Ruddy Reunions
By: Litt
Summary: Draco is disturbed from his moping many times by an angry mob of Gryffondors who claim he knows something of a missing member of their company which he denies profusely. When it becomes personal and one of his own is taken, he has little say in whether he helps them or not Slytherin ties being what they are. But when they find their missing friends, they cannot feel but a little lost in the unraveling stories passed around the fire of those who have not seen each other in a long time.
AN/DIS: Really, it's two stories put together because I found that I could not finish them separately without finding something better to do; so I decided this would insure I finish at least one of the plots. I remember fitting in an excerpt from this (at first, the only part of the story I had at all) into another story, and when I looked back I decided, what they hey. I'm in the mood for more homicidal ramblings.
~~~~~~~~
For the second time in his life, Ron found his sister was no where to be found, vanished supposedly, and he was left to sit in the common room with Harry and Hermione. Both of whom didn't bother to whisper consoling words, rather hoping it wasn't as bad as everyone else made it out to be, and he found he was grateful for their companionable, if not brooding, silence. He also found the thick silence of the room full of people and the looks they threw him, or the way they would not look at him at all, to be too much and marched out with his two friends in tow.
They did not question him this time, rather walked silently by his side. But then, like they had before, they did this merely because it was better to do something then sit there. And really, what was there to say?
Five minutes later he was back in the headmaster's office, for the second time, with the rest of the family present. The twins were not smiling, Bill was absent, but everyone else held their tongue. Nobody said anything, and this time Molly did not cry; she did everything she could but cry: wringing her hands in her apron, wringing Arthur's hands. --It was not like last time, though for all the world it might have been worse, when they'd found out the youngest of the family had been kidnapped, and this was only because no one knew for sure. Albus wanted to know if there were any enemies, anyone Ginny might have left with; said the only reason, --and it was only a precaution, -- he had called everyone here was they were on an Alert.
Ron did not see what this had to do with his friend, but when this was said, he looked at him anyway out of the corner of his eye. He looked back.
The headmaster seemed so light with it, though his tone was grave, and no one questioned him. It was a meeting over logistics, over reasons why, and then they could all go on. They all wanted Ginny to walk in the door and correct their theories, they wanted her back, but all Dumbledore was doing was talking. Ron wanted him to do something!
He looked to his father who seemed the supporting pole of his mother, and saw his tired face alert and only on the man in front of him, his hand resting on his mothers back. Her shoulders shook, but it seemed merely from the cold. Every now and then she'd shake her head and say something, but even he wasn't listening. He saw Percy, tightlipped and tense, at his father's side, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but there, doing anything but this. The twins, in new dress robes, were at the corner of the desk, sitting in conjured chairs, not looking at anyone. Charlie stood between his parents, a fresh scar on his bare arms.
This was their sister! he thought. Last time Ron had to go and do it himself because this dimwit just stood there and they were willing to let him do it again?
Ron itched to leave, and he was sure Harry was thinking the same thing because he too was glaring at the old bat.
For the second time in his life, the words of one, Albus Dumbledore, seemed so meaningless, so –useless he felt he could scream and it make all the sense in the world.
For the first time in his life, in this situation, he did. More of a roar really, a big loud, angry one.
If he'd known he was going to do it, and if he'd been paying attention enough to look back on it in the future and discard how he was feeling, he'd have been proud. A real lion.
"Ronald--" Molly gasped at the outburst. She'd jumped when he'd stood up, subsequently knocking his chair down.
"Yes, but what are you going to do about it?" he said, now standing directly in front of the desk, back to his mother and father. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione move to stand up and saw Harry hold out his hand. Dumbledore made no reaction to all of this, he merely looked up with blue eyes; he had no right to look tired, if you asked Ron. "Vacate the school? Send a party of secret service house elves?"—someone squeaked, most likely Hermione. "Sit here and talk her back, because that's probably what drove her away!"
"Ron!" his father barked from behind him, but it was muffled now, due to the odd rushing in his ears. There was a mix of "Ron!"'s from behind him; some were warning, others authoritative, and some seemed semi-impressed.
He did not remember walking out, the slam of the door, the look on their faces. He didn't notice Harry until they were at the base of the stairs, staring at the gargoyle, and his friend let him go. His shoulder would have bruises, but neither cared. His friends green eyes weren't saying much, but he managed to keep Ron in check long enough down the hall. There was no reprimanding, because it was obvious they both agreed; Hermione's only point was they had to stay level headed or what good would it do?
Once in front of the Fat Lady, he turned around without breaking his stride.
"Where are you going, now?" Hermione asked, exasperated.
"Dungeons," Harry answered for him.
She sighed, "What for? It's not likely she ran down there, or anyone is thick enough to keep her that close. –It is possible they think we wont check but really, Ron," she was at his side now, pleading. "What do you think you're going to find down there?"
He kept walking; not sure which hall was the right one since they all looked the same.
Finally, they were in front of the Slytherin common room door.
"Mudblood!" he yelled, the echo causing it to swell and he hadn't known he'd said it until his voice came back. And he said every curse word, every little thing he thought about them and knew they thought about him. Soon enough, he heard the other two join in, their suggestions not as rash, as he'd taken all of those.
