The Curse
by LotusBlake

Disclaimer: All characters contained in this story belong to J.K. Rowling, I do not own anything but my tiny wisp of a plot!



Ginny Wealsey yawned as she walked to the Great Hall for breakfast, creeping quietly down the silent halls, her footsteps the only sound. She was up long before anyone else having had a nightmare about that awful Malfoy boy. After having it, she could not get back to sleep - his face kept flashing in her mind, with that ever-present smirk on his face.

But, miracle of miracles, when she reached the Great Hall, there was only one other occupant...

Ginny couldn't tell who it was at first. All she could see of him was the back of his blond head, hunched over a sheet of parchment. It must be Zacharias Smith, Ginny thought. Zacharias was a whiney Hufflepuff, who seemed to love complaining, and he was one person she was not in the mood to talk with. Ignoring his presence, Ginny slipped into a seat at the Gryffindor table and pulled out a sheaf of paper and quill. Other than the nightmare she had experienced, the reason Ginny came down so early was to get some of her homework done. The professors loved piling homework on them during the first term, as if testing how much they could handle. Snape by far was the worst: Ginny needed to write 16 inches on the usefulness of Demiguise hair for him, but she only had one sentence. The hair of a Demiguise is extremely useful to wizards today. What was worse, the assignment was due that morning.

Dipping her quill in a bottle of ink, Ginny closed her eyes, pondering what to write next. .are very interesting creatures, themselves, but their hair is what makes them important ?' What on earth is a Demiguise, anyway?

Doing some last minute homework, Weasley? A voice drawled, interrupting her thoughts.

Ginny's blood turned cold, and slowly she turned around, hoping it wasn't whom she thought it was. Her eyes met a curling sneer and pale face that could only belong to one person—and it most certainly was not Zacharias Smith.

The sight of him standing there, his eyes raking up her body made Ginny feel physically ill. He looked exactly the way he did in her dream... Frowning, Ginny tried to erase the haunting nightmare from her memory. It wasn't real, she told herself. If only she could believe it.

What do you want, Malfoy? Ginny said, gathering up every ounce of her Gryffindor courage.

If I had a sickle for every time I heard that Look, Wealsey, I'm not going to explain myself to you.

Ginny wished she could wipe that smirk off his pointed face. Did you come over here to ask me to Hogsmeade? Because I'd have to say no— I don't date ferrets.

Instead of blushing, as Ginny had hoped, Draco's smirk widened. You know, Weasley, anyone who told you to be yourself couldn't have given worse advice.

Ginny flushed. Malfoy, if you've done what you came to do, would you mind going? Really, I've got a lot of work to do—

As I can see, his silver eyes flickered to the parchment she had been writing on. Demiguise hair interesting. Tell me, Weasley, do you even know what a demiguise is?



Draco arched his eyebrows. Allow me to enlighten you— Merlin knows you need it. Demiguises are large ape-like creatures with long silvery hair used in weaving invisibility cloaks. If woven correctly, it can give the wearer complete invisibility.

I knew what a demiguise was, Ginny lied.

Well, in any case, at least, you do now. Draco turned on his heel, and strode over to the Slytherin table, his robes billowing behind him. What? That's it? Ginny looked curiously after Malfoy, who was now sitting back at the Slytherin table, a book in his hand. What had happened to Malfoy's usual cacophony of snide remarks about her family or her wealth? He couldn't have changedcould he have?

Ginny suddenly wished there were more students in the Great Hall. She didn't feel comfortable being alone with a Malfoy. Even if he had changed, she would still always think of him as that evil, snobby bully that picked on her big brother.

Sighing, Ginny lifted her quill once more, scratching down everything Malfoy had told her. It's odd, Ginny thought after she had finished writing. Why would Malfoy try to help me like that? Suddenly, a thought hit Ginny like a jolt of lightning. Of course! He was lying to me. Why hadn't she thought of it before? Why had she so innocently written an entire essay based on the words of one boy—especially one who seemed to be out to get her! Malfoy must be having a good laugh right now. Why do I have to be so trusting?

Crumpling the parchment in her hands, Ginny stole a glance at Malfoy. From where she sat, she could see that he was elegantly sipping from his goblet, his eyes glued to a book resting on his long hands.

It was strange— Malfoy looked a lot less sinister when he was reading. His features seemed to soften and the way his hair fell into his face caused him to look almost angelic. Blinking, Ginny looked back and suddenly there was the old Malfoy looking up from his book, his grey eyes sneering at her.

The red-haired girl quickly looked away, a blush rising to her cheeks. She did not want Malfoy to think that she had been staring.

Ginny took a sip of pumpkin juice from her tall goblet. The cool liquid's flavour burst in her mouth—but it was not the taste that Ginny would have expected from an ordinary mouthful of pumpkin juice. The drink was somehow off, and there was an after-taste that just did not seem right. Ginny came to the conclusion that it tasted a bit like rotten eggs and sludge— most certainty not the ideal taste of a beverage.

Ginny Weasley was just about to ponder why her beverage had such an odd taste when suddenly and with great gusto, the doors to the Great Hall flew open.

What on earth—

Ginny craned her neck to see a small house elf with a terrified expression on his face dash in, shaking like leaf and looking as if he had done something terribly wrong. Ginny chanced a look at Malfoy, who had dropped his book and was looking mildly annoyed at the elf's appearance.

No one followed after the house elf, and again Ginny wished that she wasn't alone with Malfoy.


The house elf was wearing a worn rag and his large eyes were red-rimmed from what Ginny assumed had been tears. Frantically, he looked around the Great Hall, as if searching for something that no one else could see. She could barely hear him mumbling to himself, Master Dumbledore hasn't come to breakfast yet. Oh, but look who has! Two students have come early— not good not good at all. How does Dippy tell them?


Tell us what? Ginny asked, dreading the answer.

The house elf blinked and then suddenly bursted into hysteric tears. Not knowing what else to do, Ginny raced up to him and kneeling she offered him a worn handkerchief. The elf did not accept it, and instead began wailing even louder, tears pouring down his face.

What happened? What's going on? Ginny asked frantically, noticing in the corner of her eye that Malfoy had come up next to her, looking amused at Ginny's confusion and the elf's frantic state.


Apparently trying to collect himself, the house elf opened his mouth. Miss, Dippy has done a terrible thing!




Author's Note: Take small moment of your time to review, please! I'll feel much more compelled to keep writing if I get some feedback--any type is welcomed!