A/N: My computer must be the stupidest thing on this whole planet!!! I honestly think this only because this is the THIRD chapter that it has erased for this story . . . nothing else is missing . . . anyways, here is my very, very, oh-so very late chapter four of Windows.
Disclaimer: I hate brothers. Mine is getting too smart for his own good—have I said that already? Dunno, oh well . . . I still hate brothers. L
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Windows
Chapter Four
(What the hell are Mystics?)
(Draco, sit down . . . *rolls eyes*)
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"Um, we're wizards, not Mystics. Those are so fairy-tale. I mean, come ON!" Ginny said in a slow voice, as though explaining it to some school children.
Sethos looked at her, "Mystics? Fairy tales? That's what I thought. Used my powers, undesignedly. Then I got expelled . . . twice."
"Yeah, I know what you're going through," Emmy piped in.
"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, outraged.
"You know, what you're thinking: Are they mad? What kind of stupid joke is this?"
"It'd be quite a fine joke, though," Jacob chimed in, grinning. "Could you imagine the look on their faces when they find out that they're Mystics?—er, unless we've—" Jacob gasped and looked at Draco and Ginny. They had just met them here, and cringing at the thought, continued, "—unless we've got the wrong people,"
Jacob's face had now turned a sickly sort of pale green.
Sethos glared at his absurd thought, but Jacob kept going.
"Uh—er, surprise?! This was all a—a—mista—uh, joke! Ha?! There's a camera there, there, and there!" Jacob said uncertainly, pointing at three corners of the hall vaguely at his last.
"Camera?" Everyone but Ebony and Emmy asked.
"Um, Muggle . . . thing . . ." answered Jacob, his green face tingeing a deep pink.
"Shut up, you prat," Emmy told him.
"But—what if they aren't—" he looked at Draco and Ginny staring curiously at him and restated, "whom we think they are?"
"Oh, of course they are! Albus Dumbledore said himself that they were the only two having knowledge of this place. I think they call it the Music Hall or something by the likes of it," Ebony recalled crossly.
"That would explain the Baby Grand," Jacob said thoughtfully to himself.
"It's a Grand Piano, thank you very much," Ginny snapped indignantly. "Now what is this Mystic nonsense?"
Draco nodded his head to himself, "Absolute rubbish if you ask me."
Ginny narrowed her eyes at him, "But I didn't, you git,"
Draco took a step away from the threatening girl and raised his hands in front of his face defensively.
"I didn't do anything, Weasley," he said.
Ginny paced her way towards him, her arms ominously waving in the air.
Sethos rolled his eyes and Celeste caught their attention.
It was also inevitable, too, for her eyes were as wide as saucers and her jaw had dropped to the ground, "What are you two? The Ignorant Duo or something of sorts? I mean honestly!!!"
Draco muttered into Ginny's ear, "And I thought Dumbledore was the only crackpot around here," which would have made her burst out laughing if it weren't for a number of things: her surprise that he would even talk to her; the fact that he had referred to Dumbledore as a crackpot; the comment coming from Draco; and the confusion that drowned her into a pool where Mystics were only on the verge of reality.
Unfortunately, Draco decided to open his fat mouth again, "Well, if there are such things as Mystics, who and what are they, exactly?"
"Er—do you think we should tell them?" Jacob asked everyone, yet to no one in particular.
"No." Ebony answered with a tone of finality.
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Escorted by the many limbs of the five people they had met an hour ago, Draco and Ginny arrived at the entrance to Dumbledore's office.
"This is the entrance to the Headmaster's office? It's—it's hideous!" exclaimed Draco, staring wide-eyed at the gargoyle in front of them.
"Yeah . . . so what?" asked Ginny defensively, lamely—if you'd like to include that little factor.
Jacob, out of the blue, slapped his hand on his forehead and said through gritted teeth, "Shit! What's the damn password to this ugly thing?!"
Emmy snapped her head in his direction, "Jacob! Since when do you say—"
"Aw shut the bloody hell up, will you?" he retorted. He didn't need her scolding right now . . . he needed the stupid password!
"See? I'm not the only one who thinks that thing is ugly," muttered Draco to Ginny under his breath.
Ginny let out a breath of frustration and replied, under her breath as well, "Shut up and go to hell."
Draco smirked.
"I believe the 'bloody password' as you referred to, Jacob, is a candy item," said a voice from down the corridor.
They looked up to see Harry—goonless (as Draco thought)—approach the crowd of students.
"Ah, Potter, I see you've made friends with Mum," Celeste said . . . unfortunately referring to Jacob as 'Mum.'
