. A jackass's, or a mule's, mother is a horse and its father is an ass. Which I think is quite an accurate description right now, don't you?"
Glaring venomously, his father swept out of the room, leaving him vindictively happy and, for the first time in ten months, without a letter to burn. He decided to write his own letter in exchange for the one he usually received, this time directing it to Ginny.
Gin, (he wrote, pondering whether or not it would be more appropriate to write to her as 'Love' or 'Darling')
I hope this finds you as well as can be expected. Go sit with Granger, I imagine she'll be able to take your mind off it somehow. She'll probably have you doing homework as soon as you set foot in the room. If it's any consolation, Dominic is in Azkaban, and will soon be more insane than he was before. I know that doesn't really help, but that's all we can do to him (legally, of course). I was in favor of wringing his neck and Professor Dumbledore disagreed for some reason. Can you imagine why that might be?
Really, though, if you need anything, you can just send an owl. I want to help you. I have to help, actually, because I am unfortunately related to the psychopath who did this to you. It's not my fault, but I'll make it up to you as if it were. Call on me for anything, I mean it. I'd love to help you, even if it's just transferring your trunk and other belongings to the seventh year dormitories. Remember,
Whenever you call me I'll be there Whenever you want me I'll be there Whenever you need me I'll be there I'll be around
Yours, Draco.
He had paused, quill hovering over the parchment, on the signature. Should he try to tell her he loved her, or should he wait for a more opportune time? The second seemed to be more comfortable for him, so he gave her a gentle reminder that he was hers. Thinking of that song had put him in more of a sentimental mood than usual, he found, and suddenly made him wish he could play some of that popular 1960s music that always was supposed to cheer you up.
Unluckily for him, any Muggle music player would go on the fritz at such a magical place, so he couldn't play it. In spite of all that he had a radio player that he'd left unplugged for a few months and had always promised himself that he'd find some way to work. Finally finding something to do, he summoned it onto the bed and looked at the part he'd learned gave it its power. There was a place for batteries as well as a plug, giving him a bit of a headache trying to think of which he should fix. It soon became evident that the batteries would be the easiest to fix because he could replace them with a magical power source. Deeming it safer to use his normal magic, the kind that required a wand, he grabbed the polished instrument off of his night table and attempted to stick it in to replace the battery. It was much too long to fit, though, so his process was halted abruptly. He knew no spell to transfigure a magical object into a power source, he determined after a long period of thought.
Fingering his wand gently, he turned it over and over in his hands. What could this little bit of wood do for him? He wondered. It wasn't nearly as powerful as the other magic he had, but it was more discreet. Subtlety was its main use. He swished it, enjoying the whirring sound it made through the air. A trail of sparks landed between the places where the batteries' different ends were supposed to go, and he smiled triumphantly. One repetition of the process and tunes were blaring out into the room.
He turned down the volume to avoid suspicion, then lay back on his bed and shut his eyes in pleasure. The music washed over him, its somewhat gentle melodies lulling him into a doze. A loud chorus brought him out of the stupor like a shot.
"I think I love you So what am I so afraid of? Afraid that I'm not sure of A love there is no cure for."
"You said it, buddy," he murmured.
*
Ginny woke up the next morning, looked around, and shut her eyes to prevent herself from feeling dizzy. Everything was in the wrong place, especially Ingrid and Frances. When had they moved their beds? Those names triggered her memory and she sighed, realizing that she was in the seventh year dormitories with Lavender and Parvati. Hermione, as a Prefect, had her own separate bedroom so she could work more easily. Heaving herself up out of bed, she grabbed some clean clothes and headed towards the showers, thinking about trying to drown herself. It wasn't really a serious thought; she knew she had to help Draco and Harry, after all, and she wasn't about to let them down. Still, her best (and almost only) friends were dead, and it was her fault.
Toweling her hair dry, she bent over her new bed and looked askance at the parchment lying on its rumpled surface. The towel fell to the floor as she picked up the parchment and peered at it from all possible angles, looking for a name or symbol that would reveal the sender's identity. Really, she thought, I shouldn't be getting anonymous love notes, everyone already knows I have a boyfriend. Her curiosity drove her onwards, and, unfolding it, she sighed. If it held more bad news she doubted that she would be sane for very much longer. Thankfully, she knew the penmanship from its round, perfect letters, and read it all the way through, laughing at Dumbledore's aversion to strangling.
