Chapter One: Deliver Us from the Chumps and Suckers
(A/n: This chapter has been reposted. This version is several pages longer, for those who read the previous version. Continue at the *~*~*. Sorry about that.)
Hermione Granger smiled genially at the notebook that had just been handed to her. She had been sitting in the library, alone, for the past three hours going over a very difficult potions assignment and was very happy that Ginny had decided to come and join her with such a splendid surprise. Merlin knew that she would have sat at her favorite table in the back, near the bay view window, for another three hours before she completed the remainder of her assignments and Ginny's presence just brightened the situation. Especially since she decided to bestow upon her such a delightful present.
"Another one, Gin?" Hermione inquired with a grin, as she began flipping through the violet hardbound-notebook that she had given to her friend two weeks prior to their stay at 12 Grimmauld Place the previous year. The reason for the gift was so that Ginny might have something to keep her occupied during their long stay and a nice place to hold all the stories and poetry that she could often be found scribbling down on scratch parchment. Ginny had always been quite a writer with a vivid imagination and a talent for poetry when she tried. Hermione particularly enjoyed the stories Gin wrote solely for her about the bushy haired brunette and her fondness for the short, poetic artist by the name of Oliver. Oliver was a character loosely based on Hermione's favorite muggle actor Orlando Bloom, whose posters and pictures littered her trunk and notebooks. Bloom had grown quite an amount of resentment from Ron, who had been caught doodling on Bloom's pictures on numerous occasions.
"Sort of, but I'm sorry to say that Oliver's not in this one." Ginny explained leaning back in her chair, eyeing the book anxiously as she started chewing her red fingernails in a feeble manner, "Actually, I think that this one's quite different from anything else I've written so far. Possibly even one of my best. . .I was wondering if you could look it over if you had time later."
Hermione glanced down at the book before nodding dismissively, and waving off her smiling friend, "Of course I'll read it, just let me finish my homework first."
"Thanks 'Moine! You're the greatest." Ginny squeaked merrily as she engulfed her friend in a quick hug and picked up her bag, "But please be completely honest this time. I need real criticism if I ever want to make it in the real world…"
"Yes, yes, I know. Now don't you have work to do? It's already October and I haven't seen you studying for the O.W.L.'s yet, you know how important those things are. . ." Ginny's head bobbed as she started her way back to Gryffindor tower and have a nice long talk with Dean.
Hermione looked down at the book once again before sighing and placing it on the massive pile of potion books at her side. Rubbing her eyes on her palms, she considered of the already large pile of work she would have to finish before the evening was over if she even considered the Hogsmeade trip weekend after next. Not including all the extra hours she would have to put in tutoring Harry and Ron. She really had her work cut out for her when it came to those two auror-wannabes.
* * * *
The library was near empty when Draco Malfoy entered that evening without his bodyguards Vince and Greg, they had both called in a sick day when they had stupidly eaten three month old flan that Vince had found in his trunk. How it got there none of them knew, but Draco had somehow managed to convince the fools to eat it. Yes, they really did provide fair entertainment when one was bored. Draco took a seat at a table in the back near a bay view window, which probably, in the day, had a terrific view of the lake, but he paid no heed as he began to unpack the contents his favorite Norwegian Ridgeback hide bag on to the large stack of books that already were there. As he searched for a scrap piece of parchment for notes, the colossal pile grew upset by the lack of attention it was receiving. It decided to do what most books would in that position, and toppled over causing a large racket and earning Draco a nice long scolding from pitiless Madam Pince who was quite put off with his lack of respect towards literature. When her rant had concluded Draco began picking up the twenty some books that had earned him that speech in the first place. He soon began a rant of his own that continued on for some time before he picked up a violet hardcover book that most definitely did not belong with the other potion books that were discard on the table.