Jacob shot her a glare that plainly said, 'Go on and say that one more time . . .'
Harry, catching on to the 'game' raised an eyebrow and said, "Mum? What happened? D' Jacob get a sex change and a full makeover done on him or what? I've always wondered why he was so . . . lanky."
Sethos chuckled and went to give Jacob a pat on the head and muss up his hair, "Oy, leave the kid be. Celeste, you act like you're an aunt of old age trying to be 'cool' again. Quite sad, really."
Everyone around giggled—or rolled their eyes in Draco's case—whilst Celeste scowled darkly, murmuring foul language and glancing at Sethos who had become quite practiced in smirking.
Ebony totally relished in being the 'Breaker of Moments'; she proved this by interrupting the laughter of her fellow peers, "So, what exactly is the password to Dumbledore's office, Harry?"
"I'm not exactly sure . . . it's usually a kind of . . . candy. Like: Cockroach Clusters; Pepper Imps; Toothflossing Stringmints; Fizzing Whizbees—"
"Droobles Best Bubble Gum?"
"Yeah—"
"Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean?"
"Er, yes—"
"Oh! Oh! I know! Jelly Slugs!" spat Draco sarcastically.
Suddenly, the gargoyle leapt aside, to reveal an upward spiraling staircase.
"Well, there you go. Better catch the top step if you don't fancy climbing three stories up. Cheers." Harry said with a smile and he stalked away, feeling very confused—had he done the right thing? Telling them the password to Dumbledore's office?
They could have been planning to trash it or something; steal Fawkes' tears, blood, or feathers; perhaps even rob it? But why then would Ginny be there with them? So he hadn't been on civil—nor speaking (needless to say)—terms with her lately; had he missed a hint? Was she now Draco Malfoy II? Naw, she can't be that evil, if she is, anyhow.
And if she was evil, apprenticed and mastered by Draco Malfoy himself, why would all the transfers be there with them? And what was Malfoy doing there anyway? Harry would expect him with say Sethos, but the lot of Gryffindors? And a Ravenclaw . . . and one would wonder how that little dirty-blonde haired, big blue-eyed little 'kid' didn't get into Hufflepuff. And with Ginny? Ginny . . . Gin-bug . . . yes, little Ginny had grown up, hadn't she? Should Harry tell Ron? No, you small-brained git, he knows that already. All these questions . . . most of them only rhetorical—most only to ponder, like the meaning of life.
What was the meaning of life anyway? Who knows . . . who cares? Not anybody he knew did . . . Hmm, meaning of life; oh! Harry knows: act cool around his new crush, Catherine Danbury . . .
Yep, there was Catty at the end of the hallway, with all her straight blonde-haired, big green-eyed, sensuous beauty, in blue.
Okay Harry, act cool; Harry ran a hand through his hair, only to find it stopped an inch or so into the untamable mess that was his mane.
Alright, that didn't work. Um, BE cool; Harry strutted down the hall, as if he owned the place, and gave a nod in her direction, but as the nod was too exaggerated, he seemed to look as if he were insanely cracking his neck, which he also did by the way, needless to say, it hurt . . . a LOT.
Fine, Harry think COOL thoughts, just THINK cool thoughts . . . something is bound to come out of it eventually; so Harry thought cool thoughts, and as he made his way towards Catty, a lame question escaped from his lips, "Uh—um, how's—how's Arithmancy?" he offered upon seeing her Arithmancy textbook.
Oh yeah, COOL. God that was lame!
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Sethos pushed Ginny onto the stair and Draco stepped on after her as the staircase wound its way up the tavern and soon a blank wall came into view before them as the staircase stopped traversing upwards and a door magically appeared in the stone-forged wall of the castle.
"Uh . . ." Ginny said, oblivious at what to do.
"Uh . . . ? Um, maybe KNOCK?" Draco mocked sarcastically.
"Shut up! You sound like a bloody girl when you mock me." Ginny snapped imprudently.
Draco scoffed, rolled his eyes, and said in a high falsetto, "Like, whatever," as he threw his hands up in the air and began to "file" his nails with an invisible nail-file.
Ginny watched for a moment, horrified.
Draco scoffed once again, imitating an annoyed Pansy Parkinson, "Um, like what's all the beef about, girl?" in an unnaturally accurate way.
"Ugh! Stoppit!" Ginny shouted; this was getting freaky. "You're scaring me . . . bad."
"Weasley can't even handle an act, how nice," Draco muttered, inescapable to Ginny's ears he made sure.