Smoothing out the creases, she set it down on the night table, pondering the definition of a suitable response to such a statement. A live conversation would be wonderful, except that she didn't know where to find Draco at such an early hour.
~Draco?~ She probed, trying to see if he was awake. He was, and had some song lyrics running through his head.
"I think I love you So what am I so afraid of? Afraid that I'm not sure of A love there is no cure for."
~Thinking of me?~ Her voice was teasing, concealing her hope that he was.
~All the time,~ he quipped, grinning in spite of himself. Thinking of her did that to him for some reason. ~Did you get my letter?~
~I wouldn't disturb your precious beauty sleep for anything else. I know how grouchy you can be.~ She chuckled, then continued. ~Thanks. You know I appreciate it. I may occasionally be very cranky; I can't stand ditzes, and I'm afraid I'll be living with two of them for the remaining two weeks of school.~
~You'd probably be cranky anyway,~ he responded. ~Exams've already started, after all.~
She rolled her eyes. ~You'd be annoyed, too, if Snape breathed down your neck every time you stirred your potion. He thinks I'm keeping you under some sort of spell, the fruit bat."
~Fruit bat?~ His voice was amused. ~Did you just call Professor Snape a fruit bat?~
~Yes, I did. Find it laughable?~
~Very much so,~ he responded, knowing that her expression would have made him laugh even harder. ~He was right about one thing, though. I'm under your spell, and I don't think it's a spell I want to break.~
Even Ginny, who had a reply for everything, was speechless. ~Shall I take that as a compliment?~ She finally asked.
~Absolutely,~ he returned with conviction. ~I'm going to sing, so beware.~
He sang outside of his mind, but the words, tune, and his voice singing them were in his mind. Ginny found herself listening to an audio tape of Draco's rich, strong voice belting out the lead of a song that seemed to be called 'Cherish.'
"Cherish is a word I use to describe All the feelings that I have biding here for you inside.
I would say I need you, but then you'd realize That I want you, just like a thousand other guys Who say they love you with all the rest of their lives When all they wanted was to touch your face, your hand, and gaze into your eyes.
You don't know how many times I wished that I had told you You don't know how many times I wished that I could hold you You don't know how many times I wished that I could Mold you into someone who could cherish me as much as I cherish you."
His message fell around her in a never-ending swirl of music, ringing in her ears and imprinting itself in her memory. She smiled rapturously, contained in a crescendo of song. Its melody cocooned her. Her spirits rose with the song as it became even more heart-breakingly beautiful than it had been before, enhanced with harmonies and a chorus.
~Wow,~ she said once he'd finished. ~I didn't know you could sing.~ Sing was an understatement, as far as she was concerned. He didn't just sing, he poured out a torrent of perfect notes that strung themselves together into an amazing concerto.
~Thanks, I think,~ he returned, apparently out of breath. ~I don't do it very often, but I just got my radio to work, and the music is great.~
A bemused note crept into Ginny's voice. ~Radio? I'm afraid that little lie won't work with me. I know Muggle electrical devices don't work properly at Hogwarts.~
~As I'm not using the electricity, it plays. I replaced the battery with a string of magic.~
~Well, excuse me, your Highness,~ she laughed, mimicking his imperious tone of voice. ~I must not be as highly versed in engineering as you are.~
~Obviously.~ He paused, thinking about a possibility, and added ~I'll bring the radio to practise this afternoon so we all can listen. In return, you have to sing something for me.~
Ginny shuddered, but replied with confidence. ~You do that.~ It was all very well to say so, she thought, when she couldn't sing. Her voice broke off at the high notes, sounded ridiculous at the low notes, and could hardly tell one from the other.
*
She took very slow steps to their practise that evening, exhausted by her unbearably boring History of Magic exam. It had been practically twenty pages, all filled to the brim with obscure statements and questions. Honestly, she thought, how did Professor Binns expect them to know how many siblings Bodrod the Bearded had had? Trudging along the corridor, she directed her thoughts towards her afternoon's dilemma. She couldn't sing for him, not when he had such a good voice. With luck, he'd have forgotten.
Unfortunately, Ginny had no luck. "Ready for your solo, Aretha?" He chuckled, saluting her with Fear. A moment passed, and he was changing the angle at which Harry swung Excalibur, tuning the movement to a calculated slice instead of his usual wild thwack.
