Disclaimer: I only claim to own my characters (some of which I have killed off already). Everything else belongs to Rowling. The plot is mine.

Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to Andria who never liked Draco and Ginny to begin with. Why are you still reading my crap then? Yep, not exactly sure. But, I think that the Hippocratic Oath is an American thing—oh well, I guess I've shone my colors now (not that use of words like sweater haven't given me away previously).

Chapter Six

Damn You

"I think it's getting to the point where I can be myself again

It's getting to the point where we have almost made amends

I think it's getting to the point that's the hardest part

If you call I will answer

And if you fall I'll pick you up

And if you court this disaster I'll point you home

I'll point you home…"

Barenaked Ladies: 'Call and Answer'

                Harry shrugged and kicked his shoes together as he sat in an armchair across from Ron and Hermione. They both sat on the end of Hermione's bed staring at him expectantly.

                "I think it's gone to the best person, Ron. Really," Harry said slowly.

                "But Harry, you should have been Captain of Gryffindor this year."

                Harry sighed and explained patiently again, "I'm not on the team, Ron. I don't want to play this year. I just want to get this year over with and leave."

                "Leave where?" Hermione asked.

                "I don't know. Mexico maybe."

                Hermione shook her head. Any reproach she might have been forming at that moment was interrupted by Ginny's entrance.

                "Where have you been?" Ron asked, eyeing his sister suspiciously as she walked across the room and sat on the arm of Harry's chair.

                "Nowhere. Walking. Why do you want to know?" She asked, a little hassled by his questions. She shrugged off her sweater and threw it on the floor at her feet.

                "Why Mexico, Harry?" Hermione continued.

                Harry laughed slightly. "I don't know. I wasn't serious. I just said the first place that popped into my head. What happened to you?" he asked Ginny pointing to a dark bruise on her upper arm. It was ringed in yellow and it looked as if it were at least a week old.

                Ginny shrugged pulling her sleeve down and frowned at Harry. She knew he had projected the negative attention of his friends onto her and she would not be the happy recipient of it.

                "Just a bruise," Ginny answered.

                "Just a big bruise," Harry added, being difficult. Does he like being the shit starter, Ginny wondered? "Whose ass have you been kicking lately?" he continued.

                "Crabbe and Goyle's if you must know," Ginny said straight faced.

                The looks of the other three seemed to say that they thought she was kidding.

                Ron was the first one to speak, "Are you serious? When was this?"

                "Ron, don't make a big deal out of it," Ginny said while she shot Harry a sarcastic look of thanks for bringing it up.

                "I will make a big deal out of it because it is a big deal. Did they hurt you?" Ron continued urgently.

                "No. One of them grabbed my arm, Goyle I think. And then I broke his kneecap."

                "Good for you," Hermione encouraged and Harry laughed. Ron did not seem amused.

                "Come on. It wasn't a big deal, Ron. They were being jerks and so I kicked one of them and Draco took the other one out."

                "Malfoy was there?" Ron asked abruptly, visibly angered at this revelation. "Ginny, I thought you said that was over. I don't want you anywhere near him." He was beginning to yell now.

                Ginny was angry as well. She stood and snatched her sweater from the floor and stormed out of the room without another word.

                After she'd left, it was Harry that came to her defense. "Ron, don't be a prat. They're not together or anything. I don't think she even talks to him anymore. He was probably just passing by and saw that she was in trouble."

                "You really need to go easier on her," Hermione added.

                "You two always do this," he raged, "you always ally against me." He walked out leaving Harry and Hermione shaking their heads after him.

***

                Flipping through his Transfiguration book, Harry exhaled heavily. He was growing to resent school. He wondered where he would ever need to apply the knowledge of transfiguring fruit into fruit flies. Who would want to really?

                "You know that it's rude to ignore someone when they've been trying to catch your attention for over twenty minutes?" Harry's heart leapt at the question but was mildly disappointed when he looked up to see Imogen Spencer standing over him with her hands on her hips.

                "Sorry," Harry began weakly, "You know you could have just come over and sat down. That would have gotten my attention."

                She did sit down and threw a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table in front of her.

                "Wow. It's been…what…two years?" Harry asked, closing his Transfiguration book.

                "Yep, I was away last year. You know, after what happened at the end of second year," Imogen smiled, warming her dark featured face. Harry had remembered that the last time he saw her was in the cells of Azkaban.

                "You look good, older. I mean…" Harry felt stupid. He didn't know what to say to her. This was the girl that he had fancied briefly before he'd met Lucy. He had to confess now that he hadn't thought about her since then.

                "So, what have you been up to?" she asked with a bright smile that lit her sapphire eyes.

