Chapter Two: A Curious Revelation
One week later.
It had been a white Christmas, and the snow was still falling as the students boarded the Hogwarts Express. They were eager to see their friends and exclaim over long-coveted gifts; few, save for Hermione, actually looked forward to a grueling second term. One must, however, take the bad with the good.
Ginny shared a seat with only her valise and shabby woolen coat that had seen six other Weasleys before bestowment upon herself. The other Gryffindors were scattered around the crowded train car, but she wasn't interested in conversation. A week of delightful distraction had eased her heart and erased Harry from her thoughts, but the prospect seeing him again sent pangs of pain shooting through her being. The most agonizing aspect of the whole affair, however, was that he was always completely oblivious to her anguish, caught up in stealing secret glances at Hermione.
She sighed, trying hard to concentrate on something else, anything else. Squeals and peals of laughter from the front of the coach indicated that Fred and George had let out the secret: one of their heavy trunks held nothing but icy snow that had been magicked into staying cold. Ginny recalled their struggle to layer on all the clothing that instead should have been packed in the bearer of secrets, and smiled in spite of herself. Their mother seemed to have overlooked the temporary obesity, crediting it to the way the twins had put away the Christmas pudding.
She also remembered what else had happened at the family holiday supper. Percy, when giving the Hogwarts happenings, had proudly concluded with, "and Ginny slapped Malfoy's son when he started teasing her." Ginny, ducking under the linen tablecloth in embarrassment, noted that yet another brother was growing up--referring to the elder enemy by the last name and byword curse. Her father had then bragged to all his friends and office mates at the Ministry of Magic.
To put it mildly, Ginny felt that her family was just overreacting because of the feud. True, the Malfoys were infamous for their supposedly previous activity with the Dark Arts and You-Know-Who, but it was when matters became personal that danger occurred, like the journal incidence. Ginny shuddered; her near-death experience still reoccurred in frequent nightmares.
Oh, well. Ginny silently added herself to the count of those looking forward to classes, tests, and broomstickloads of homework. Studying would relieve her mind of all these troublesome issues.
(((((((
Ginny once more looked dubiously at her new roster for the second semester. Just when walking between classes had turned into rote routine, everything was switched around. She silently cursed her having to stay behind after Charms because her wand was defective; she had missed seeing where the other second-year Gryffindors had gone. Where was Room 973 anyway- heck, where was a map with "You are here" in bold? One could never be positive with classroom locations; the numbers were not chronological and the staircases were constantly shifting.
She stared at the roster once again, and started walking, almost hoping that a secret voice would whisper directions. She was trying so hard to believe it that she almost jumped out of her scuffed loafers when a voice did speak.
"Watch where you're going, Weasel," scowled Draco, inches ahead in her path.
Ginny returned the grimace measure for measure. "Watch yourself." Then she caught sight of his face. The whole left side was bruised and swollen, and large welts trickled down like paths of dried blood. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Did I do that?" By instinct, her brow creased in concern.
"Of course not; that slap couldn't kill a fly." He paused, picking up a new train of thought. "I guess you did, inadvertently. This is what my father did when he found out about what had happened."
Ginny gaped incredulously. "You told him about it?"
"Of course not," Draco repeated. Your father did.
The gape became a gasp. "I'm.I'm sorry," she murmured. Her lower lip trembled, and a tiny tear ran down her cheek, mirroring one of his wounds. Once again her hand touched his face, but gently. Her tiny appendage didn't cover half of the disfigured lump.
He let it linger for a moment, then turned away. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
Ginny smiled ruefully. "I should, but Room 973 has not yet chosen to reveal its location to me."
Her reply brought a slight grin to his lips, and for once it wasn't evil. "Down the hall, second staircase on the left, third door on the right.you can't miss it."
"Thanks.bye." She headed in the direction he had indicated, her ears nearly missing the faint "Bye, Weasel!"
(((((((
Ginny barely missed being tardy for Transfigurations, but her mind never made it to class. Professor McGonagall called on her once, and she provided the correct answer, but it was only a mechanical response. Her thoughts were on a different change that was taking place somewhere else-and the cause would not be found in her textbook.