"Trust me Malfoy, if you were in theatre, you'd be great in a duck-suit speaking in Spanish, 'Ay, yo soy pato!' I'm sure you'd make one hell of a great show."
(A/N: 'Ay, yo soy pato!' means something along the lines of "Oy, I'm a duck!" Pato=Duck=Gay. Pato is slang for gay in Spanish . . . Get it? Okay, whatever, if you are confused, lemme know and I'll try and explain.)
Malfoy, it seemed, rolled his eyes for the millionth time that day, and walked past Ginny, poised to knock at the door when it flew open and an exhausted Cornelius Fudge peered out and waved them in the office as he stepped out.
All around, gadgets and gizmos, books and scrolls lined the tables, bookshelves, bookcases, chairs, and even floated in midair. Silver instruments took up more space along tabletops and chairs.
"Ah, I've been expecting you two," said a dull voice from the top of yet another set of stairs.
"Headmaster? I—we don't mean any bother, but, you see—we're sort of—well, I'm sort of—" Ginny began, nervous, suddenly unaware of how to state her question of 'What's a Mystic? Am I a Mystic? Um, you didn't tell me this because . . . why?'
"Get to the point, Weasley," Draco interrupted irritably.
"That was my precise intention, Malfoy," Ginny retorted, patience having no effect around Malfoy.
"Er, Professor Dumbledore, we—uh, we—uh—we would like to know—wait, why were you expecting us, now?"
Dumbledore chuckled softly.
Draco rolled his eyes.
Ginny scoffed and said, "You know Malfoy, if you keep doing that, your eyes are gonna stay that way."
Draco rolled his eyes again.
"See?! You did it again! I—I'm telling you, if you keep doing that, one day when you least expect it, they're soooooo gonna stay that way. Just watch; keep doing that and you'll find out how a cross-eye works."
Draco, unable to roll his eyes, shot her a glare.
An amused spectator, Dumbledore watched the adolescent's squabble, unbeknownst to the quarrelsome pair.
"All right, fine. Glare at me as you will. But I'll bet you'll find yourself lying on the floor, one eye screwed shut because you didn't listen to me and I decided to punch your eye in doing you a favour."
"I doubt you'll ever lay a hand on me," Draco retorted.
"Oh? And what makes you say that? Fa—"
"Ugh! Shut it Weasley! I did not come here to discuss in which ways possible for you to kill my eyes!"
Ginny blushed fervently, apparently recalling the fact she was right in front of her Headmaster.
"Sorry, Headmaster; I apologise for my behaviour. It—it wasn't exactly pleasant . . ." Ginny muttered regretfully.
"Oh on the contrary, Miss Weasley, I find it quite amusing what a family feud can do to two persons so alike each other. It's actually a shame, really: everything you'll miss out on in the future—you two could accomplish many implausible things together and with your fellow Mystics," Dumbledore replied, his eyes laughing amusingly.
Ginny would've thought Dumbledore mad for everything he had just said, had it not been for the uproar and explanation following his few statements.
"And just what the hell are Mystics?!" Draco said, losing the better of his temper.
"Now, now, Mister Malfoy, there's no need to shout such foul language around these parts," said Dumbledore calmly, "Come into my office, and I shall explain; it is important you understand this quickly—the Ministry has gotten a tip-off from—ah, well, yes. Let's see . . . Mystics. . ."
They followed the headmaster into his office as he spoke and seated themselves opposite him.
"Tales from the Lost Land, as they call it; prophecies millenniums old; and just exactly what started it all? The Aelfthryth, the passer on of the Power—"
"The Aelpth-who?" Ginny asked, unable to pronounce that word.
Dumbledore chuckled, though for some reason, the laugh didn't reach his eyes, "The Ae-elf-thrith, m'dear, Ae-elf-thrith. Now, a Seer at around 356 BC decided to work out one of her family secrets; the Prophecy of the Blessed Children. As she worked, she began to uncover maps, hidden trails, relatives kept secret, and spell books three to four eons old, all hidden in her Manor. That Manor still has its mysteries. She never quite figured out everything, but—"
"Hang on, what family secret and which prophecy?" Draco asked.
"Yes, well—" Dumbledore began.
"Yeah, and maps, trails . . . secret relatives? Spell books eons old . . . and what Manor?" Ginny interrupted as well.
"You see—"
The Headmaster was cut short yet again by a short rap on the door.
"Yes?" Dumbledore called.
"A note from Professor McGonagall, sir," came an excited voice from outside the office.