A book about weapons lay open on the table. Swinging into the chair, she peered at it, puzzled. None of them needed a weapon of any sort. Unless, she thought, it was possible to forge a blade out of magic. Inspiration dawned. Tiny daggers, razor sharp, and formed of her power would be an unbelievable asset. She flipped to the section on daggers, riveted on the paragraph detailing the sharpening of the blade. Her eyes shaved line after line of light off of the luminescent block, honing it to a sharpness that would cut a hole in the morning mist.
"Draco said you were going to sing," Harry laughed. "I tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn't listen. Wait till I'm out of the room, all right?"
"Watch what you say," she croaked, voice rusty after her tremendous effort. "These things cut through everything. I tested them on magic, and the tip of the dagger shattered my strongest spell."
"What song d'you want, Gin?" Her boyfriend asked once their only companion had escaped.
A devious plan formed out of her desperation. "I know just the one. Turn on 'Classical Gas.'"
Rhythm spilled into the room, bouncing off of the walls and whirling itself around the two students. No lyrics rang against the stone walls, and a half smile played around the edges of Ginny's mouth.
"Some long introduction," he commented.
Her smile became more pronounced. "You don't get it, do you? This is the song. There aren't any words."
He grinned. "It'd be a pity to waste good music. C'mon, let's dance," he wheedled, holding out his hand. She took it gracefully, stepping into his hold with pleasure. There was no romance in the music, just excitement and energy. The dance mirrored that energy, whirling, jumping, and swaying so vivaciously that the furniture practically leapt out of the way.
Dizzy and out of breath, they sat down, wide smiles plastered across their faces. He still held her hand, suddenly noticing the signet on her right hand. At her collarbone hung the pendant that she wore with so much pride and confidence.
"Well," Ginny said finally, "that was fun. I'll see you tomorrow." She swung out, humming to herself.
"Mmm-hmm," he murmured, lost in wonderful reveries of dancing and beautiful redheads.
*
White parchment contrasted sharply with the dark wood of Draco's bureau. He stopped dead, not knowing what his father could possibly want now that his cause had been denounced. Annoyance more than bitterness welled up in his mind at the piece of paper, even though it wasn't the paper's fault that it had to carry words from such an unworthy writer.
"Son," the paper read
This is a formal notice of your removal from the register as "Draco Malfoy." All inheritances and arrangements for your future have been consolidated into one payment, which is being made to your Gringott's account. Yes, that's right. You no longer bear the name Malfoy, boy, find yourself a new name and a new life. We are not taking you back this summer, and we will not respond to you in any way. If you cross our paths, we will neither see nor hear you. Your infidelity to the name Malfoy has forced us to assure that you aren't burdened with it any more. Enjoy your new life, just don't make us part of it.
Lucius Malfoy.
He smiled with vindictive enjoyment, glad to have rid himself of that troublesome relation to the Death Eaters. Seconds later his gladness had made way for worry. What would he do for the summer? None of his "friends" would take him in after he told them he'd been disowned, especially not at the risk of displeasing Lucius Malfoy. He suddenly found himself envying Potter, who had a family to take him in, however much he hated his aunt and uncle. An idea tiptoed into his mind when he remembered that Potter lived with his godfather, not his aunt or uncle, and that he had always stayed with the Weasleys once he'd been allowed to escape his relatives. It was doubtful that they'd willingly take him in, no matter what he'd done for their daughter, but it was worth a try.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley: (he wrote)
I am sure this request is a surprise to you. It was a surprise to me when I found that I would be unable to remain at Hogwarts this summer holiday. Unfortunately, I am also unable to return to Malfoy Manor. My father, whose family pride is almost all-consuming, disowned me earlier this year for allowing my cousin Dominic to be sent to Azkaban.
The only explanation for this is that Dominic had been guilty of murder, an offense demanding such an imprisonment, and also of attempted rape. I would perhaps not have taken the trouble to have him sent to the authorities if it hadn't been for your daughter. As I believe you know, she and I have gotten on very well since the beginning of the spring. The murders Dominic committed were those of Ingrid and Frances, her roommates. She herself was the victim of his intentions, which shamed me into dispatching him immediately. Seeing someone like her, usually in such good control of herself, in a state of upset would soften anyone towards her predicament. Ingrid and Frances' deaths merely hardened my resolve to put the criminal to justice.