It appeared to be a sort of diary like thing, which brightened Draco's mood considerably. Nothing made his spirits intensify more than the brutal humiliation of a fellow student, especially through the means of blackmail. Such despicable plots ran through his mind as he fingered that book that could make your blood run cold. His bitterness about his father's arrest had only been heightened by his return to Hogwarts. The cause for his furthered disposition was because every corner he turned the word "death eater" could be heard, and the treatment he now received from his teachers was disgusting. His louse of a father who he had held in such high esteem had brought ruin to the Malfoy name because he was too weak to even retrieve a prophecy from pathetic Potter and his wretched little friends. However, the idea of the power that they would receive in the future because of this loss and his pain was worth the agony for the time being, because one day he would be able to show them. Draco would show them all what power really was, once the Dark Lord rose to into command. Until then, such things as blackmail would have to hold him over.
Draco examined the plain velvety cover closely and noted that was obvious worn from over use, apparently making his find a great loss to the owner. Dairies were an odd thing; made for people who had a hard time expressing their feelings or those who did it too easily. Either way, one was always a good find in means of blackmail, especially older ones; journals are like wine, the older they are the better taste of the person you receive. A sharp smirk appeared on his pale features as his thin fingers nimbly opened the worn cover and looked down at the first page. Draco was greatly surprised when he realized that the words "Dear diary," were nowhere in site, instead beside a lot of remains of ripped paper lay a poem about the weather and a depression. After that was a short story about a bushy haired girl. Draco read the story with mild interest, the mediocre writer seemed to be repressing her talent with this one; it was nothing like the poem previous to it. It held a lot less meaning and seemed to be unnatural to her mindset.
Following the story, there was another poem; this one was a series of haikus about the seasons. They were much like the story, forced. He continued to flip through the book; most entries were like the story, however a select few out shown the rest showing define skills, but they were easily buried with the others. He spent a good part of the next hour skimming through that little book. The writer was obviously a female, that or a very gay male, because of a series of very gushy love poems and stories. Other than that assumption, Draco had no idea who the author might be. Though his luck shown through as he discovered the last entry in the thick book and a triumphant sneer showed on his face. For when he flipped to the last story in the book, he found something that grasped his interest, and it wasn't just the identity of the authoress.
* * * (A/N: Three stars signify: meanwhile, four: later incase you didn't know.)
Virginia smiled flippantly as she gracelessly flopped herself down on one of the scarlet chairs in the crowded common room and threw her long smooth legs over the side as she recalled the events of the past few hours. She was glad that Dean was such an understanding person; it always made breaking up a lot easier. After dating for a good four months she had grown tired of his lax attitude, and syrupy quiet nature. He didn't test the limits or try anything new. He was alive but not vibrant, exciting, adventurous, or even witty. Dean was just plain boring Dean, and she had grown weary of expecting anything more. He was sweeter than any boy she had ever gone out with, Neville with charisma, but all the sugar in the world couldn't keep that relationship going. She needed that adrenaline rush; something dangerous dodgy that would make her feel alive. It was an addiction she had gained from being a sheltered daughter in a family of mostly males. Hence all the audacious heroes in her stories and her long time crush on Harry Potter. A crush that died off once realizing that a courtship between them would be very unlikely. Now that it seem in the least bit possible her interests were elsewhere, due to the fact that it would give Ron far too much satisfaction knowing that his little innocent baby sister had returned to her old ways of blushes and cowers around his best friend. So Potter would remain nothing but a friend – for now.
Her smile broadened as her thoughts drifted towards the idea of a friendship with benefits, and she was in the middle of wondering if Harry was a good kisser when Hermione entered, books and all. Ginny torn herself from her thoughts and the comfy chair as she advanced towards her bushed cohort, Hermione had seated herself next to Ron who was in the middle of a compelling game of wizards chess with Harry. Ginny prepared herself to tear the most cutting bits of criticism about her newest creation, as she sat down in the chair next to Harry so abruptly that he jumped. He had really been skittish since they're misadventure at the Department of Mysteries, but she took no notice as she began grilling Hermione with an overly eager grin playing on her luscious crimson lips.