"Show yourself in, then," Albus replied.
A very energetic Dennis Creevey poked his head through the door and ran inside so fast his hat flew off his head and landed on the bird perch, needless to say it swallowed Fawkes whole.
Dennis' ears burned a hot pink.
"Sorry about that . . ." he said apologetically. Then, upon seeing Ginny and Draco for the first time in the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, he felt himself go red in the face.
Fawkes squawked a most unpleasant note: a really high E flat, from underneath Dennis' black wizard's hat.
Draco and Ginny cringed. Both being musicians, they knew every way possible to avoid that note, though unfortunately; this was an occasion where they were both cross in finding they were helpless to mend that E flat.
Dumbledore smiled at Dennis nonetheless. "Mister Creevey, the letter then, if you please,"
Dennis, absolutely refusing to look at either of the sitting, exasperated pair, handed his headmaster McGonagall's letter.
Wonder what they did to get themselves landed in here, thought Dennis as he stole a glance at the duo.
"Very well, Mister Creevey," Dumbledore reached into his desk drawer and retrieved himself a fine eagle-owl-feathered quill and a yellowed piece of parchment and scribbled the professor a quick reply in his handsome writing.
The curious thing was—that is if anyone were to think anything more curious than a school of witchcraft and wizardry headmaster dealing with two feuding teenagers, a nervous boy of fourteen, and a phoenix squawking from under an excessively large hat—was the fact that he kept looking around at them all, as if deep in thought, straining to find the precise wording of his correspondence, when he'd no doubt written countless letters in his life, having an immense vocabulary collection; though his age wasn't showing, he was looking like a schoolboy trying to remember the answer to his Potions test. He seemed to look like Goyle when attempting to cipher the difference between a Pumpkin Pasty and a Cauldron Cake, in Draco's opinion.
Subsequent to tying up the parchment with a bit of string that had just appeared in front of Dumbledore's long crooked nose, he handed the parcel to Dennis, who took it and he said to him, "Thank you, Mister Creevey, and send Minerva my utmost apologies."
"Er—yes, headmaster, sir," returned Dennis upon dismissal.
Again, that E flat muffled squawk was heard resounding from beneath the hat.
"And Dennis," said Dumbledore in his soft, melodious tone, "Fetch yourself your hat, you hear? Don't want to be listening to Fawkes' efforts to join the symphony. Bad idea to give him . . ." he shook his head slowly, "At least he isn't competing in one of those Muggle telly-bimble shows, eh? I reckon they'd either kick him out on his fanny, or worst, host him on one of those Extraordinary Findings programs."
Dennis anxiously snapped his hat off of Fawkes, murmuring a second, hurried apology to his headmaster, and stepped through the door, trying very hard not to laugh.
Telly-bimble, huh? Dennis thought.
Well you can't exactly call yourself 'smooth' either, argued a second voice in his head.
Oy! Stay out of my head, now! Everyone already thinks I'm barking mad, Dennis thought to his thought.
. . . Dropping a hat on his phoenix . . . it's lucky he's got a sense of humour, that man Dumbledore, you know, said the second voice, apparently refusing to listen to Dennis' defensive thoughts.
Yeah, lucky . . . no point in rebutting, that second voice in your head will always stump you (sooner or later).
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"Hmm, apprehensive that boy Creevey, eh?" said Dumbledore to himself.
Draco gave him a look that said plainly, "You've got to be kidding me,"
Dumbledore's attention fluttered suddenly to Ginny and Draco before him.
"Ah, yes, yes . . . Mystics." He stood up, his deep violet robes shining at the embroidery on his collar, and paced randomly around the room, two pairs of brown and grey eyes staring uneasily at him.
He pulled at his silvery beard and as he looked out of the window onto the Hogwarts grounds he spoke just above a whisper, "Cassandra Louse was this woman, the first of the Aelfthryth. She never married, being fully engrossed in her search. But she inherited her family's fortune, being Seer and first born. Though her testament left her inheritance to her sister and her sister's husband, her studies went with her to the grave.
"Cassandra contributed quite a few prophecies in her day; some for publicity, some in the middle of her morning walk. She would often have to carry around Zonko's Spywear to record her predictions so she could later pen them down.
"One prophecy, one that is stored deep in that room in the Department of Mysteries," Ginny looked down at the floor at the mention of the Department, and Dumbledore gave her a willful smile, "was fulfilled three centennials ago:
THE CONVEYING OF TRAITS WILL BE DEFINED,
WHENCE THREE TO THREE ALAS COMBINE
THOUGHTS, MINDS, TALENTS ALIKE,
WILL OVERPOWER AND TAKE FLIGHT.