"Heard of knocking?" the portrait asked, a well-postured man in velvet leaning on a pillar of some grand building.
"Open up,"
He smirked; not looking anything like Malfoy when he smirked. "Make me." And Ron kicked the frame causing the landscape to shake. "You don't belong down here, neither did the other one." These words stopped him dead and he backed up, giving in to Hermione's placating hand; she glared over his shoulder, "Don't listen to him, everyone in the castle knows. He could be lying."
"Could be, Mud-girl, but I assure you, I am not." The unshakable portrait said, readjusting his cape. "I am a Slytherin, and we do not lie unless there is something to get out of not telling a shade of truth. In this case, there is not."
Harry hissed, or so it seemed to Ron.
The portrait raised an eyebrow. Ron and Hermione looked at their friend, who was about to shrug bemusedly, but the door opened, groaning a grudge. No one was sure if it had been Harry's command or someone on the other side, but they stepped in anyway. The room was dark but not from lack of light, for there was a fire going, but from the tapestries on the walls and the rugs and furniture and expensive things crammed together.
Leather couches cast strange shadows in an already dark room but no one they could see was in them and Ron remembered he was mad.
Hermione did not look comfortable or at all sympathetic but she said nothing.
"If we're caught," Harry says blandly, looking bored, "we won't be any help. Just to say I said so."
"He's right," Hermione says gingerly, casting Harry a grateful glance. Harry shrugs. "Going around like a blood hound accusing everyone isn't the most productive--" and she's cut off.
"I am not a blood hound," Ron finally says, choosing which insulted him more. Then he gets his fierceness back. "And don't tell me what is and isn't helping because this is a lot better then sitting around talking about doing something! Wait 'til I get my hands on his greasy little neck-- ,"
Harry pipes up, not expecting this, though it makes sense. "Who?"
Ron mumbles distractedly about a Slytherin. It cuts down their choices. Hermione gives him an unconvinced look; "You're the dog without a scent that goes rushing into the chicken coupe, aren't you? Look," she adds a stamp and an expansive hand wave for emphasis, "there is no one here,"
Harry seems to have only come here for the confirmation of this fact and passes Ron a sad look. "She's right. I doubt even Snape could find someone to blame in this room,--besides us."
"Ron," she starts but is again interrupted.
"Whoever you were looking for could have met you outside." Came an irritated voice from a lazyboy-like chair in the corner. "And put that paper weight down, you'll dirty it up and there is no telling how long it'll take to get your muck off."
Ron dropped it and was satisfied with the crash and splinters of glass, music; the boys glare was a bonus. He felt a whoop of smug satisfaction and, if he had not been so busy glaring himself, would have sent the other two an I-told-you-so grin. "You."
"Me," he agreed.
--
Divinity was a light sleeper. She'd fallen asleep in a friends room due to the fact there was something a party in her own dorm and if she stayed she was sure she'd end up kicking them all out or joining herself, and she was so tired. It was only 8, from the looks of it, and, as a rule, no one else had even hit the sack yet; though that did not mean no one was in bed, another reason she had left. Sleeping through loud laughs and music was one thing, but really...
So, when the party moved to the whole floor, she had gotten out of bed and bunked with some second years. It was not as if they were bothered by a cranky, disheveled seventh year drooling on their floor, it was just as she'd said to their quizzical looks: what could they do about it?
Though not one of the younger girls denied this logic of hospitality, none offered to help in the comfort department. Thinking she'd have done the same thing to them in this situation, she made due on the floor, wrapping herself tight in the green house blankets, more out of habit then necessity. One got used to the cold after a while.
Light conversation drifted above her from one bed to the other and she was only half inclined to tell them to shut up. The other half wanted to join in and correct their gossip because their sources had been wrong when they said Blaise and the portrait on the fifth floor traded strip teases; she held her tongue though. She did this partly because she did not want to ruin their fun, though it was disturbing twelve year olds these days found this sort of thing exciting enough to giggle about, and tell them Blaise wouldn't give out a tease for free. Another part told her not to correct because the rumor was strange and Blaise would do it, so who was she to deny the world of such an image that might be correct?
Soon the conversation turned to Divinity herself. Probably thinking her asleep, they whispered about if one of them should go get her friends, because she was obviously drunk. Another said no, that was just how weird she was. Someone else in the room commented on how she was the Queen, and Royalty got to do whatever they want—mainly because the current royal family were all upper classman (and she fought the urge to correct this, but didn't for the same reasons as before.)--, just like Draco. You wouldn't see Draco on the floor now would you? Someone snapped. They argued now, asking that girl if she was offering her bed up. Divi wasn't sure how much more she could take. It was funny, though, to hear them say this: her, the arch-Queen of Slytherin, next to the consort Pansy, and Draco with his lumbering knights. One big family of snakes, and she was the outcast queen.
She chose to ignore the fact that this was only because she and Draco fit into their roles as polars of the house so well it only made sense they were put together. Draco the public, aristocratic, cuttingly beautiful part, and Divi the creative and disturbed anti-social freak prone to giving out silent speeches and being in every essence what Slytherin used to be.
