misbegotten

a neurotic verse joint

two

an incident in the corridor

Ginny had always been good at keeping secrets, so good that it was almost second nature for her. For that reason, once she had gotten back to the Gryffindor common room after her meeting with Snape, she had told no one of her arrangement to assist Snape. Snape had not expressly told her to keep quiet, but for some reason it seemed right that she did. Naturally, however, she had told everyone that she had earned ten points for Gryffindor with her potion (while carefully omitting the five points she'd lost). That attention had been lovely; normally, no one paid much heed to her at all, though Ron did try to be a solicitous brother.

She thought about it as she walked to breakfast the next morning. It was nice to be considered good at something. She would never be like Hermione Granger, but now she had her secret, she was a little more than quiet, boring, unremarkable Ginny Weasley, the last and least impressive of a large family. There was an unlikely spring in her step. It was rare for her to feel special. People at school never treated her badly, really, but everyone in the school knew what she had done in her first year and it had stayed with her. The Gryffindor girls in her year weren't the sort of people she cared to be friends with, anyhow. She felt about them in very much the same way Hermione felt about Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown – they were giggling fools for boys and make-up and Witch Weekly most of the time – and years of living with her family had taught her that make-up wasn't really worth the effort when Fred and George could easily transform it into something resembling a clown face without her noticing.

Ginny arrived in the Great Hall just as the delivery owls were sweeping through the air. She had just taken her place and was about to say something to Colin Creevey, who usually sat with her, when a black owl glided in through the main entrance. All thoughts of her project and herself flew out of her head as a collective gasp entered the room. A black owl meant only one thing – a Ministry death notice. Ginny held her breath as it circled around and landed and dropped an envelope in front of Justin Finch-Fletchley, a seventh-year Hufflepuff whom she had never really spoken to. The Hufflepuff table burst into action, gathering around Justin with words of sympathy and sadness.

Ron looked stricken beside her. "Poor guy," he whispered.

Hermione looked even worse. "It must have been his parents," she said, wide-eyed. "And he's a muggle-born, like – like I am." She shoved herself away from the table, not taking her eyes away from Justin. "I've got to write Mum and Dad."

Ginny glanced over at the Slytherin table. Unsurprisingly, a lot of them were suppressing smirks. Millicent Bulstrode, who often got a kick out of mocking Ginny's hand-me-downs, was stifling a giggle, even. She snorted in disgust and was about to look away when her eye fell on Draco Malfoy. Now this was a surprise. She would have expected Malfoy to be taunting Justin openly, but instead he was looking down at his plate, looking even paler than usual and very much like he wanted to leave. Curious. She watched for a moment longer as he brushed his hand through his (uncombed, she realized) hair. He really did look like hell; his robes weren't sleek and powerful and his hair wasn't pushed back. Then she snorted again. Probably ate some bad caviar. He deserved it, too, for being such a hateful bastard and not even apologizing when he'd made her spill her Potions project everywhere.

Justin was now being led out of the Great Hall by Professor Sprout and a crew of Hufflepuffs. Ginny watched his retreating form, all hunched over and crying, and felt a bit sick to her stomach. Sure, her family was pureblood, but she knew for a fact that people like Lucius Malfoy hated her father and his love of everything muggle. She looked at Hermione's empty chair, then at her brother. "Ron – do you think that Dad – we ought to—"

It seemed that Ron had been worried about the same thing. "I know, Ginny. I'm afraid for him, too."

She nodded. It was impossible to concentrate on eating now, so she pushed her breakfast away and drank the rest of her pumpkin juice and fished her Transfiguration book (Ron's old one, naturally) and notes out of her bag. It was one of her worst subjects and she was determined not to flunk it, so the packet of notes was almost as thick as the textbook itself. She left the Great Hall with the books under her arm, still thinking about Justin and the black owl and the odd look on Malfoy's. She couldn't even imagine how she'd feel if her mum and dad were killed. The war seemed so far away when she was at school, and, as far as she knew, You-Know-Who had made no move to go beyond his periodic attacks on less-than-pure families. But, she reasoned, he wouldn't be satisfied with just doing that forever. There would have to be a time when—

Her book and notes were snatched out from under her arm. "Well, if it isn't little Ginny Weasley!" crowed Millicent Bulstrode, who was holding Ginny's things high above her head. Ginny was not a short girl – she was as gangly as her brothers, all arms and legs –  but Millicent was built like a truck and seemed approximately seven feet tall. "Come on, Weasley, jump for your books. We all know you can't afford new ones – just look at your robes."