"So what did you think? Good? Bad? Terrible? My best bit of work ever conceived? Even better then the weather poem? Was it too weird? I knew it was odd. . . But the idea just came to me, you know, like being bit by a dragon. I just had to write it. It was more mature than my other stories, huh?" the words shot out of her mouth like bullets, each fast than the last, and hitting Hermione like a bag of bricks. When she noticed the blank expression on not only Hermione's face, but Harry and her brother, she paused and raised an eyebrow in confusion, "Well, don't just sit there staring at me like I'm Millicent Bertrude. I want feedback! And I want feedback now! Come on 'Moine, I can take it! Was it honestly that terrible? Oh Merlin, you hated it didn't you. . . Oh well, at least tell me what I can improve on. I'm not capable to write a mature story, no wonder it sucked. . ."
"Whoa-whoa-whoa, hold on a second! What was 'it'?" Hermione questioned with a nothing but seriousness showing in her dark mahogany eyes.
"Yeah, what the hell are you going on about Gin? You sound like you're on something. . ." Ron asked peering down at her with his scrunched-up-heavily-freckled-nose while scratching his head in confusion. Harry just sent her a sidelong glance with a sheepish grin plastered on his face.
Ginny looked at her friend with furrowed brows and asked in disbelief, "What do you mean, 'what's it?' - the new story that I wrote and gave you today in the library three hours ago – the one you said you'd read after you finished your homework – you know! The Sexuality of Socks!" She exclaimed in anger as her friend's befuddled look remained pasted on her face, and ignored her brother's and Harry's bout of laughter that pursued after the title.
"The Sexuality of Socks? What in Merlin's name is that?" Ron scoffed, while holding his side still in hysteria. He always knew his sister wrote, but he never took the time to find out what exactly. Now it seemed as though she was a comedy writer, but the though soon diminished as he noted the solemnity that marked her bright features as she replied.
"It's my newest piece of writing, and I thought one of my best. I gave it to Hermione this afternoon to read, but it couldn't have been that good since she seems to have forgotten about it." Ginny stated so flatly that it seemed to pain her to speak of forgetfulness, and she shot daggers at her wild haired friend. However it seemed as though Hermione took no notice, as she was busy squinting at the bit of ceiling to the right of Ginny and biting her lip in concentration as she tried to remember what exactly her friend was speaking of. Then as though she had been caught doing something dodgy, a bright blush spread across her olive complexion; that caused Ron to gap. Her gaze slowly returned to her flamboyant friend who was seated across from her.
"Oh, I remember Ginny! I'm sorry. It was just that I was so swamped with all my assignments that I completely forgot about your story. But I'll read it now let me get it out of my bag." Hermione said with such flippant attitude as she began digging through her bag that Ginny almost toppled over in astonishment. It was funny how someone so genius could be so thick at times. She wondered momentarily what exactly went on in her mind, before Ron's squeaky voice interrupted her thoughts.
"You mean you let 'Moine read your stories?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Ginny replied in an incredulous tone as she involuntarily chewed on her nails.
His voice almost sounded hurt as he spoke before picking up the before mentioned chess game with Harry, "Well, you've never let me read one of your stories."
"Yeah, I always knew you've written Gin, but I've never read any of it, either. Is it dirty or something?" Harry joked while wagging his eyebrows up and down suggestively.
This caused Ginny to blush slightly before sending him a knowing grin and saying in a lighthearted seductive tone that he had never heard her use before, "Well, wouldn't you like to know?" causing both Harry and Ron's eyebrows to go heaven bound.
"OH HOT HELL!" Ron boomed, while he and Harry burst into loud jeering laughter, "My baby sister is the author of racy romance novels! Ha ha ha! What a joke!"
Although he didn't seem to notice that Harry had stopped, or how quiet Virginia had become, until it was too late and a loud slapping sound rang throughout the common room. Gaining Ron a large welt on the side of his head, sobering him immediately, as he began staring at his 'baby sister' in utter disbelief, "By Merlin's beard, you weren't kidding. You really do write romance?"
"On occasions, as well as other things. But Romance does seem to be one of my more sought after genres. Yes, Ronald I do write romance, got a problem with that?" She glared at her brother from across the table, but he just continued to stare at her, and she leaned on her right hand, "I don't enjoy it, it's kinda forced out of me, and none of it's really that good."
"Then why do you write it if you don't like it?" Harry asked with an odd expression on his pale features.