Pansy would be furious.
The heat wore off and they admitted there was an advantage to having her in the room (by this point she didn't mind being talked about like she wasn't there, she was sleeping after all). It was better then a drunk somebody else or a giggling someone playing hide and seek and finding that dorm suddenly unplottable. This happened twice and she had kicked the people viciously from under her blanket. The twelve-year-olds had laughed. Divi found she could not sleep here either if it kept up.
And they did. They relived the scenarios so many times in the next hour she took the next opportunity to get out as fast as she could.
Someone knocked on the door and Div made a grand show of rolling over groggily to get it. It was a fourth year, Beatrice, if she remembered correctly; the girl had a woebegone look about her, as if she were perpetually grudging something she couldn't help, and who could blame her with a name like that? One of the girls behind the 17-year-old greeted the newcomer and Div was glad she was making her exit now; they'd never shut up.
"Where are you going?"
Div crumpled up her blanket and slipped on her slippers. "To sleep in the great hall. No one in this house seems to care that I've a splitting headache anymore, when they should. Thank you kindly lady's for you hospitality."
"You don't have a splitting headache," one of them pointed out.
She turned around from the door to look back; a group of shrieking girls had run past chasing a boy with makeup on. "I do now."
"Wait," Beatrice called.
Divi sighed and waited one step out the door. "For what?"
"Haven't you heard?" she asked, a pompous smile rising on her face. Div assumed it didn't matter whether she answered or not and her theory proved correct, the girl went on, standing in the center of the room like an announcer, turning to the others excitedly, voice vapid and fast. "That little Weasley girl went and got herself taken again. The old bat was telling Snape just a few minutes ago, he's coming right now to inform us. I wouldn't go to the great hall;" she turned to Div. "If they do anything about it, the investigators will blame you for being out. And I doubt the professor will be here anytime soon, so I'm making it my duty to inform the house." She said this with relish, as if she were important for knowing.
"Well go on then," was all she said.
Div fought down the urge to tell the girl she had no right to call her "little Weasley" when the said girl was a whole head taller than herself. She also did not point out that this was not worth stopping her for and merely walked out. On her way down the stairs she noticed it got quieter, the voices from above echoes; it felt like she was descending from a very hot place to somewhere that was cool. No one was down here save little, sleeping first years and the endless train of rogue boys and girls sneaking in and out of the dorms. Beatrice's' voice carried down and Div only allowed herself to be mildly worried about the fourth year forcing her way into a makeshift mosh pit for the sake of saying she had if someone asked later on.
When she reached the common room she realized it was not, in fact, empty.
It took only a second for the scene to sink in but she did not move from the stairs even after she realized Draco was being pinned the wall by an angry redhead and there was two other Gryffondors with him. He was yelling, the red head named Ronald, and Div found it to be unnecessary, as he was only a few inches from the blondes' face.
They said she was the essence of Slytherin pride gone bad, and this was only true to them because they had been raise on the curdles, while she had tasted the milk straight from the Serpent mother. They thought it meant no Gryffondors should set foot in their room because it was something they owned, something no one else had right to come near; they thought it meant pranks and snide remarks. She often told them they were only copying off of the feud between two dead guys and it was pointless because they both died old, bitter men, didn't they?
For all their talk, they weren't being very original. She'd be the first to tell you it was merely a thing of respect, not the rivalry it had become. Who cares if one wayward, idiotic Lion got into the den, they were disrespecting themselves. What really merited fights was the rough treatment of a housemate, like now, but most started these disputes, as had Salazar, and she stayed where she was because Draco was always staring something.
This is, after all, what the real Slytherin would have done.
So in a sense, no, she wasn't an example. Just a faded form of what had been stuck in a time where this was not taken seriously.
"Where is she?" Ron was saying, not, she guessed, for the first time.
Even from this distance she could see his smirk and it amazed her he could do this while be asphyxiated. She raised an eyebrow though, more out of amusement then curiosity; she knew who "she" was, and Draco did too from the look of it. Div could tell from his opaque front that he did not have the answer to the boy's question.
Harry and Hermione, it seemed, had not given up on trying to restrain their friend, but the fact that it was Draco and his smile seemed to refrain from doing so. They hovered over Ron's shoulder, looking expectant. Ron pressed his arm, the only part touching the other boy, as the rest of him seemed to lean as far away from him as he could, harder into the others neck. If he had in fact answered, it came out gargling and incoherent.
Divi found the amusement was starting to ebb now, and the sight of the two rather tactless. Anyone could walk in, Severus supposedly, and that would be four useless trips to the headmaster; really, where was the creativity, the style, the class? Kids these days were hopeless.
Hermione stepped up and whispered something. Draco grinned. "Yes, listen to your girlfriend, let me go, it's obvious I can't say much--" he cooed before getting cut off by an absent Ron.
"Shut up, Malfoy." Harry added.
Ron, nonetheless, released the other boy with a none too gentle shove that left Draco gasping and rubbing his neck. He was glaring before he reached their eyes.
"Stupid Slytherins." Ron muttered.
"Aw, come now, Weasley," Divi said, having had enough; she was making her way across the room. "We're not that bad."