I therefore hope that it will not be too inconvenient for me to stay with you this summer. Please be assured, if there were anyone else whose hospitality were extended towards me, I wouldn't trouble you. A vast majority of my school acquaintances withdrew their friendly offerings when they heard that I had been disowned, leaving you as my only option. Any other suggestions would be greatly appreciated, of course, thought the best service you could do me would be to allow me to accompany Ginny and Ron to your home this summer.
Hopefully yours, Draco Malfoy
P.S: If it is not too much trouble, do not inform Ron or Ginny of this communication between us. I would like the plans to remain secret until they have been confirmed.
Blowing on the paper to dry the ink more quickly, Draco silently asked for forgiveness for his little lie. He hadn't asked to stay at Hogwarts, but he knew what the answer would be. Dumbledore would never let him be isolated like that, not even if the only option was to stay with the one of the other most powerful Hogwarts students. He folded the note with easy precision, whistling to his owl before he lost his nerve. Its rapidly beating wings became a blur, then a speck, in the distance as it carried his last hope to the people who were least likely to accept his proposition.
Worn out, both emotionally and physically, Draco plopped down onto his bed. He let out a sigh of relief at being back in his room, away from the people and situations that frustrated him. A moment later he leapt back to an attentive position, noticing a movement in the shadowy corner. He focused hard on it, and could discern a darker shadow in the centre that looked suspiciously like a cloaked person.
His suspicions were confirmed when Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the corner and seated himself disdainfully in Draco's desk chair. "What, no hug for your father?" He scoffed.
"I haven't hugged you since I was three," he replied coolly. "I've thought better of it, if you will. It brings to mind that phrase -- what is it-- I embrace my enemy, but only to smother him."
Lucius smiled in spite of himself. "I have taught you well, then. There is the small matter of your joining the Death Eaters that must be resolved before too long, however."
He shook himself mentally, remembering that there had been no letter on the table when he'd come in. "Don't worry, Father. I've already made the decision." He tried to look as excited about the prospect as he was sure his father had.
"Oh, then seeing Dominic helped?"
"In a way," Draco said, smiling deceptively. "I saw him on the occasion that he had murdered my girlfriend's roommates and attempted to rape her."
"All to aid Lord Voldemort," he said, as though that were all that really mattered. "I'll take you to meet with Him soon, so you can get your Dark Mark."
"May I finish? Thank you. Seeing Dominic persuaded me to oppose the cause rather than support it. After all, he murdered and spoke lightly about it, and regretted that he hadn't finished with Ginny. Perhaps it was just that he had been trying to take advantage of *my* girl, but that's not likely."
Lucius' face contorted in fury. "What did you do to Dominic?" He demanded.
"I had the whole conversation recorded, so I gave it to Professor Dumbledore. Dominic should be arriving at Azkaban sometime soon," he added, completely without remorse.
"You jackass!"
An expression of mock-concern found its way onto Draco's face. "I wouldn't say that if I were you, Father. A jackass's, or a mule's, mother is a horse and its father is an ass. Which I think is quite an accurate description right now, don't you?"
Glaring venomously, his father swept out of the room, leaving him vindictively happy and, for the first time in ten months, without a letter to burn. He decided to write his own letter in exchange for the one he usually received, this time directing it to Ginny.
Gin, (he wrote, pondering whether or not it would be more appropriate to write to her as 'Love' or 'Darling')
I hope this finds you as well as can be expected. Go sit with Granger, I imagine she'll be able to take your mind off it somehow. She'll probably have you doing homework as soon as you set foot in the room. If it's any consolation, Dominic is in Azkaban, and will soon be more insane than he was before. I know that doesn't really help, but that's all we can do to him (legally, of course). I was in favor of wringing his neck and Professor Dumbledore disagreed for some reason. Can you imagine why that might be?
Really, though, if you need anything, you can just send an owl. I want to help you. I have to help, actually, because I am unfortunately related to the psychopath who did this to you. It's not my fault, but I'll make it up to you as if it were. Call on me for anything, I mean it. I'd love to help you, even if it's just transferring your trunk and other belongings to the seventh year dormitories. Remember,
Whenever you call me I'll be there Whenever you want me I'll be there Whenever you need me I'll be there I'll be around
Yours, Draco.