                "Nothing. Going to school is about it."

                She nodded her head, knowing he was being cryptic on purpose.

                His eyes averted to his closed textbook. He felt a little guilty about how standoffish he was being. She didn't deserve it. But he didn't exactly want to talk about what had occupied him this summer. He wasn't exactly proud of his involvement in the happenings in Ireland last summer.

                "What have you been doing? Where were you last year?" he asked instead.

                "I attended school in France. Beauxbatons."

                Harry was slightly surprised by this. "Oh really? That was where Ginny went to school last year. You know Ginny Weasley, don't you?"

                Imogen shook her head. "Yeah. I saw her in France, but I didn't really know her well enough to talk to her."

                "So does that mean you know how to speak French?" Harry asked with a smile. Talking to her about nothing at all was somewhat therapeutic.

                "Oui. Je parle francais. Je pense vous etes un ange," she said in a beautiful accent. Harry found himself stunned as he watched her pronounce the words elegantly. He couldn't help a smile from spreading across his face. He didn't know what she said but he was sure that he was blushing. He looked down with embarrassment, not wanting to meet her eyes.

                "I'm sorry," she continued in English, "did I offend you? Do you understand French?"

                "No, I don't. But if you won't tell me what you just said I'll ask Ginny," he answered, gaining the courage to meet her eyes again.

                It was her turn to blush and she did profusely. "Oh, no! Don't do that. I would be too embarrassed!" she pleaded.

                "Did someone just say my name?" Ginny asked coming up behind Imogen, who froze wide-eyed.

                Harry smiled slyly. "Don't worry, Imogen. I couldn't repeat what you said if my life depended on it. One day you'll just have to admit what you meant."

                If Ginny was confused by the stares and smiles that transpired while she stood there, she didn't give any inclination. "Harry can I borrow her for a few minutes?" she asked.

                Harry nodded.

                Imogen furrowed her brow as Ginny pulled her from her seat in the library by her arm and out into the hall. She didn't even hazard a look back at Harry.

***

                "Oh thanks!" Imogen said, "I almost incriminated myself in there."

                Ginny shook her head, distracted. She hardly even registered Imogen speaking.

                "Come on," Ginny commanded, taking Imogen's hand and pulling her after her and up to Gryffindor Tower.

                Ginny almost jumped as she entered her room and met the cold glare of her roommate Nan.

                "What's this?" the tall blond girl said with a smirk, "can't find any real friends and so you have to drag some unsuspecting little Slytherin girl after you? I know you don't pay her for friendship? What is your incentive to hang around this train wreck, then little Slytherin girl?" Nan's eyes were leveled at Imogen.

                She didn't even see Ginny whose fist connected squarely with Nan's jaw. The blond went flying head first over her bed. Her feet sprawled comically in the air.

                Ginny straightened her robes and turned to Imogen. "I never liked her."

                Imogen laughed. "Quite a week you've been having, Gin. First Goyle and now this chippie. You're my hero, you know."

                Ginny winced, "How did you hear about that?"

                "How do you think?" Imogen raised her eyebrows. "Now what did you want me for?"

                Ginny rushed over to her desk and pulled out the Pensieve. Imogen was busy checking on Nan in the corner—unconscious.

                "I think we'll just leave her like that for now. She's fine."

                Ginny set the Pensieve between them.

                "I've been thinking. I want to write their story, the Founders'. But, the Pensieve doesn't give enough information on it's own." Ginny stopped and bit her lower lip.

                "What're you thinking, Ginny?" Imogen asked tentatively.

                "I want to go back there," she said firmly.

                "With the Time-Turner?" Imogen added, exhaling heavily. "You know that's illegal and it would take a good amount of Dark Magic to make it work, right?"

                Ginny nodded gravely. "Of course. I knew you wouldn't want to."

                "Oh no! I want to. I'm not sure if I can perform the necessary spells. But I'll see what I can do. I'll work on it in all of my spare time." Imogen sighed inaudibly. She didn't have much spare time, but she would use what she had to help Ginny.

                "I was going to have another look and see what I could find. Did you want to come along?" Ginny asked brightly.

                Imogen glanced at the unconscious form in the corner and said, "Hold on a second."

                She walked over to Nan's crumpled form. "Ennervate" she said as she pointed her wand. Nan woke up and got unsteadily to her feet, Imogen's wand trained on her at every move.

                Imogen moved sideways to the wardrobe by the window. She opened the door. "Get in!" she commanded the stunned girl with a swollen cheek.