She was right next to Draco now, lending him her shoulder in an imperceptible way only he knew; he took it with what she guessed must've been the pompous, casual air everyone said they had together; of any boy with his girlfriend when the time to show her off came. He was probably leering over her shoulder, but she could not see his face since he was behind her; he was really leaning on her heavily. She had wondered for a second if he would take up her silent offer or if he'd let her recover on her own impulsiveness, but now that he had she pretended he wasn't heavy at all and set a similar smile on her own face. This was how they looked out for each other in this house, she'd told them all once, and they'd taken it to heart: through stage whispers; staged kisses; slight of hand; smoke and mirrors. They must come off as really slimy she couldn't help but think.
Real charming and not at all menacing, the pair of us.
Ron only managed to look surprised for a second before his annoyance came back, his cheeks were red and she wondered why. It was as if a teacher had walked in and she did not like the silence, did not like the arrested argument and the still raw glares. Really, why stop the party now that she was here?
Music and shouts could still be heard from the dorms but it seemed a world away now: the musical score to some other movie.
--
Draco got tired of repeating himself after the first few minutes and was once again grateful when she did it for him.
"He says he doesn't know." She said, still in her old sweats, the ones that she'd cut one afternoon with a kitchen knife so they came up to her knees, and a black tank. He could feel her voice and concentrated on that rather then strain over the racket of the party above. She growled low in her throat several times while talking to Ron, but that was not for them to know.
They did not glare as much at her as they had at him, though they threw one every so often, but there was contempt in their gaze that he knew she couldn't miss. He wondered, vaguely, if it ever got old.
She shifted under him and he let off a little, his own shoulder very sore, and settled for merely his hand on her shoulder.
"Let him speak." Harry said. "If there's enough oxygen left that he can smile like that, he can talk."
Normally he did not talk to her this way and Draco could tell neither was very used to it because of the way they both tensed up. He had watched Harry enough in the six years they'd known each other to know when he was uncomfortable or angry, or both; right now he had his arms crossed as if that shielded the fact he stood a little straighter and you couldn't see his shoulders. Divinity merely took in a slow breath and, though he hadn't known her as long, he was sure she'd raised an eyebrow. He felt her shoulder tense under his hand and gave it a squeeze.
"Fine," she said, buying him time. "But I'm sure you'll find his answer, no matter how much you may not like it, is the same as it has been for the past five minutes. As is your question," she nodded towards Ron who just stared at the couple harder every time as if they were hiding something or he couldn't tell them apart.
Draco was startled to feel the girl move, not so much for he was still in contact, but she was facing him now, a new face. Yes, they were opposites; she was the light to his dark, all native skin to his pale. Dark eyes that really cared and hair, now in pig tails under a strange bandana, that curled in his hands. She did not have to ask out loud but she did any way. "How about it, Draco? Up to another round of 20 questions with the Red Ribbon gang?"
There was a joke there that not even Harry got, and he assumed this was the sort of gags they pulled on one another in their time together, knowing things Draco and Ron didn't about muggle things, but it was still funny in a sarcastic sense. If Hermione got it, she didn't laugh.
Gradually, she pulled away from him, letting him get his balance back, though it must not have seemed so to the others and he trusted she'd keep it that way. Under her silent direction, he'd managed to keep his reputation.
It was not as bad as he'd thought originally, when his vision was all black spots and his fingers were cold and even the breathing in Divi's shampoo hurt. He was angry with himself for allowing it to weaken him, but he blamed it on the drinks Marcus had snuck in. Yes, it was the Mai Tai's, and he would stick to that story.
He nodded.
"So where is she?" Ron asked again.
"I don't know." Draco answered again.
"Okay, who are we talking about here?" Divi slipped in.
Ron looked as if he wanted to say something, but he shut his mouth. He seemed so intent to keep his mouth shut, he said the next bit through gritted teeth. "My sister, Ginny."
Draco saw Divi's eyes brighten, but not with realization, as he expected they would not, but confirmation. She knew.
"Virginia. Yes, I see." Was all she said.
Harry passed her a look but she was looking at Draco now. She was not talking to him though, when she said, "Why would you come to Draco, though? Why us?"
Ron finally said what he'd swallowed earlier and no one in the room was surprised to hear it. It had hung in the air right after her initial sentence, something it seemed she had invited or walked into. Only they all knew she hadn't. "There is no 'us'. This has nothing to do with you."
Her smile was familiar to Draco—and it seemed so to Harry also,--who had seen it so many times. It seemed so appropriate now he could not help but smile; without doing so, he stepped back and let the girl have her prey. In his head, she'd passed him a courteous nod.
"Oh, doesn't it?" she asked equably.
Ron said nothing.
After several other seconds passed, Divi turned to them on a whole, apparently after composing a speech. "I assure you, Weasley, it is as much my concern as it is Draco's, because he is in my house, and we, like you, look out for one another. I watched you suffocate him for a few seconds and it seems only fair that it be reciprocal if need be, so shut up."
Ron's eyes widened; his mouth a bitterly thin line.