He had paused, quill hovering over the parchment, on the signature. Should he try to tell her he loved her, or should he wait for a more opportune time? The second seemed to be more comfortable for him, so he gave her a gentle reminder that he was hers. Thinking of that song had put him in more of a sentimental mood than usual, he found, and suddenly made him wish he could play some of that popular 1960s music that always was supposed to cheer you up.
Unluckily for him, any Muggle music player would go on the fritz at such a magical place, so he couldn't play it. In spite of all that he had a radio player that he'd left unplugged for a few months and had always promised himself that he'd find some way to work. Finally finding something to do, he summoned it onto the bed and looked at the part he'd learned gave it its power. There was a place for batteries as well as a plug, giving him a bit of a headache trying to think of which he should fix. It soon became evident that the batteries would be the easiest to fix because he could replace them with a magical power source. Deeming it safer to use his normal magic, the kind that required a wand, he grabbed the polished instrument off of his night table and attempted to stick it in to replace the battery. It was much too long to fit, though, so his process was halted abruptly. He knew no spell to transfigure a magical object into a power source, he determined after a long period of thought.
Fingering his wand gently, he turned it over and over in his hands. What could this little bit of wood do for him? He wondered. It wasn't nearly as powerful as the other magic he had, but it was more discreet. Subtlety was its main use. He swished it, enjoying the whirring sound it made through the air. A trail of sparks landed between the places where the batteries' different ends were supposed to go, and he smiled triumphantly. One repetition of the process and tunes were blaring out into the room.
He turned down the volume to avoid suspicion, then lay back on his bed and shut his eyes in pleasure. The music washed over him, its somewhat gentle melodies lulling him into a doze. A loud chorus brought him out of the stupor like a shot.
"I think I love you So what am I so afraid of? Afraid that I'm not sure of A love there is no cure for."
"You said it, buddy," he murmured.
*
Ginny woke up the next morning, looked around, and shut her eyes to prevent herself from feeling dizzy. Everything was in the wrong place, especially Ingrid and Frances. When had they moved their beds? Those names triggered her memory and she sighed, realizing that she was in the seventh year dormitories with Lavender and Parvati. Hermione, as a Prefect, had her own separate bedroom so she could work more easily. Heaving herself up out of bed, she grabbed some clean clothes and headed towards the showers, thinking about trying to drown herself. It wasn't really a serious thought; she knew she had to help Draco and Harry, after all, and she wasn't about to let them down. Still, her best (and almost only) friends were dead, and it was her fault.
Toweling her hair dry, she bent over her new bed and looked askance at the parchment lying on its rumpled surface. The towel fell to the floor as she picked up the parchment and peered at it from all possible angles, looking for a name or symbol that would reveal the sender's identity. Really, she thought, I shouldn't be getting anonymous love notes, everyone already knows I have a boyfriend. Her curiosity drove her onwards, and, unfolding it, she sighed. If it held more bad news she doubted that she would be sane for very much longer. Thankfully, she knew the penmanship from its round, perfect letters, and read it all the way through, laughing at Dumbledore's aversion to strangling.
Smoothing out the creases, she set it down on the night table, pondering the definition of a suitable response to such a statement. A live conversation would be wonderful, except that she didn't know where to find Draco at such an early hour.
~Draco?~ She probed, trying to see if he was awake. He was, and had some song lyrics running through his head.
"I think I love you So what am I so afraid of? Afraid that I'm not sure of A love there is no cure for."
~Thinking of me?~ Her voice was teasing, concealing her hope that he was.
~All the time,~ he quipped, grinning in spite of himself. Thinking of her did that to him for some reason. ~Did you get my letter?~
~I wouldn't disturb your precious beauty sleep for anything else. I know how grouchy you can be.~ She chuckled, then continued. ~Thanks. You know I appreciate it. I may occasionally be very cranky; I can't stand ditzes, and I'm afraid I'll be living with two of them for the remaining two weeks of school.~
~You'd probably be cranky anyway,~ he responded. ~Exams've already started, after all.~
She rolled her eyes. ~You'd be annoyed, too, if Snape breathed down your neck every time you stirred your potion. He thinks I'm keeping you under some sort of spell, the fruit bat."