                Once Nan was crammed inside the small space, Imogen threatened, "I'm going to shut you in because there are some things we need to tend to without your juvenile antics. Just to warn you: if you try to escape or if you decide to cry to your Head of House about how we've wronged and abused you, I am a veritable dictionary of disfiguring and painful spells and I won't hesitate to hunt you down and try a couple." Her voice was calm and measured and Ginny was slightly frightened. She could only imagine how much more heightened Nan's sense of fear must have been.

                "Thank you for your cooperation," Imogen added, closing the door of the wardrobe and locking it with a secure charm.

                "Now. Where were we?" Imogen asked brightly, replacing her wand and coming to sit on the floor next to Ginny.

                A moment later they were in a sort of village. Imogen and Ginny could see horses everywhere. Imogen had never seen so many horses in one place before, now that she thought about it.

                They could smell the acrid stench of a tannery nearby and Ginny covered her nose with the sleeve of her sweater.

                They both made a cursory scan of the crowds. They were looking for Azria or Helga. Either one of them had to be around—as it was their memories that Ginny and Imogen were looking at.

                It must have been the day of a festival or a tournament—some sort of commotion as to fill the marketplace with the populations that they were witnessing. Imogen found it hard to believe that the market would on normal days be this crowded.

                Ginny nudged her and their suspicions were confirmed. Azria walked silently through the crowds a few paces ahead of them. She stuck out awkwardly because the clothing she wore marked her as a gentlewoman and not a merchant or peasant.

                She came to a small hut, a lean-to next to the inner wall of a castle. Imogen didn't recognize this castle nor did she see any of the inhabitants of the humble living space.

                It must be an opposing castle to Hogwarts. It would, of course, in modern times be a ruin hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest. The river (now condensed through damming and re-damming its flow into the lake on the school's grounds) would have divided this castle from that of Hogwarts. It was the property of the Hufflepuffs' at the time, as well as the much larger Hogwarts castle.

                They both jumped as they heard Azria, who had gone inside of the hut, scream. Imogen and Ginny didn't hesitate, they entered immediately.

                Imogen was sorry that she had acted so rashly. Had she known what sort of a sight would meet her eyes she would not have gone inside.

                Two small children, barely recognizable lay in the hay in a corner, maimed and lifeless. Two adults, a wife and mother, and a man—maybe the father, lay just as lifeless near the door. They looked as though they weren't shown the courtesy that the children were. It looked as if it had taken them a long time to die. The children had wounds of instantaneous death.

                Azria was crying and shaking, screaming all the while. No one seemed to hear her, or at least they paid no attention.

                Imogen looked to Ginny who was nearly as bad. She was mute, shaking her head, tears streaming silently down her face. Her hands were twisting and clenching methodically at her sides.

                "Ginny?" Imogen asked, placing a tentative hand on the girl's shoulder. Ginny didn't respond.

                Imogen wondered how this was all pertinent. She would like to know who these people where and what Azria's business was with them.

                Ginny was right. Going back there might be the only way that they could truly piece this whole thing together. This thought was solidified as Imogen followed Azria out of the hut. She wanted to know where the seer would go next.

                Only Azria just stood there in the doorway of the makeshift tomb—staring.

                Imogen's breath caught painfully in her chest as she followed Azria's gaze. She felt chilled to the bone in a sort of bloodless cold that overtook her every movement, every thought.

                A monk in a brown cowl appeared in the doorway of a side exit of the bustling castle bailey.

                He lifted his head from what appeared to be a position of penitent prayer. Only when Imogen saw the face, she knew it belonged to a man that had never before prayed in his life.

                Lucius Malfoy.

                Her one fleeting thought was, "How on earth could he have been there?" She thought maybe she was seeing something else, someone else. It couldn't have been who she thought it was.

                The entire scene dissolved around her and she found herself next in a dimly lit bedchamber. Ginny was standing next to her. But she was still silent, staring at the spot where she had seconds before been staring at the murdered forms of two children.

                Azria screamed again and sat bolt upright in her bed, huffing and panting heavily.

                She held her head in her hands and began to weep softly.

                Imogen was not relieved in the least that it had all been a dream—especially because it had been the dream of a seer.

                The moment after that brought them out of the Pensieve.

                "Are you all right, Imogen? You look pale?" Ginny asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

                "Did you see that?" Imogen asked her breathlessly.

                "Those poor children? Yes, I wish I hadn't."

                "You didn't see the monk though?" she asked Ginny, confused.

                "No."

                "I'll do it," Imogen said finally after a moment's thought. "I'll make the potion to set the Time-Turner back to the time of the Founders. I'll get back to you in a week or so."

                "Imogen are you okay?" Ginny asked again, nervously eyeing her small and frightened friend.