"I understand you are hurting, or in pain, or whatever it is that is causing you to howl and make that awful face, but use your sense here. It is not likely he was going to change his answer after the fifteenth time and you should have stopped there; but you didn't. As you are single- mindedly determined to find your sister, I am giving you the benefit of the doubt that you are on a passion buzz and that you care." And her voice was low now. "But as you came into my house, man handled my friend, it is my duty and right to involve myself, even if that means making a point you obviously wont get, even if involvement includes retracting myself from your presence, but don't you dare say I don't care. I do what I say."
"And you said a lot."
Her smile turned icy and he felt it, his hand back on her shoulder now. "Then I guess I'll be doing a lot," And there was a drain in this, something in her voice that made him want her to take it back. Then again, it was all so melodramatic who wouldn't?
Hermione asked, "What are you going to do then?"
Divi looked at her for the first time. She was no longer smiling. "I'll help. I'll come with you, if you let me."
Harry, who had caught the same wavelength as he had it, seemed, or some other one for he looked overtly weary, was shocked.
Draco was shocked, too, despite how he'd seen it coming. He squeezed her shoulder again, this time not out of anything other then the sake of keeping face. He looked at her. "Et tu?"
She rolled her eyes and made her way to the Gryffondors who did everything but back away.
--
"I thought you were leaving,"
She sat next to him, the corner of her mouth curled into something that looked like a smile, but wasn't. "Didn't get to say goodbye,"
And she saw how this hit him, his expression both accepting but confused and worried. There was a part of him that knew what she meant but neither Slytherin much listened to it; he was too busy trying to figure out what was bothering him about this and she was too occupied wondering if she wanted him to find out.
The party had wound down since she'd left; ushering the three out in the knick of time, and now the occasional person would wander in with a pillow, heading to their rooms. From their spot on the love seat, they saw these people, the ambling drunk leaning on a friend taking them to the wing, the boys and girls switching rooms and the suddenly drag quidditch players, but none saw them. They were a nice distraction but she found it annoying too that, every time she worked up something to say someone would walk in. Draco must have sensed this for, well into an hour later, when she had been dozing on his shoulder, he said, "Coast's clear."
"Wish it wasn't. Wish it was littered with water bottles, broken glass and letters in foreign languages not meant to be read. Which sort of defeats the point."
He looked down and she knew this from the shift of his shirt, which smelled like the dungeon and soap. Then he looked away. "The Gryffondors might need you," he said, his voice rumbling through her head.
She closed her eyes to the fire, the flames still dancing across her eyelids, and she, realizing there was no alternative escapes, opened them again. "They can get by fine enough without me for a while, I think. Plus, I'm working on new places to look. Have any ideas?"
It was really a different way of asking but she knew he knew and she had to try.
He looked at her sideways and in the firelight, she could see his irises stick out like ice and the little dark something trapped underneath. His eyes looked tanned golden and dark blue. She sat up.
"Draco," She said, "I wasn't going to say anything before, but don't ever let me lie for you like that again. Ever. Even if there is the slightest chance you might be right, don't let defend you on grounds you wont cross yourself just because you know I will. I don't like being predictable."
"Don't let you lie?" he asked. "Don't you mean don't make you?"
She knew he only said this because he wanted to hear it out loud, his own confused thoughts open for evaluation; she'd just tell him how he was not confused at all and how he just wanted attention. "No, you couldn't make me, but you knew I would, so you let me. You could've stopped me but you didn't; don't let me doubt you again, Malfoy. I felt a fool out there, talking to him, and I just kept telling myself that maybe I was right and what I said you'd tell me later. So," she said, facing him. "Tell me."
He raised an elegant eyebrow, as was the only way to describe it. It was not bushy, plain or plucked. "Tell you..."
"You can play innocent with them, and even they don't buy it, but I'm here. It's not like I'm going to rat you out; we'll just find her and get it over with. No chips. And if you don't, well, then, I won't feel like such a big, used fool anymore."
He looked at her for a long time. "And you would make of fool of yourself for someone, even if that someone was capable of doing themselves?"
"I would do that for anyone who didn't ask me not to. Draco, you can tell me."
He didn't say anything.
Divinity didn't ask again.
--
The walk from the Slytherin common room seemed longer and more confusing in the dark then the one running towards it.
"Oh, God." Harry said after a few minutes. "We're lost."
Hermione pointed out the obvious; they could either use the spell Harry had learned or follow the two stumbling people out. Given that the trail was spotted with the products of too much drinking, they waited while Harry whispered "point me" every now and then feeling like idiots, but clean idiots as Ron pointed out.
They were led to a stone wall not far from the actual door.
"We're lost." Harry reiterated, trying to prove his point.
"No you're not," Divi said, walking up to them from the portrait. It had seemed like only a few minutes ago she'd dropped them off in that same spot telling them she'd be back. Harry knew, in reality, it had only been that long.
Ron turned to her, still cross. "Who are you to say we're not?" he asked defensively. Harry felt a bitter wave of pity for the boy and stepped in front of him; Hermione groaned and grabbed him by the collar. Tag teamwork.
The Slytherin was the only one out of uniform but she managed to stay in character. "A person who know their way around the school. You're in front of the Head boys Common Entrance; he gets into his native house through a door on the other side. He showed me the other door, step back." And she'd been referring to Draco.