THEY WILL JOIN
COIN TO COIN
AND HAND IN HAND
DISPERSE THE EVIL OF THE LAND
THOUGH SEEMINGLY ENOUGH THEY WILL
TRAGICALLY OBIDE AND FULFILL
THE DARK TREACHEROUS TIMES THAT AWAIT,
THEY WILL LIGHT THE TORCH OF FATE
SPREADING SPARKS OF JOY, NOT HATE
AND THREE TO THREE WILL FALL AGAIN
WHEN WILFUL WISHES CHASE THEM AWAY
NEVER WERE THE THREE TO THREE
SPECIAL, DIFFERENT, MYSTICAL, THEN.
UNTIL COMES THE DAY
THAT THE FOUR TO THREE WILL STAY."
Dumbledore recited the prophecy without hesitation and the words hung in Ginny's mind before she could sensibly string a sentence together a few moments later, "Headmaster Dumbledore, sir, exactly what is the 'THREE TO THREE'?"
It seemed to take Draco a bit longer to comprehend the foretelling, for he sat staring without blinking at the wall nearest Dumbledore, and replied dumbly in a monotonous voice, as if he were in a trance, "It's part of the prophecy,"
Ginny raised an eyebrow in his direction but he paid no mind as he noticed he had spoken stupidly in a matter of seconds.
"The six Blessed Children; one is added every time a generation of Children are added—"
"So that makes this the seventh then? Is that the 'FOUR TO THREE,' then?" Draco asked, making sure it came out sensible enough, to make up for his very un-Malfoyish remark, that was, much to his horror, meaningful.
"Precisely, until it reaches nine Blessed Children, the Apocalypse will reside, the End of the World will come, because all evil ends with the ninth generation of Children. You are here to disperse the evil in the current time and place, none other. For every Dark Age there is a Blessed Child insulting his opposition." Dumbledore explained.
"Did they ever hear of the Dark Ages, then?" Draco commented sarcastically.
"Have you ever heard of Storytellers?" Ginny asked him.
"What?" he snapped.
"Storytellers; fairy-tales: Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty?" she asked again.
"Snow White?" Draco repeated.
"The stories cheered them up while the Black Plague killed them," Ginny stated as if it were normal to have tragic deaths and romances in the same scene.
Come to think of it, Draco thought, there was one . . . Romiette and Julius, or something by the likes of it.
Draco stared, wondering where in the world the Weasley girl had come up with all of this rubbish.
"Where in the world did you come up with all of this rubbish?" he asked her.
"It's not rubbish," she retorted.
He looked at her disbelievingly.
"I did not make it up," Ginny offered.
He still gave her that skeptical look.
Ginny rolled her eyes and scoffed indignantly, "Muggle Studies, you idiot," she said as though it explained everything. As a matter of a fact, it actually did sort of explain everything.
Dumbledore clapped his hands together and cleared his throat; his audience was being distracted again.
"Sorry," the duo muttered in unison. They automatically snapped their heads in the other's direction and scowled at each other as if saying things in unison weren't to be done, for they couldn't possibly be allowed for humanity's sake to do anything in unison.
"Well, it seems to me we best get on with this lesson, my pupils," Dumbledore stated.
Draco and Ginny resumed their positions facing the desk where behind it Dumbledore paced, pausing every once in a while to catch glimpses of their facial expressions. It really did help; expressions were like markings on an uncharted trail only used by the ones who made it. Appearances were crucial and useful tools in the middle of an explanatory; without them, one could only guess the precise comprehension of the partner or partners, in this case.
"Where were we? Ah, yes, the Blessed Generations of sorts, correct?" he did not pause for their answer nor did he search their faces for any sort of response but kept pronouncing, "Unfortunately, the Generations could be millenniums apart, as seen between the Fifth and Sixth. The last was mere three hundred years ago, though they were not recognized properly. The three to three were seen only as talented and wise witches and wizards, their gifts mere 'powers' developed before their time.
"Evidently, the Generations do not all give berth in Europe, oh no. The first was in Jerusalem, the second in the Philippines, the third in Nigeria, the fourth in America, the fifth in the Caribbean, the sixth in Oceania and now the seventh here in our own Britain."