"To get paid of course. How do you think I got all those new clothes?" Ginny replied nonchalantly as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"OH MERLIN! My sister is a authoress whore!" Ron exclaimed with wide eyes before another resounding slap was heard.
"Thank you 'Moine." Ginny smiled at Hermione who was giving the cowering redhead an icy glare. However, when she turned to face Ginny her face weakened and suddenly became uncharacteristically sheepish.
"I wouldn't be thanking me just yet, because it – er – seems as though I've miss placed your notebook. . ."
*~*Extended version*~*
"What do you mean you think you lost it?" Ginny asked her bushy haired friend through clenched teeth as she gripped the edge of the table so hard that her knuckles turned white.
Hermione gave her a dead beat look, one thing she hated more than anything was repeating herself, and seemed to be the only thing she had been doing since she got to Hogwarts. No one ever seemed to listen when you said things the first time, "What I mean is that I left a lot of books there and your notebook must have been among them. I'm sorry Ginny."
Ginny's eyes widened before she unclenched her hands from the oak table and took a deep breath. She didn't know what to say, the three of them were staring at her expectantly, so she nodded idly and waved them off. Her reddened face returned to normal as she silently considered the situation, that wasn't really all that bad now that she thought about it. The book was just on a pile in the library, she could easily retrieve it at anytime. No one ever went to the potions section other than Hermione and Madam Pince who tidied up, and if Pince picked it up it was just be in the lost and found, which was easily accessible. Even if there was an odd chance that someone stumbled upon it, she doubted that they would read it, and if they had, Ginny never wrote anything too personal in there and her name wasn't even on the cover. There was no way that anyone could ever find out that she was the author . . .
Her thoughts were cut in half as a large black eagle owl landed directly in front of her, with a thump knocking over half of Harry's chess pieces and earning everyone in the common room's attention. Ginny blinked absentmindedly at the large bird for a moment before cautiously removing the green envelope from its beck, causing the owl to fly back out the open window behind them as loudly as it had arrived. She fingered the thick envelope in her slender hand for a moment, glibly wondering who was writing her because the smooth writing of her name on the front wasn't helping in the identification of the sender. Ginny might have forgotten to even open it if Ron hadn't interrupted her thoughts by clearing his throat loudly.
"Yes?" Ginny asked as she snapped back into reality.
"Well, who's it from?" Ron asked with an eyebrow raised.
"I don't know. I haven't opened it yet." She replied dryly.
"Why not?"
"Because it's my mail and I'll open it when I damn well please. Merlin, you can really be one helluva a git when you try . . ." Her voice was huffy and her eyes were narrowed as she ripped through the envelope and pulled out thick expensive stationary with speechless attention from the others who watched with obvious interest as she began to read. Each studying her face hoping that it would give away something about the context of the letter, but her face gave away nothing. They continued sitting there in silence until she refolded the letter and put it back into the envelope pretending not to notice their anxious expressions.
"WELL?" Ron bellowed after the silence had grown unbearable and it was apparent that no one was going to willingly break it.
However, despite his uncalled for outburst the only response he received was from Ginny who muttered in a vex tone, "Well is a deep subject for a shallow mind like yours." And Ron continued to fume as she pocketed the letter and started towards her dormitory.
"Hey wait, Gin! You're not even gonna tell us who it's from?" Harry asked before she reached the stairs.
"I don't see how it's any of your business, and it's kind of a personal letter, so I would like to keep that information to myself." She replied before disappearing up the stairs and a door slam soon followed.
"If I didn't know any better I'd say she was hiding something."
"Don't strain your brain Ron . . ." Hermione mumbled while staring at her fingernails before adding nonchalantly, and ignoring Ron's outlandish death glares and sputtering, "And if I didn't know any better I'd say that was Draco Malfoy's owl."
After she had spoken those words both boys jumped out of their chairs, and a loud crashing din followed as they once again ran into the barrier blocking the girl's dorm.