Ginny flushed a bit at the mention of her robes; they had been Fred's and they were far too big for her. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini, who were standing behind Millicent, snickered into their hands. Ginny sighed. "Just give me my things back," she said crossly.

"Just give me my things back," Millicent mimicked in a high falsetto. She began to shuffle through the notes. "What, Weasley? No little hearts with 'Harry Potter' written in them? I must say I'm disappointed. Poor Weasley, can't even transfigure properly. Look at all of this." She showed the stack of notes to Blaise and Pansy.

Ginny was seething. She knew it was foolish and risky to get angry, but she couldn't help it. The Harry remark had done it; she had given up hope on that over a year ago and she still caught grief for it. "Excuse me?" she said shrilly. "Excuse me! You barely passed anything last year, Bulstrode. I heard you had to get your mummy and daddy to pay for a tutor! And as far as my robes go, sure, they might be a bit big, but they still wouldn't fit a great stupid bloody beast like you!"

Millicent's rather thin lips formed into a surprised O, but the expression of shock was quickly replaced by one of rage. Ginny barely had time to move before she was pinned up to the wall by one of Millicent's beefy palms. Both Blaise and Pansy had their wands drawn out on her. "How dare you!" Pansy was shrieking. "How can a little bit of scum like you even dare!"

"Apparently I did dare," Ginny said softly. She was afraid; her wand was stuffed deep in one of her pockets and she didn't have time to fish it out. But she'd be damned if she was just going to cower in front of them. She imagined how Ron would look if he could see her – he would be wide-eyed and smiling, not knowing whether to laugh or just gape openly. "What are you going to do, hex me with the stuff you learned in your remedial classes?" she hissed. Ginny fought to keep her voice distant. She didn't know if Pansy was in remedial, but the Slytherin didn't seem all that bright, and from the look of outrage on Pansy's puggish face, Ginny knew she'd hit a wound.

"You ruddy Weasley—" Pansy spat this out as if it were the gravest insult in the world. Beady eyes narrowed, she raised her wand high in the air to begin a hex. Ginny closed her eyes and waited for it, squeezing back a small tear that escaped her eye.

"Scared, are you?" Blaise tittered. "Go on, cry, little Weasley."

"Leave her alone," came a tired voice from down the hallway. Four pairs of eyes swerved to see who had spoken, and, to Ginny's utter astonishment, it was Draco Malfoy. He wasn't standing high and mighty; instead, he was slumped against the wall looking very reluctant.

"What?" Pansy turned in surprise. "But Draco—" she whined.

"Don't be an idiot, Pansy. What would McGonagall or Flitwick say if he found you attacking a filthy Weasley in the corridors? Your grades are bad enough; you don't need a detention dragging them down even more." He sighed, seemingly oblivious of the hurt look that clouded Pansy's face. "And I don't want to deal with her idiot boyfriend Potter if you do anything to her," he added venomously.

Ginny opened to mouth to protest, but quickly though better of it. Malfoy's silly barbs were better than being hexed by an incompetent Slytherin. She could barely believe it when Millicent dropped her onto the floor – she managed to twist herself so the fall didn't hurt much – and strode off with Pansy and Blaise in tow. She stared up at Malfoy in confusion, but he only looked at her for a second (and it seemed like he wasn't really looking at her at all), then followed his housemates to whatever class they had to get to.

***

It had been a bad move to defend Ginny Weasley, Draco knew. He'd teased and taunted her so many times before. Weasleys deserved it, after all. The Slytherins would know something was up. But he hadn't been able to help it. Seeing Finch-Fletchley get his letter that morning and knowing that he had been among the last people to see his mum and dad alive, knowing he had been part of those who had killed them, had been too much. And when he'd come upon Millicent pinning Weasley up to the wall, he had instantly thought of how much Lucius hated that muggle-lover Arthur Weasley and how likely it was that Ron and Ginny would be getting a black owl of their own soon. He still didn't like the Weasleys, but seeing Ginny held up by that great hulking Bulstrode had set off something inside him. He'd never liked Bulstrode anyway, mainly because she could probably beat him in a fight if she ever was so inclined.