Draco was, in one word, overwhelmed by all of this information. He wasn't used to learning about things he hadn't heard about, or forced to learn by his father. It was vile enough to think about all he had to learn about the stupid Mystics, but worst enough was to think about that stupid curse Sethos had confirmed. Even that swarthy boy knew about his "curse" or whatnot. It seemed his father had plenty of explaining to do. And why was it exactly that Weasley hadn't a clue about her being a Mystic either?
It was hard to say who was more confused; Ginny or Draco. Ginny was in a similar state of mind: thoughts swarming through her head, questions taking up too much room, memories of her parents holding back on something, it all made too much sense now, what with Dumbledore sitting in front of her and all. But what if this was all a joke? What if Malfoy had paid all those new kids and Dumbledore to act it out? But then, what about the serious remodeling of the Music Hall . . . place? What about that? Who could've done that? Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, an optical illusion just like the entrance to it? Malfoy couldn't have been that advanced in his magical education, could he? Were seventh years really that far ahead? If this was the ticket, then Ginny had a lot to learn. . . .
But judging on the look on Draco's face, he was just as oblivious and confused as she was.
Dumbledore paused his pacing and looked at the faces of his students. Ginny's eyes showed fear, and Draco's showed shock and disbelief. He could see the rogue in both of them. Sooner or later, one was going to explode. Dumbledore sat down in his chair and in reference to the portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses on the wall behind Ginny and Draco, watched them for moral support and security of nerves. It was going to be hard to handle the way they were going to take the fact that the world's fate rested in their hands.
But the portraits did nothing but pretend they were asleep with ears perked and listening attentively. This, entertaining Dumbledore, was enough support and security that was needed and so he recommenced his speech concerning the very rare topic of Mystics.
But at a glance at his two pupils, he noticed something was rather dull about Draco Malfoy.
"It has come to my attention that there is something bothering you, Mister Malfoy," he said this in a way which gave Draco the feeling he was being examined thoroughly by an unstaring headmaster.
Draco gave him a look that said, "Not now," and Dumbledore, digesting this fact, went on to explain their actual beings.
"Anyhow, you along with the new transfers, or as you would call them, Wombles, are the new generation of Mystics. You, along with your powers—"
"What powers? You mean our education in magic?" Ginny questioned.
"Alas, behold your memories and bestow them upon the present. Is there anything you made happen, that even the touch of sorcery couldn't explain?"
"Er—I don't know if it would be correct in saying the event par say is an example of what you're talking about—so. . . ." Ginny said, recollecting her strangest moment at the Burrow.
"Go on," Dumbledore implored.
"Well, when I was about ten years old. The twins were here at Hogwarts, and they came home for the holidays, and used me as their test subject for WWW," Ginny began.
"What is WWW?" asked Draco.
"Honestly, don't you ever get out? Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, you goof-a-doodle. They've got a joke shop circling Britain, or haven't you known? Do you remember the Weasley Escape two years back or not? Are you really that dense, Malfoy?" Ginny retorted, not believing Malfoy didn't know the famous Weasley Joke Shop.
"Oh, that rubbish. Sorry, but I don't associate myself with you Weasleys, thank you very much," Draco replied rudely.
"Well then, Mister Malfoy, I suppose you are not up to taking the task as Mystic?" asked Dumbledore.
"Of course I am, Professor," Draco said, awaiting his next (no doubt cheeky) statement.
"Then you should begin to appreciate the Weasleys. For Miss Virginia is one, and you shall have to associate with her, she also is a Mystic as well and you two will have to learn how to deal with each other and these childish insults are henceforth prohibited. If you are at odds, I suggest the pair of you spend some quality time together," Dumbledore said sharply.
Ginny's smirk vanished as Dumbledore said the last of his speech. She was completely mortified. He can't have been serious though, right?
The slight pink tinge that had appeared on Draco's pale cheeks was now replaced with a pale, greenish shade. He, of course, was the first to crack. "Oy, Dumbledore, we're not married," he shuddered at the thought and Ginny held an expression of pure disgust which deepened when she looked over at Malfoy, "and I think we'd be getting along fine without that sort of counseling."
"Hear, hear," Ginny managed to sputter.
Dumbledore chuckled in a most pleased sort of way. A Malfoy and a Weasley agreeing on something . . . that was definitely a first.
Ginny laughed nervously with him and Draco looked at them both and rolled his eyes.
The youngest Weasley then stated apprehensively, "Funny, Professor, extremely hilarious. I actually thought you were serious for a moment,"
"Now, don't get me wrong, Miss Weasley. It was most meaningful," said Dumbledore ominously.
Ginny could've passed out right then and there, but Dumbledore swiftly changed the subject.