"Guess we'll just have to wait until she's ready to talk." Hermione yawned as she retrieved her bag from the floor and started towards the same direction in which Ginny had disappeared a few moments prior, "Good night boys, I hope you both regain your senses by morning." She ignored their shouts that directed to her to interrogate Ron's little sister and she made her way towards bed. The day had been a long one, she wanted nothing more than to rest, and no letter from a bigoted Malfoy was going to elongate her trip to her snug pillow.
* * *
Weasley,
While studying in the library this evening I discovered of something of yours that might strike your interest. It is, what I have come to believe, a writing notebook full of your sentimental stories and poetry. I would like to tell you right now that romance is for fools. Stick to something you know, like the last entry or your poem about the weather. Everything else is total and complete crap. You have wasted your hair of talent on such a mockery to writing that you should even find it disgusting. I wonder if your brother knows about some of the stories in this book, some were a tad racy, even for me. I'm sure he would be enthralled to know the dirty R-rated stories his little baby sister is writing. Who ever had the lip to call you innocent is obviously blind.
By now you are probably unclear as to the reason why I wrote. I have something of yours that you may want, something if given to the right person will embarrass you in to hiding. Therefore the idea of this concept is simple, and right out of your last story, I'm blackmailing you Virginia E. Weasley, and there's not much you can do about it. Our first real correspondence will be in two weeks during the Hogsmeade trip, where you will be meeting me at The Three Broomsticks at noon where I will take you to our real meeting place after a butterbeer. If you try to seek me out previous to this trip, I'll just dispose of the book faster.
Doesn't this all sound painstakingly familiar, Weasley? It should, it's out of your mind's eye.
I'll keep in touch,
Draco Malfoy
Ginny stared down at the letter in disbelief. Blackmailed? Her? She felt torn between laughing and crying. Nothing out of the ordinary ever happened to her and when the odd chance it did, they were titled misadventures. And in the end someone always ended up hurt or even worse, dead. That was why Ginny tended to prefer living though pen and paper rather than heartache and blood. She always knew that her writing would bring her problems, but she had hoped that it would be with critics, not a vengeful blackmailing ferret. She now regretted, more than ever, cursing him four months ago. Ginny knew her actions would one day haunt her, but she thought that her pain would be more of the physical type than mental anguish. Then again, you can only expect the lowest of the low from a Malfoy, his dreadful father proved that point many years ago when he slipped her that diary. Chills still ran up her spine in recollection of Tom; Ginny quickly repressed her memories of the incident as she began plotting her current situation.
She only had two real options: go and comply with his demands or skip the meeting and have her stories turned into her brother or someone worse. The second option at the moment seemed like nothing compared to the first, but who knew what sort of terrors Malfoy had in store for her. The worry, building hernias in her stomach, nearly made her brother's rage seem as harmless as a sleeping kitten. However that's when she remembered something that he had written in the letter that she hoped would brighten her situation considerably.
Doesn't this all sound painstakingly familiar, Weasley? It should, it's out of your mind's eye.
But the plot from The Sexuality of Socks seemed farfetched from her current situation, even if it did evolve around a plot based on blackmail . . . Ginny tried to push the thoughts out of her head as she lay down and pulled her soft cotton sheets up to her chin. Especially since she had a full two weeks to be troubled about it. At the current moment the only thing she wanted was to ignore the situation and face more present problems, such as her test in charms the next morning.
A/N: I'M GOING TO COMIC-CON ON SATURDAY! ! ! YAY! ! *does a happy dance to the Smashing Pumpkin's song she's listening to at the moment* Yes, I'm really that lame. . . But at least I'm going to a place where all the people are as lame as I am. *grin*
Now on to more important things: I hope you enjoyed this nice long, long chapter. (Seven pages in size 9 Veranda font.) And Caitlin was right on the money when she called the previous chapter a prologue, for that's what it originated as. It's now corrected and reposted. Oh, and I should note that I'm sorry, I love the wonderful feedback, but I will continue referring to her as Virginia on certain situations. The reason why is simple: Ginny is too small of a name for such a large person. (This is coming from someone who was cursed with a three-letter name, mind you.)
And the rest of you; you all rock my socks. Thanks for the praise and expect chapter two relatively soon.
Thanks and please review.