~Fruit bat?~ His voice was amused. ~Did you just call Professor Snape a fruit bat?~
~Yes, I did. Find it laughable?~
~Very much so,~ he responded, knowing that her expression would have made him laugh even harder. ~He was right about one thing, though. I'm under your spell, and I don't think it's a spell I want to break.~
Even Ginny, who had a reply for everything, was speechless. ~Shall I take that as a compliment?~ She finally asked.
~Absolutely,~ he returned with conviction. ~I'm going to sing, so beware.~
He sang outside of his mind, but the words, tune, and his voice singing them were in his mind. Ginny found herself listening to an audio tape of Draco's rich, strong voice belting out the lead of a song that seemed to be called 'Cherish.'
"Cherish is a word I use to describe All the feelings that I have biding here for you inside.
I would say I need you, but then you'd realize That I want you, just like a thousand other guys Who say they love you with all the rest of their lives When all they wanted was to touch your face, your hand, and gaze into your eyes.
You don't know how many times I wished that I had told you You don't know how many times I wished that I could hold you You don't know how many times I wished that I could Mold you into someone who could cherish me as much as I cherish you."
His message fell around her in a never-ending swirl of music, ringing in her ears and imprinting itself in her memory. She smiled rapturously, contained in a crescendo of song. Its melody cocooned her. Her spirits rose with the song as it became even more heart-breakingly beautiful than it had been before, enhanced with harmonies and a chorus.
~Wow,~ she said once he'd finished. ~I didn't know you could sing.~ Sing was an understatement, as far as she was concerned. He didn't just sing, he poured out a torrent of perfect notes that strung themselves together into an amazing concerto.
~Thanks, I think,~ he returned, apparently out of breath. ~I don't do it very often, but I just got my radio to work, and the music is great.~
A bemused note crept into Ginny's voice. ~Radio? I'm afraid that little lie won't work with me. I know Muggle electrical devices don't work properly at Hogwarts.~
~As I'm not using the electricity, it plays. I replaced the battery with a string of magic.~
~Well, excuse me, your Highness,~ she laughed, mimicking his imperious tone of voice. ~I must not be as highly versed in engineering as you are.~
~Obviously.~ He paused, thinking about a possibility, and added ~I'll bring the radio to practise this afternoon so we all can listen. In return, you have to sing something for me.~
Ginny shuddered, but replied with confidence. ~You do that.~ It was all very well to say so, she thought, when she couldn't sing. Her voice broke off at the high notes, sounded ridiculous at the low notes, and could hardly tell one from the other.
*
She took very slow steps to their practise that evening, exhausted by her unbearably boring History of Magic exam. It had been practically twenty pages, all filled to the brim with obscure statements and questions. Honestly, she thought, how did Professor Binns expect them to know how many siblings Bodrod the Bearded had had? Trudging along the corridor, she directed her thoughts towards her afternoon's dilemma. She couldn't sing for him, not when he had such a good voice. With luck, he'd have forgotten.
Unfortunately, Ginny had no luck. "Ready for your solo, Aretha?" He chuckled, saluting her with Fear. A moment passed, and he was changing the angle at which Harry swung Excalibur, tuning the movement to a calculated slice instead of his usual wild thwack.
A book about weapons lay open on the table. Swinging into the chair, she peered at it, puzzled. None of them needed a weapon of any sort. Unless, she thought, it was possible to forge a blade out of magic. Inspiration dawned. Tiny daggers, razor sharp, and formed of her power would be an unbelievable asset. She flipped to the section on daggers, riveted on the paragraph detailing the sharpening of the blade. Her eyes shaved line after line of light off of the luminescent block, honing it to a sharpness that would cut a hole in the morning mist.
"Draco said you were going to sing," Harry laughed. "I tried to dissuade him, but he wouldn't listen. Wait till I'm out of the room, all right?"
"Watch what you say," she croaked, voice rusty after her tremendous effort. "These things cut through everything. I tested them on magic, and the tip of the dagger shattered my strongest spell."
"What song d'you want, Gin?" Her boyfriend asked once their only companion had escaped.
A devious plan formed out of her desperation. "I know just the one. Turn on 'Classical Gas.'"
Rhythm spilled into the room, bouncing off of the walls and whirling itself around the two students. No lyrics rang against the stone walls, and a half smile played around the edges of Ginny's mouth.