He was fortunate enough to have History of Magic first thing; in spite of everything that had happened, he still hadn't slept in a day and a half and was tired. He put his head into the crook of his arms over his desk, like half the other students, and tried to block out Professor Binns' monotonous voice. It was futile. No matter how hard he tried to knock them out, the images seared into his brain wouldn't go away. Justin's mother – her face, her horrible contorted face as she'd involuntarily murdered her husband. Justin's father – his body bound stiffly, his eyes glassy and lifeless. And, of course, there was Justin Finch-Fletchley himself. The black envelope, the silence in the Great Hall, the stricken look over the Hufflepuff's features. He moaned out loud without being conscious of it.

Professor Binns stopped lecturing. "Mister MacFay, are you ill?"

Pansy was looking at him curiously. It took Draco a moment to realize that he was Mister MacFay. "Er – yes," he said, all-too-aware of every eye on him. He hesitated briefly to regain his customary languid drawl. "Yes, I am feeling rather under the weather."

"Very well then, to the hospital wing with you," Professor Binns said dismissively. "As I was saying, the International Magic Summit of 1734 brought about two key regulations that would later come to affect the monumental decision reached in 1741's summit; the first, effective immediately, being that witches as well as wizards would be allowed into the summit council, and the second being that the council…" Draco slipped out of the classroom.

He didn't head for the hospital wing, nor did he head back to the Slytherin dormitory. Instead, he walked about without really thinking about it, and when he wound up at the doors of the library, he shrugged and went in. The Hogwarts library was much like the rest of school, charmingly haphazard and somewhat labyrinthine. It was nearly empty, seeing as it would be lunchtime soon. Even that Granger mudblood would be at mealtime instead of buried behind her usual stack of books. He strode through the books, letting his fingers trail along the dusty spines as he did. It was a bit of a secret that he liked to read, not because he was ashamed of it, but because it wasn't something Crabbe and Goyle were likely to understand. He mostly liked histories, not the boring textbook readings from Professor Binns, but the lovely exciting stories of Arthur, Merlin, stories like that. Presently, however, he didn't feel much like reading. He pulled a book out at random and found a rather tucked-away corner and sat to look at it without reading it.

Draco didn't like how he felt. It was hard to describe, but the best word he could come up with was disconnected. As if he were an observer of own actions rather than the possessor of his own skin. He flipped through the book – it was a manual of wizarding laws – and sighed. Even though the Dark Mark on his arm wasn't burning, it seemed like it was. He put his head down on the old book. Pull yourself together. This is bloody pathetic. What would Lucius say?

But Lucius didn't know.

There was a shuffling sound from nearby and he looked up to see the Weasley girl – she was popping up everywhere lately – walking straight into the Restricted Section. What was she doing in there? He waited for a few minutes and then she came out, carrying a stack of books from her waist to her chin. She stopped, turned slowly, and met his eyes. He was surprised to see the expression on her face – instead of the disgust he would expect from a Gryffindor, her face was softened into a gentle bewilderment. Oh, no. Don't come over here.

But she did, smacking the stack of books down on the table. Draco glanced at them quickly. Moste Potente Potions? How odd. Now where had she gotten the permission to take that out? There were more of them, too; old dusty books that looked as if they'd been plucked straight out of the Restricted stacks. He chose not to say anything about it; it didn't really matter if Ginny Weasley had decided to start brewing poisons.

"Why did you do that this morning?" she asked pointedly. 

He was taken aback by the ferocity in her voice. There was no admiration in her tone, just simple disbelief mingled with curiosity. He formed his lips into a sneer. "Don't flatter yourself or anything, Weasley," he said icily. "You and Bulstrode were blocking my path and I had a class to get to. That's all there was to it."

Ginny appeared unconvinced. "Are you sick, Malfoy?" she pressed on. "Because if you are you ought to get to the hospital wing instead of being a stubborn idiot about it. You'd be back to your normal, horrible self in no time."

"I didn't come to the library to be insulted, Weasley." She really was quite irritating – and presumptuous. "Please leave me in peace." He'd meant these last words to come out forcefully, but instead they managed to escape in scarcely a whisper. He cursed himself silently.

"Fine." She picked up her ridiculous stack of books off of the table. "Fine. Thank you for assuring me that the Malfoy I know and hate still exists. I'd begun to think you were possessed by some sort of benevolence demon." She snorted, but her face was a bit red. "And – thank you. Yes – thank you, Malfoy, all the same, even though you are a bloody bastard." Ginny shifted so the books rested skillfully under her chin and went walking out of the library without looking back him, leaving Draco with a rather surprised expression on his face.

Thanked – sort of – by a Weasley. Now what would Lucius say?