Hermione looked surprised at the door opening to two other doors, but once Div opened the right one and they all stepped into Draco's room, it seemed the marvel had worn off. She seemed merely irritated again.
"You have a door like this, right?" Div asked her.
"Yes," was all she said.
Harry wanted to leave as quick as he could, Draco's room was almost an exact copy of the common room, but found no one was moving quickly enough. Even Hermione, it seemed, hadn't been in here either. Divi opened his door and stepped through to the Head Common room they shared and walked straight to the door leading out. Harry wondered how many times she'd been in here and he wanted to mention they still didn't know the way out of the Slytherin dungeons, but didn't, as it seemed redundant and a little intentional on the girls part.
Wasn't she the one volunteering?
"You all do know the way from here, don't you, or would you prefer a detour to your common rooms? It's right through there, right behind the mirror—"
Hermione let out an indignant, strangled noise. Harry fought down a smile, thinking it inappropriate at a time like this. Ron was paler than usual, looking around the room with quiet eyes, all the energy gone. He looked tired and Harry opted to stop by the common room.
"That is," he turned to Hermione who looked murderous. "If you don't mind."
She shook her head and lead the way to her room. Like Draco's, he noticed it was decorated in the style of the owners' house, red, gold and lions. Books littered the table in front of the fire; a couch that looked well used. The vanity was bare except for a brush or two, a book, tomorrow's uniform and pictures stuck on the mirror.
She marched straight up to an ornate mirror and growled something. Divi took the liberty of being the last through, standing on the couch that served as stairs underneath as if she'd gone blind. "So much red."
Harry ignored this leading Ron upstairs.
No one else was in the common room either, no one awake at least. He saw Hermione fight not to wake them up to send them up stairs, close her mirror—it was portrait on this side, of someone uncannily like herself—and send Divi out all at once. Had it not been for Ron, he would have comforted her, but there were other matters now.
Once Ron realized he was being led to his room he snapped out of his daze. "No! I'm going too!"
"But you're tired, you can barely walk." Hermione said.
"That's because Harry won't let me go."
So Harry let him go. He stumbled down a few steps but quickly got his balance and said, "I can walk. I'm going."
"As fascinating as that announcement is," Divi said, still in between the Head Girls' room and the Gryffondor common room. Harry sent her a look and she cut herself off.
"Aren't you coming down?" Hermione asked.
Div looked down at them, looking like so many crashed sailors in a banana tree with her outfit and attitude. "You guys have this neck of the woods covered, I think I'll search on the other. Stay together, though, they're supposedly sending over investigators. Collaborative stories work better with collaborators."
And with that, she was gone.
"She could have at least shut the door," Hermione groaned.
"Think we'll see her again?" Ron asked as Hermione scrambled up to close the portrait. And Harry knew what his friend meant; if they would bump into her on the way to some place they hadn't looked or if they'd find her in the common room, as if she could hide from this and go back on her word. But it didn't sound like such an easy question all of a sudden.
So he didn't answer, merely led the way out the portrait hole.
--
It was cold wherever she was and she wished it would help numb her up because she was bruised all over.
Ginny thought she heard people calling her name but that seemed so wrong; no one was here but her. She knew this because, though she hadn't opened her eyes in the whole few minutes she'd been awake, she could feel the vastness around her. The marble, gritty and cold, underneath her seemed empty, the only word for it, and she felt as if there weren't anything for miles and miles above her. Thinking about it made her head hurt; so she stopped and tried to sleep and, when that failed, decided to just lie there.
She tasted blood and felt it like a trail of burning acid across her cheeks where it slid from her forehead and the crack in her lip. It was sweet and, for lack of anything else to do, she swallowed it.
The air around her cooed.
Her heart had taken a trip hammer beat now as she ran through all the possibilities. She could have fallen from her broom, but she had flown in days if not in her dreams, and she was in a nightgown. Who flew in a nightgown? She remembered an inviting voice; maybe she was at friends' and fell. A lot of voices drifted up from her memory; she was at school then. They should be rushing to Pomfrey right now.
She heard a sigh and took it as her own. Behind her eyes she saw things crawling and clawing at her; various bloody scenes ran past and it was a struggle to just keep still. Along with the voice, there is an explosion of a feeling she cannot name then a slow trickle of something else and no more. She knows where she is.
Opening her eyes she is met with a thick wall of black.
Oh, Ginny, what have you gotten yourself into now?
Stay calm. Don't move.
And no sooner does she tell herself that does the instinct to run kick in, though she does not know where to run to. Slowly, with the thrum of energy that is unnerving, she scoots along the floor, the only sound is her padding hands reaching behind her for an edge or a crack. There is none and soon she finds herself against something just as cold as the floor but going up. She, still looking blindly in front of her, slowly lifts herself on shaky legs, clutching at what she now knows to be one of the beautiful pillars.
There is a beginning of a tail under her hands, and she counts the scales while she waits for something to happen.
There is no use trying to figure her way out of here in the dark; the room is full of symmetrical irony, every pillar made to dance the same distance apart, and that was far enough. She bit back hot tears and sank down to the base.