"Some long introduction," he commented.
Her smile became more pronounced. "You don't get it, do you? This is the song. There aren't any words."
He grinned. "It'd be a pity to waste good music. C'mon, let's dance," he wheedled, holding out his hand. She took it gracefully, stepping into his hold with pleasure. There was no romance in the music, just excitement and energy. The dance mirrored that energy, whirling, jumping, and swaying so vivaciously that the furniture practically leapt out of the way.
Dizzy and out of breath, they sat down, wide smiles plastered across their faces. He still held her hand, suddenly noticing the signet on her right hand. At her collarbone hung the pendant that she wore with so much pride and confidence.
"Well," Ginny said finally, "that was fun. I'll see you tomorrow." She swung out, humming to herself.
"Mmm-hmm," he murmured, lost in wonderful reveries of dancing and beautiful redheads.
*
White parchment contrasted sharply with the dark wood of Draco's bureau. He stopped dead, not knowing what his father could possibly want now that his cause had been denounced. Annoyance more than bitterness welled up in his mind at the piece of paper, even though it wasn't the paper's fault that it had to carry words from such an unworthy writer.
"Son," the paper read
This is a formal notice of your removal from the register as "Draco Malfoy." All inheritances and arrangements for your future have been consolidated into one payment, which is being made to your Gringott's account. Yes, that's right. You no longer bear the name Malfoy, boy, find yourself a new name and a new life. We are not taking you back this summer, and we will not respond to you in any way. If you cross our paths, we will neither see nor hear you. Your infidelity to the name Malfoy has forced us to assure that you aren't burdened with it any more. Enjoy your new life, just don't make us part of it.
Lucius Malfoy.
He smiled with vindictive enjoyment, glad to have rid himself of that troublesome relation to the Death Eaters. Seconds later his gladness had made way for worry. What would he do for the summer? None of his "friends" would take him in after he told them he'd been disowned, especially not at the risk of displeasing Lucius Malfoy. He suddenly found himself envying Potter, who had a family to take him in, however much he hated his aunt and uncle. An idea tiptoed into his mind when he remembered that Potter lived with his godfather, not his aunt or uncle, and that he had always stayed with the Weasleys once he'd been allowed to escape his relatives. It was doubtful that they'd willingly take him in, no matter what he'd done for their daughter, but it was worth a try.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley: (he wrote)
I am sure this request is a surprise to you. It was a surprise to me when I found that I would be unable to remain at Hogwarts this summer holiday. Unfortunately, I am also unable to return to Malfoy Manor. My father, whose family pride is almost all-consuming, disowned me earlier this year for allowing my cousin Dominic to be sent to Azkaban.
The only explanation for this is that Dominic had been guilty of murder, an offense demanding such an imprisonment, and also of attempted rape. I would perhaps not have taken the trouble to have him sent to the authorities if it hadn't been for your daughter. As I believe you know, she and I have gotten on very well since the beginning of the spring. The murders Dominic committed were those of Ingrid and Frances, her roommates. She herself was the victim of his intentions, which shamed me into dispatching him immediately. Seeing someone like her, usually in such good control of herself, in a state of upset would soften anyone towards her predicament. Ingrid and Frances' deaths merely hardened my resolve to put the criminal to justice.
I therefore hope that it will not be too inconvenient for me to stay with you this summer. Please be assured, if there were anyone else whose hospitality were extended towards me, I wouldn't trouble you. A vast majority of my school acquaintances withdrew their friendly offerings when they heard that I had been disowned, leaving you as my only option. Any other suggestions would be greatly appreciated, of course, thought the best service you could do me would be to allow me to accompany Ginny and Ron to your home this summer.
Hopefully yours, Draco Malfoy
P.S: If it is not too much trouble, do not inform Ron or Ginny of this communication between us. I would like the plans to remain secret until they have been confirmed.
Blowing on the paper to dry the ink more quickly, Draco silently asked for forgiveness for his little lie. He hadn't asked to stay at Hogwarts, but he knew what the answer would be. Dumbledore would never let him be isolated like that, not even if the only option was to stay with the one of the other most powerful Hogwarts students. He folded the note with easy precision, whistling to his owl before he lost his nerve. Its rapidly beating wings became a blur, then a speck, in the distance as it carried his last hope to the people who were least likely to accept his proposition.