But Ginny's and Draco's minds weren't there with their headmaster. This was really scaring the both of them . . . quality time?! What was quality time? Surely he didn't mean associating in front of everyone? That would certainly be most . . . disturbing.
"Miss Weasley!" Dumbledore called.
Ginny snapped her head up.
Draco blinked.
Both fell out of their reveries.
"Yes?" Ginny answered.
"You were saying? The twins, Fizzing Wheezeballs?" Dumbledore pressed.
Ginny said, "Oh, yeah. Um, where was I?"
"WWW, remember?" Draco responded.
"Oh. Well, the twins secretly chose me as their prank target for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Their newest addition was an improvement of the modern Fizzing Whizbee, and because their ongoing effort on its improvement wasn't as much a joke to them then, they decided to experiment it on me.
"So at dinner, they stuck my bum onto my chair, and gave me a dose of their modified version of a Silencing Charm; what that does is make the consumer smile in a most pleased sort of way and silently nod, which was the most of my figure at that point.
"Fred stuck a Whizbee in my potatoes while George spooned it up and made me eat it. That was the most horrible sensation I have ever experienced, I say.
"It exploded in my mouth and began zooming about, colliding with the roof of my mouth and then it burst into a million little pieces which were less tasteful than the last bit, and it all concluding with a rush of adrenalin that could not be released because of my current condition. My temper got the best of me . . . and well, next thing the twins knew, disaster struck.
"George was left with his nose stuck in his goblet of milk, and Fred with a forkful of steak in his mouth. They both received the worst punishment one could ever give to a man; they obtained wedgies," Ginny said.
"I know, I know," she said upon seeing Draco cringe at the thought of getting a wedgy, "The worst part was that because of the wedgies, they could barely speak. I mean, when they did, they sounded as if they had been on helium for quite some time. Certainly it took a while for everyone else to notice there was something wrong. Seemingly enough, Fred practically choked on his steak and George had his milk go up his nose quite a few times. Then father was so proud of me, he actually didn't contact the Ministry for an hour or so. The Magical Removal Squad didn't arrive until ten to midnight."
Dumbledore chuckled and then he said, "Well Miss Weasley that, in my opinion, is very lucky. Though, you didn't suspect that as some sort of other power? I suppose it would be difficult, sorcery being the only thing you know how to acknowledge."
Ginny shook her head, "No sir,"
Dumbledore nodded his head in response and continued, "That night your parents celebrated your display of magic and received a most important letter from the Ministry. It said as much that you had performed Underage Wizardry—the event being such an extraordinary display of magic—although you hadn't a wand. When we received that response it was taken under most precaution that the following information to never be disturbed, unless the occasion came before: you were a Mystic, Ginny."
Silence.
And soon Ginny found it was the opportune moment to ask, "But why didn't anyone tell me?"
Dumbledore looked at her through his half moon spectacles and whispered in his soft voice, "Your parents had their reasons, mostly because they wanted to protect you from decisions you were too young to make,"
"Decisions? What descicions?" Ginny blurted.
"The decision that all Mystics will have to take at one point in time: whether you will be of service to all that is good or all that is evil is your choice. With the time you are in now, Voldemort and his followers, the Death Eaters, would have surely run amok searching for you, to use you for their own . . . plot," Dumbledore answered.
"But, at the time there was no Voldemort—well, at least no one knew there was," Ginny argued.
Draco was the one to respond to this, "Mm, yes. But you are forgetting one important thing; he still had his Death Eaters."
"Precisely, Mister Malfoy," said Dumbledore, giving him an odd look. "It was because of this they chose to seal their verdict and deliver it into secrecy."
"So what? They could have at least told me something," Ginny pressed.
"My dear child," Dumbledore began, "it was their love for you that caused them not to tell you,"
"That's not what happened in Harry's case—with the Dursleys and all," Ginny muttered stubbornly.
Dumbledore continued, "That's beside the point, Miss Weasley. You must understand that it had only been a year after the Dark Lord's mysterious disappearance you were born. They did not know of your gift, and thus had no responsibility in telling you. When they did find out, however, they were given the decision to tell you or to keep your ability from you until the time was right. Since you were still at a very young age, it was suggested you wouldn't really understand anything they would tell you. There was also the decision-making factor to take into consideration. All of the acknowledged Mystics have chosen to stay by all that is good, choosing not to practice the Dark Arts. Though I cannot say the same for this Generation, for many of you have darker paths than those found in the Forbidden Forest,"
Draco flinched for two reasons: a) because he was one with a dark past, and b) he wasn't too fond of the Forbidden Forest—that is, not since First Year.