She had heard muggles wishing they could do things instantly "like magic" so it would be easier. She imagined what it would be like not being able to, as there were things she could not do herself. She thought of watching her imaginary pet dog walk off without her, calling its name to no avail, and wishing she had super light speed, running up in front of it without a sweat before it could take another step. She had been over for dinner once and saw the strange spraying contraption and wondering if it ever got tiring for them; she imagined she'd think it would be nice, sighing, but she did not think she'd want for an instant fix all the time.
She'd chased the dog or walked back to the house and opened the door later to it whining; she'd washed the dishes anyway. Because that was all she could do, in the end, and it had worked.
So she stayed where she was and did not want for anything but to be safe in the dark because it was all she could do. Without her wand, this spark of will was all she had.
Hours later, though there was no telling here, she woke up curled on the floor. There had been no reason either; just that she'd wanted to wake up to see nothing. Shivering, she eased herself back into a dream.
The second time she woke up Ginny was not sure how long she'd been out. She was farther from her pillar than she'd remembered and she felt groggy as anyone would when they take too many naps. Her mouth was dry and her head hurt again, the blood dry but itchy. That's when she noticed what had woken her, a soft noise from somewhere in the room. Ginny froze.
The dark seemed to muffle everything, including sound, but there was that cold emptiness that made it echo too. Another moan and a flat thud. Someone!
Rather preferring it to be human, she dispelled the thought it was not. She slowly stood up again, careful not to make too much noise, but she did not make a move to call out. Whoever it was made a lot of racket, she noticed, thudding around in a way she knew she herself had not. It seemed that someone finally bumped into a pillar of their own and the noise stopped. Their breath was shallow and for the first time, Ginny noticed the dripping.
The obvious choice would be water, but the water she imagined was black and tasted like metal.
Whoever it was over there had splashed on their way across the room. Ginny had an advantage now, she knew where the exit was, but there could be so many she still wasn't sure where what was. The only big landmark would be the statue, and that was as far away from her sea of supporting pillars as she didn't want to go.
Someone else was whispering, that cooing wind she'd heard and the sigh she'd felt; it was velvety and far away; the new comer had gone quiet. She strained her ears, trying to figure out if she should call out.
An off key, dazed lullaby reached her, and the rustling stopped, apparently listening. The voice was familiar, a schoolgirls. But there were so many people she heard everyday, half with no name, and the assumption one was down here with her only slowed her memory.
"I come from a far away land,
Dear friend of mine, you knew it once
The voice was layered and lazy, if not a little tight. If Ginny didn't know any better, and she was sure now as it seemed familiar enough, she would have sworn the other girl had been crying. But she'd seen that person enough to know the rawness must've been from screaming if anything at all.
"Traded the sun for your sin, but left me there; I'm searching now, don't let me down,
It was some cruel joke what was going on, she thought. They were both pawns and she could hear the other voice mixed in now, wanting to laugh for its cunning. She could see the other girl too, a shadow hunched against a pillar like an after image of herself, fighting her lips with shaky hands. The stayed at her side; Ginny could imagine her eyes glaring, it was a familiar enough sight, and looking around but her face smiling while it sang.
"For a sunset with flaming--let me go!" the girls voice reaching a frantic pitch.
Ginny watched, horrified as her imagination took this in, as the dark figure seemed to throw herself away from something, or something away from her, her back hitting the stone behind her enough to make her still.
As if snapped out of her own trance, everything came back in a loud, cold rush; or maybe it had always been there, just quiet and contained. The air around her felt restless and mocking in its omnipotence. She crawled until she was a pillar away from the slumped form.
She was still alive, mumbling in her sleep.
Ginny kicked her gently until she was awake, now sure of who it was. She didn't need to whisper, should've yelled above the near hurricane above, but she did anyway. "Are you OK?"
The girl didn't say anything for a second, and then, "No."
"Well, is there anything I can do?" she asked, still sane.
"Not unless you can heal a collar bone," she grunted. "But enough about me, how long have you been down here?"
Ginny shrugged but thought about how dark it was and said, "Don't know."
Something had been ticking and she realized it was the other girls watch, but it seemed useless now. "We've been up for hours looking for you. They couldn't find another way in and I forgot about the other doors. Help me up, would you?"
Ginny struggled with the other girls weight and tried not to touch her right collar bone.
"I know you, you're in Ron's year. Slytherin." Ginny says, feeling a little lighter now that she wasn't alone. If she squinted in the dark, she could make out the other girl against gray pillar.
"That seems to be what everyone's been calling me today, yea. In my old schools, seniors didn't have to go through this. –Put everyone in a ditz you have." She laughed against the stone now that Ginny had let her go, more a weezing gasp. "Remind me not to do that again, it hurts."
Ginny nodded again not caring if she could see.
"This beats worrying about my glasses, now it doesn't matter what I can and can't see." She said, casually; even in the dark, Ginny could tell the older girl was looking around, possibly for a way out. "We're not safe here," she whispered. "You should get out, do you remember where I came?"