What was going on with Draco? When she had seen him in the hall, his tortured face had welled tears and aroused pity for him that she had not known that she possessed. Why should she care about a foe?
But he had seemed so bearable today, almost nice. Draco Malfoy had smiled at her without malice, and actually helped her find her class. She shook her head in amazement. Maybe the boy did have a heart after all.suddenly, she found herself wishing that he did.
(((((((
She made her way back to the commons room after classes to do her homework, but still Draco remained in her thoughts. Ginny finally realized what was bothering her-guilt. It was her fault that he was hurt. She knew what she had to do: write him a full apology. She took out a fresh scroll of parchment and began to write in flowing script, letting it remain un- cramped for once.
Other Gryffindors chatted and moved about her, but Ginny remained aloof in composing her note, completely engrossed in making it the epitome of manners. She wanted him to know that she was sincere in her sorrow. Once Harry passed by, calling a "Hello"; she smiled in return, but was no longer as upset that he didn't care for her. There were others in this life, and other feelings to reveal.
She finished the note and tightly re-rolled the scroll, sealing it with a curling scrap of ribbon. Then Ginny went upstairs, readied herself for bed, and placed it on the nightstand. She made a long entry in her diary, then glanced at the note once more. Satisfied, she turned out the light and slept.
Dear Draco,
I feel horrid about everything that fate has doled out upon you through me. You have my deepest regrets and apologies for slapping you in the first place, and inadvertently subjecting you to the wrath of your father. May your injuries to face and pride heal quickly. I hope that you will accept my remorseful compunction. I also would like to thank you for directing me to class this afternoon. You saved me from embarrassment and tardiness, and I am entirely in your debt. Until we meet again I remain sincerely yours,
Ginny Weasley
Author's Note: To modern people, especially my dear friend, the author currently known as Gwyn, I know that when you read the above letter you might find yourself musing, "Who would actually write like that?" Well, just for the record, I would, and do, and if you have a problem with eloquence, the problem is singly yours. ( :
One week later.
It had been a white Christmas, and the snow was still falling as the students boarded the Hogwarts Express. They were eager to see their friends and exclaim over long-coveted gifts; few, save for Hermione, actually looked forward to a grueling second term. One must, however, take the bad with the good.
Ginny shared a seat with only her valise and shabby woolen coat that had seen six other Weasleys before bestowment upon herself. The other Gryffindors were scattered around the crowded train car, but she wasn't interested in conversation. A week of delightful distraction had eased her heart and erased Harry from her thoughts, but the prospect seeing him again sent pangs of pain shooting through her being. The most agonizing aspect of the whole affair, however, was that he was always completely oblivious to her anguish, caught up in stealing secret glances at Hermione.
She sighed, trying hard to concentrate on something else, anything else. Squeals and peals of laughter from the front of the coach indicated that Fred and George had let out the secret: one of their heavy trunks held nothing but icy snow that had been magicked into staying cold. Ginny recalled their struggle to layer on all the clothing that instead should have been packed in the bearer of secrets, and smiled in spite of herself. Their mother seemed to have overlooked the temporary obesity, crediting it to the way the twins had put away the Christmas pudding.
She also remembered what else had happened at the family holiday supper. Percy, when giving the Hogwarts happenings, had proudly concluded with, "and Ginny slapped Malfoy's son when he started teasing her." Ginny, ducking under the linen tablecloth in embarrassment, noted that yet another brother was growing up--referring to the elder enemy by the last name and byword curse. Her father had then bragged to all his friends and office mates at the Ministry of Magic.
To put it mildly, Ginny felt that her family was just overreacting because of the feud. True, the Malfoys were infamous for their supposedly previous activity with the Dark Arts and You-Know-Who, but it was when matters became personal that danger occurred, like the journal incidence. Ginny shuddered; her near-death experience still reoccurred in frequent nightmares.
Oh, well. Ginny silently added herself to the count of those looking forward to classes, tests, and broomstickloads of homework. Studying would relieve her mind of all these troublesome issues.
