Chapter 1: The Littlest Weasel


Ron keeps throwing me sympathetic glances. Honestly, it's like he thinks that being in the same compartment with Harry might give me a heart attack. No one seems to realize that I gave up on Harry ages ago. Well, Hermione knows, and understands. But it's not like my dear brother is actually going to ask about it. Ok, so seeing Harry and Cho together is a little awkward, but I'm fine with it. Really.


Merlin, could she laugh any louder? It's like a fog horn. And she brought a whole slew of Ravenclaws with her. Personally I always found Ravenclaws to be rather stuffy and boring. With the exception of Luna Lovegood. She is something else.


There is that laugh again. Like a goose, I tell you. It suddenly feels far too crowded in here. I think I'll go find Colin. I stand up, almost tripping over the many pairs of feet.


"Where are you going Gin?" Ron asks.


I shrug slightly. "Find Colin." A simple, short response always seems to work best around Ron. As soon as I answer, he turns his attention back to Hermione, who is talking about her vacation in France. I roll my eyes, thinking If he didn't care, why did he ask?


Harry gives me a smile and says, "See you at the feast, Ginny."


I don't reply, exiting and sliding the door closed behind me. I lean against the wall, rubbing my temples. I can feel the dull beginnings of a headache, and I don't doubt for one moment that it was caused by that damn laugh. As soon as I think this, there is a roar of laughter from the other side of the door, Cho's high pitched squawk clearly distinguishable. Needing to get as far away as possible, I start walking, opening every compartment and scanning it for a familiar mop of mousy hair, or the flash of a camera.


Several doors down, I find the next best thing. Neville Longbottom, sitting alone, holding his toad Trevor.


"'Lo Neville," I say.


He looks up and a smile forms on his plump face, a slight blush coloring his cheeks. I rather suspected that he fancied me a bit last term, and his invitation to the Yule Ball confirmed it.


"Hi Gin."


"I was just wondering if you had seen Colin anywhere."


His smile falters for a brief moment. "Colin?" He pauses a moment, thinking. "Yeah, I think I saw him grabbing a compartment with Luna. Near the front of the train."


I smile back at him. "Would you like to help me find them?"


He leaps out of his seat, nearly dropping Trevor in the process. "Sure!"


We continue searching compartments. After about fifteen minutes, the train gives a violent lurch. I find myself falling, and hit something soft. When I open my eyes (When did I close them?) I almost groan aloud.


Draco Malfoy is smirking up at me.


"Well, hello little Weasel," he says, his eyes gleaming.


Why am I still laying on top of him?


"I have a name, you know," I retort.


Yet I am still laying here.


"Yes, Virginia."


I feel my eyes widen.


I really should get up.


"Or would you rather I called you Ginny?"


What the hell is going on? And why am I still on top of him?


"Ginny's fine," I say weakly.


"You– you leave her alone Malfoy!" says a voice from behind us.


I spring to my feet, brushing my hair away from my burning face, to see a very red, very angry looking Neville advancing on Draco, who is now standing. He looks rather unruffled, every strand of white blonde hair perfectly in place, his sharp features relaxed.


"Go away Longbottom," he says slowly.


Neville shakes his head, his hand tightly gripping his wand. "If you bother Ginny, I– I'll curse you."


Draco's smirk returns as he looks between Neville and I, both red faced. "Aw, how sickeningly sweet. Ickle Neville's got a crush."


Neville looks rather mortified now.


"Malfoy, stop," I say in a low voice. "Just leave him alone."


"But why? He's such an easy target," Draco says, grinning wolfishly at Neville, whose face is slowly turning white.



"Two words, Malfoy. Bouncing. Ferret."


The smirk drops from his face, replaced with a scowl.


"What? You didn't think people had forgotten that, did you?"


His eyes narrow even farther. "You're going to regret that, Weaselette."


"I'm sure." My words are dripping with sarcasm.


He turns and, with a last cold glare, stalks down the hall.


"Come on Neville," I say, taking hold of the boy's arm and steering him away. "Let's go get Colin."