Suddenly, a very not-too off-topic question aroused in Draco's mind, "Professor, is this why Fudge was here?"
Dumbledore's eyes flashed impassively, but they flashed nonetheless.
"Cornelius was here to discuss a matter concerning you two, and the rest of the Blessed Children, yes. Although the majority of it is a bit confidential at the moment, I suppose I could—fill you in,"
Ginny slouched in her chair. Better get comfortable; I've been here for quite some time, and it seems I'll be here even longer.
Draco, however, leaned in to listen closely at his headmaster's coming words.
"A meeting will be taking place tomorrow, instructions on where to go will be owled to you. Ministry representatives will be present so I advise you two to be on your best behaviour. Perhaps I could arrange for your quality time sessions to ensue tomorrow,"
Oh no, not the quality time thing again! Ginny thought.
Draco must have been thinking along the same lines for he freed his urge to scoff.
Dumbledore ignored them as his eyes twinkled, amused. "Also, classes will be postponed for the ten of you—"
"Wait a second! Ten of us?" Draco interrupted, his eyebrow raised. That was the slightest bit of emotion he could display.
"Yes, Mister Malfoy, the ten of you. Mister Potter, Mister Weasley, and Miss Granger will be joining you in your training," Dumbledore answered.
"We have training to do?" Ginny said, unpleased by the matter of more work.
"To exercise and certify your gift, of course, Miss Weasley," was the headmaster's reply.
Dumbledore went on to explain that they had better behave themselves during training. After many protests and rolling of eyes, compliments of Draco, Dumbledore excused Ginny but held on to Draco.
Ginny exited through the office doors, after muttering her farewells to her great headmaster and petting Fawkes.
In entering her common room, she was guided to her, ostensibly, new dormitory with Celeste and Emmy. Its sign read:
6th Year
Gifted Girls
Emmy's eyes sparkled and Celeste was encouraging with interest as Ginny recalled her meeting with Dumbledore. They went absolutely insane in bursts of giggles when Ginny told of her account with her two twin brothers. Especially Emmy;
"Are they cute?" Emmy asked.
Ginny smiled, "Dunno, maybe I'll introduce them to you sometime,"
Emmy giggled back, blushing.
Celeste stated matter-of-factly, "You'll soon find out, Gin, that there is almost nothing on this girl's mind but boys,"
Emmy's face went scarlet and Ginny went on explaining, ("There's this really cute Ravenclaw, then. You may be interested in him . . . ") glad that she finally had someone to spill out to.
Ginny felt as if Emmy and Celeste had been in her life all along as they joked, laughed, and talked as if it were routine. Two words came to mind as the youngest Weasley chuckled at Celeste's sarcastic remark ("Oh yes, because you're not that shallow, Emmy,") : soul sisters.
They even shared their opinions on little Draco when Ginny mentioned Dumbledore's great idea of "quality time."
Emmy shook her head sadly at Ginny, "Gin, I feel sorry for you, mate, really, I do,"
Ginny, a bit boggled by the comment asked why.
"Why?"
"I feel sorry for you because you're a Weasley—your first kiss with the hottest guy at Hogwarts—apart from maybe Seth—and you don't get to enjoy it . . . sad, really. I would've gone ballistic, er, with excitement—not wishing harm to the guy," Emmy added sheepishly.
Ginny only smiled and said slowly, "I bet you would've, if you didn't know him,"
Celeste agreed, "I definitely agree. That Malfoy is one mysterious boy—don't start with that 'mysterious guys are the best guys' crap, Emmy, or I swear I'll strangle you!"
Emmy, being the boy-crazy of the lot, had given Celeste pointers on raising her flirtatious side when Celeste said that Sethos was very mysterious.
Ginny had a dream that night, and it consisted of a castle wall, and three grand windows were placed on that wall, all glistening in the sun, like they had always been there. In each of those windows were the countenances of three girls: a blonde, a raven-haired, and a red-head, all smiling.
~~)~*~(~~
A/N: Okay, that was really long, and the end was sort of rushed, but hey! You wanted it updated, so here. Anyways, I just put up Too Far Gone, and I'm really excited about how that's turned out. Well, review and tell me if you got completely lost in a well with the whole Mystics thing. I know I did when I wrote it. And there're still all these things I haven't mentioned . . . grrness. This story is gonna take a while to finish, so bear with me here. Review please! And thanks to all my reviewers; if I had time to reply to you I would, but I really got to go. Cheers and Toodles!
-blufiresprite