                "I'm fine. I've got to get going. Let her out of there will you?" Imogen said quickly, pointing to the wardrobe and their captive within.

***

                Draco like wandering the school at night. He new that if he were caught he would get into a whole lot of trouble. That was the main appeal, he guessed.

                His favorite haunt was the armory. Not so grand as it might once have been, the armory was more like a large ceremony hall. It was cold and devoid of any furniture. On racks and hooks along all of the four walls hung fantastic Medieval weaponry. Huge broadswords and maces, lances and battle-axes were displayed in all their grandeur. Some weapons dating to later ages also remained among the dusty and unmolested treasures of the forgotten room.

                Here he found a particularly nice rapier, gold and intricately carved along the hilt. It was very light and perfect for his style of fencing. He came here to practice every night that he had the chance.              

                It was a lot easier to move around at night now than it had been years ago. Filch was pulling double duty as both keeper of the school and grounds as well. He was not often lurking in the castle as he had been prone to do in the past.

                Draco was thankful for his absence tonight because he had a lot on his mind, a lot to decide on and a lot to think over. Imogen had given him cause to think on his treatment of Ginny. He had intended to seek her out and apologize for his harsh treatment of her. He knew that it was unfair the way he had placed the responsibility for his sister's death on her.

                When he had finally found her, Ginny looked as though she wanted nothing to do with him. He'd even helped her when Crabbe and Goyle had attacked her. He was caught in the uneasy feeling that maybe Ginny didn't want his apology, didn't need it. He had assumed that she was just waiting around for him to forgive her and now he was met with the realization that it might be too late. He'd pushed her too far.

                He felt himself calm as he felt the cold metallic sting against his hand. The castle was always cold in early October.

                He set about methodically going through a routine of motions, practiced and refined. He moved with the grace of a cat and with as much cunning and skill.

                He couldn't repress the words of his father in his head. Years of his instruction had ingrained them into his mind. "If you want to kill a man, it is the element of surprise—catching him off guard will bring you this." He would always get some far off look in his eye and sigh like a lover, "There's nothing better in the world, my son, than the feel of a blade slicing through the entrails of someone you loath."

                What a sick bastard. And yet, Draco could understand how one could derive immense pleasure from killing. Draco would have liked nothing better than to have killed Goyle last week when he'd hurt Ginny. The only thing that restrained him was her presence. He wouldn't have her look at him that way. The way his mother had of looking at his father. She had dismissed everything for him. She loved him truly.

                But he was a murderer and worse. He didn't deserve her.

                Draco still had the chance. He could still endeavor to deserve Ginny, though the thought seemed far off and intangible.

                He sighed and lunged again with newfound fury. He was a contradiction in terms. He was unsure of what he wanted. His fear was ever present. He could still feel his father's corrupt grip on him. He was drilled into being his father. He was schooled in the ways of killing and of torture.

                Yet he still attained to something greater, something he never would have thought he might deserve. Ginny still loved him. He was certain of it.

                "You're getting sloppy without the proper instruction," an icy voice echoed on the cold stone walls.

                Draco stopped and turned to meet his father's cold gray stare.

                "Don't you miss me, Draco?" he said with a sly grin.

                Draco was motionless, speechless.

                Lucius walked slowly to the wall where he pulled down another rapier and saluted Draco.

                Draco didn't move.

                "Where have your manners gone to, son?" Lucius said with a mocking air.

                Draco was expressionless, "It was you? Wasn't it?" He blocked his father's swing as he advanced.

                "What was me? Really. Have I taught you nothing? You speak like a common street urchin. And your technique in fencing is worse. "

                "You were in the manor that night. You bastard! It was you who trashed Lucy's room," Draco raged, parrying expertly as his father took that moment to strike.

                "You are too damned sentimental, Draco. I assume that was your mother and your sister's influence over you. Well, they're both dead now. Move on. I have bigger plans for you," he smiled as he blocked Draco's advances, "Don't you want to know what they are?"

                "No," Draco answered shortly.

                "Of course, I couldn't let you in on everything. You still have a lot to do to prove yourself. You have a lot of trust that you need to earn back yet." Lucius said in an overly fatherly tone.

                Draco shook his head and seethed inwardly.

                "Why do you insist on me? I don't want any part of you…any part of your schemes."

                "That truly hurts, child. Everything I have done, every plan, every scheme was for you. To make you happy, successful. You could have anything you want."

                Draco clenched his jaw shut with anger. "Why?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Why me? Why not Lucy? She was your child too."

                "She was never like me. I couldn't rid her of her sympathy, kindness. I couldn't even beat it out of her. You are more pliable," he answered with a swing of his blade that Draco ducked.