(((((((
Ginny once more looked dubiously at her new roster for the second semester. Just when walking between classes had turned into rote routine, everything was switched around. She silently cursed her having to stay behind after Charms because her wand was defective; she had missed seeing where the other second-year Gryffindors had gone. Where was Room 973 anyway- heck, where was a map with "You are here" in bold? One could never be positive with classroom locations; the numbers were not chronological and the staircases were constantly shifting.
She stared at the roster once again, and started walking, almost hoping that a secret voice would whisper directions. She was trying so hard to believe it that she almost jumped out of her scuffed loafers when a voice did speak.
"Watch where you're going, Weasel," scowled Draco, inches ahead in her path.
Ginny returned the grimace measure for measure. "Watch yourself." Then she caught sight of his face. The whole left side was bruised and swollen, and large welts trickled down like paths of dried blood. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Did I do that?" By instinct, her brow creased in concern.
"Of course not; that slap couldn't kill a fly." He paused, picking up a new train of thought. "I guess you did, inadvertently. This is what my father did when he found out about what had happened."
Ginny gaped incredulously. "You told him about it?"
"Of course not," Draco repeated. Your father did.
The gape became a gasp. "I'm.I'm sorry," she murmured. Her lower lip trembled, and a tiny tear ran down her cheek, mirroring one of his wounds. Once again her hand touched his face, but gently. Her tiny appendage didn't cover half of the disfigured lump.
He let it linger for a moment, then turned away. "Shouldn't you be in class?"
Ginny smiled ruefully. "I should, but Room 973 has not yet chosen to reveal its location to me."
Her reply brought a slight grin to his lips, and for once it wasn't evil. "Down the hall, second staircase on the left, third door on the right.you can't miss it."
"Thanks.bye." She headed in the direction he had indicated, her ears nearly missing the faint "Bye, Weasel!"
(((((((
Ginny barely missed being tardy for Transfigurations, but her mind never made it to class. Professor McGonagall called on her once, and she provided the correct answer, but it was only a mechanical response. Her thoughts were on a different change that was taking place somewhere else-and the cause would not be found in her textbook.
What was going on with Draco? When she had seen him in the hall, his tortured face had welled tears and aroused pity for him that she had not known that she possessed. Why should she care about a foe?
But he had seemed so bearable today, almost nice. Draco Malfoy had smiled at her without malice, and actually helped her find her class. She shook her head in amazement. Maybe the boy did have a heart after all.suddenly, she found herself wishing that he did.
(((((((
She made her way back to the commons room after classes to do her homework, but still Draco remained in her thoughts. Ginny finally realized what was bothering her-guilt. It was her fault that he was hurt. She knew what she had to do: write him a full apology. She took out a fresh scroll of parchment and began to write in flowing script, letting it remain un- cramped for once.
Other Gryffindors chatted and moved about her, but Ginny remained aloof in composing her note, completely engrossed in making it the epitome of manners. She wanted him to know that she was sincere in her sorrow. Once Harry passed by, calling a "Hello"; she smiled in return, but was no longer as upset that he didn't care for her. There were others in this life, and other feelings to reveal.
She finished the note and tightly re-rolled the scroll, sealing it with a curling scrap of ribbon. Then Ginny went upstairs, readied herself for bed, and placed it on the nightstand. She made a long entry in her diary, then glanced at the note once more. Satisfied, she turned out the light and slept.
Dear Draco,
I feel horrid about everything that fate has doled out upon you through me. You have my deepest regrets and apologies for slapping you in the first place, and inadvertently subjecting you to the wrath of your father. May your injuries to face and pride heal quickly. I hope that you will accept my remorseful compunction. I also would like to thank you for directing me to class this afternoon. You saved me from embarrassment and tardiness, and I am entirely in your debt. Until we meet again I remain sincerely yours,
Ginny Weasley
Author's Note: To modern people, especially my dear friend, the author currently known as Gwyn, I know that when you read the above letter you might find yourself musing, "Who would actually write like that?" Well, just for the record, I would, and do, and if you have a problem with eloquence, the problem is singly yours. ( :