                "I'm not like you!" Draco raged, bringing his sword down angrily at his father, ungracefully. He began to advance, trying to slash with both downward and upward movements. He wasn't being careful. He wanted to kill. He hated his father. Being like him was the worst thing he could possibly be.

                Lucius laughed at Draco's anger as he parried, blocked and ducked every advance. Pleased to see the anger rising up in the young man's face.

                "Oh, but you are," he said.

                Draco shook his head disbelieving. The more he thought about it, the more weight his father's words had. He had been manipulated by him. He knew that it was true.

                He was a useless carbon copy, fashioned in Lucius' image. He wasn't a son to this man but a ridiculous and wrenching experiment in egotism. It was a twisted self-worship and a deranged narcissism.

                Draco's rage wound beneath his skin, growing like black vines that twisted and choked his heart, ate at his dreams of a better life, strangled his chances of being happy, like an evil veil of ivy that constricts a dying tree.

                "I will never be you!" he raged, lunging at his father. He felt the satisfying friction as his blade tore through the skin of his father's shoulder. A superficial wound, but gratifying to have caused even the slightest pain.

                The hilt of Lucius' sword connected squarely with his son's head at the base of his neck. Knocking him to the ground and into a state of unconsciousness, Lucius kicked the prone form of his son onto his back and off of his shoes.

                He clasped a hand around his injured shoulder.

                "You will be like me in time," he spat before he turned and exited the armory the way he'd come in, leaving Draco to spend the rest of his night in a heap on the cold stone floor.

***

                "Can we talk?" Draco asked a startled Ginny, accosting her as she came around the corner from the library.

                Pansy Parkinson was lurking on the other side of the hall, pretending to be engrossed in something out the window. She met Draco's eyes briefly and Ginny looked confusedly between the two of them.

                "Bugger off, Parkinson!" Draco bellowed, causing the pug-faced girl to jump slightly before scampering off down the hall and out of sight.

                "Draco, I don't know if there's really anything to—."

                He cut her off impatiently. "Fine. Then will you just hear me out?" He was rubbing what looked to be a very large bump on the back of his head.

                "What happened?" she asked, surprised at the severity of the wound. She threw all pretense out the window and moved closer to him, examining his head and neck gently.

                He had the worst feeling of suppressed longing as she moved closer to him. He wanted to remain this close to her forever. But it would never be possible. There was too much between them to be forgiven that easily.

                "You should let Madam Pomfrey look at that," she said, recalling herself awkwardly and stepping away.

                "I did." He gingerly moved his neck around and winced slightly. "Speaking of…why aren't you volunteering in the infirmary anymore?"

                "I thought that would be a bit ridiculous," Ginny admitted, biting her lip nervously. "You know, trying to kill myself," she didn't meet his eyes, "three times," she admitted sheepishly. "And, well, I was responsible for more people than just me. The Hippocratic Oath and all. 'Do no harm'. I just don't think medicine is the right path for me."

                "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

                "Well, thank you for your vote of confidence. Who asked you anyway?" She began to get loud. 

                "Even more stupid then getting yourself trapped down in the dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle. What were you thinking?" Draco yelled in turn.

                "I can handle myself, godammit!" she raged, stomping her foot and getting red in the face. They began to draw a crowd.

                "You didn't look as though you were being very successful at it."

                "Well, I don't need your help!" She turned and began to walk away.

                "That sure wasn't what it looked like when he grabbed you and you screamed. You were pretty thankful for my services then, weren't you?" he called after her.

                She let out an indignant cry and hurled a heavy textbook at him. She had perfect aim.

                But he had perfect reflexes. He ducked as the book flew over his head and into a suit of armor against the wall. The loud crash of metal caused Madam Pince and Mr. Filch to come running.

                "What is the meaning of all of this?" the librarian asked, hands on her hips.

                Neither Ginny nor Draco said a word.

                "You're both getting detention for this. I just polished this statue and knocked all of the dents out of it. You think I have all the time in the world to spare walking around after students picking up their messes?" an enraged Filch shouted.

                "It was my fault, sir," Ginny argued timidly.

                "One cannot fight alone, Miss Weasley," Madam Pince chimed in, looking pointedly at Draco.

                "Everyone clear off!" Filch shouted wildly. Students scattered.

                With one last glare of disdain, Madam Pince returned to the peace of her library.

                "You two follow me," he said after a moment to the guilty pair.

                "Damn you!" Ginny half whispered. Her face was a muted mask of un-emotion.

                "What did I do?" Draco asked indignantly.

                "You ducked!"