Ginny shivered, remembering the song and the abrupt ending and how the Slytherin had given a little choking sob as if something were taken from her. Ginny looked around at the shadows.
"Before, when you came in, what—why--?"
"The song?" she finished. "That was a joke. Not funny, but what do you expect?—He was never very funny." She added quietly.
The fifteen and a half-year-old said nothing. "He--"
"Ron's waiting for you, when you get up there just tell him to go to the sixth statue to the right. If he doesn't come back I'll haunt him, now go." She said insistently, nudging her with her good arm.
Ginny padded her way a few steps but stopped and looked back.
Just as she did so, torches she had expected to be lit before came to life, bringing everything to some very bizarre reality she could've went on believing wasn't real as long as she didn't look back. The first thing she saw was empty space, apparently her gaze wasn't as accurate as she'd hoped. Looking to the left she saw a dark skinned girl with raggedy sweats, a black tank and a bandana with yellow smiley faces on it, looking all pale and tired.
She remembered seeing the girl walking around with Draco, looking the complete opposite of him in nearly every way other than that authoritative smile they both wore. She remembered how Harry had introduced them all to her at the end of the summer and how he'd looked, how they both looked, whenever they were in the same room now, as if all they saw when they looked at each other was a name and they could not pronounce it anymore it had been so long. The girl had been smiling more openly then, that summer, and Harry had too, but now—for whatever reason—they made no attempts to even joke around. And Draco rubbed it in.
Her nails were green, a new color, and they dug into her right arm as if holding it to her side. Ginny bit her lip and would have walked back, but the new light seemed to take up all the oxygen in the room like greedy candles and it was exposing and the shock kept her where she was.
The other girl looked around her pillar and turned back to her, glaring as if she expected her to be gone, looking at her like she was stupid for being afraid and wanting to help.
Then, in the shocked quiet of the now lit chamber, they heard footsteps.
Ginny found a big section of rock near the wall and huddled there, not much minding the roughness or the new pain in her knees and back.
The girls looked at each other, both knowing who it was.
Neither were glad to see him.
--
--
His smile was, if anything, widening by the second.
And that was no comfort, as someone who rarely smiled out of ecstasy nor mirth, this façade looked purely menacing on the boy and she was at a loss what he wore it for. Surely he wouldn't be happy to see her, not after all those years... Not after Halloween and the meetings thereafter they had had.
Especially not after their last meeting.
No, he truly shouldn't be happy to see her, so why the smile? Why the grin and not a glare? Not that she wanted him to be angry, for she had witnessed his wrath before, but this just wasn't right.
"Divi..." He sighed, his voice dreamy, far away; almost an echo of its former self yet she still heard the message ringing through loud and clear. Dark eyes fogged over and clouded as they looked at her as if for the first time in years spent hunting, and there she was; standing in the chamber under his very nose, at his mercy. A madness shone through and she could tell this wasn't a good sort of daze that had taken over him within a split second, distracting him for a time from her fallen friends. For this reason and this reason alone, she stood her ground.
He took a step forward; she backed up.
Opening her mouth as if to say something or gasp in suspended shock, finding nothing to say or any air in her lungs, she shut it again; the task of retreating backwards and finding something appropriate to say to someone you haven't seen in 50 years too great at the moment. Finally, when he was barely a foot away from her, and she backed against a stone wall in turn, she found composure and heard her voice-- albeit faint, cracked and disbelieving,-- ask "Tom?"
~~
"What do you mean by She's gone?" he asked slowly, for the second time that day.
The boy rolled his eyes and could not help but think, not for the first time, the boy had something missing upstairs. "She's not here. Her presence is no longer gracing us, here in the dungeon, and obviously she's been absent in your tower." He tried, and failed, to stay away from sarcasm, but it was a part of him. Just as the glasses were a part of Potter, and freckles the Weasley's and books an extension of Granger. Sarcasm was his language, his glares and smirks and occasional sneers were facial expressions, the only he chose to use most of the time. As most of the time he was dealing with dimwitted Gryffondors.
"But where--" the red head started up again, his one tracked mind getting the best of him.
"Don't know." Draco shrugged.
Harry glared, and, for the first time in years looked him in the eye with no loathing or malice. His eyes were blank and he could not help but realize who he learned it from. His voice was bleached and flat. "Don't even think about saying you don't care. She was your friend too."
"I wasn't," he assured them. Of whether he cared or if he was her friend, he didn't know himself. "I never—"
"Cut the crap, Malfoy. If you know something, tell us, if not," Ron hissed, getting in his face, "get out of my way."
He raised an eyebrow only faintly annoyed at being interrupted and extremely aware of what the other boy had for dinner. "I can barely do that if you have me pinned to a chair, now can I?"
Hermione looked to Harry and he nodded. Once the Slytherin had his limbs back, he flexed his fingers and set them all with a glare. "I really don't appreciate this. This is the second time today you've all barged in here asking questions about some missing girl as if I know anything about it. That's badgery. At least last time it was about one of your own, now you went and got Div involved," and he was aware of the tenseness now.
"Last time," Hermione said, "you knew something. You knew about Ginny and you knew about everything your father did and was about to do and you're the one who tipped us off, so it only made sense we come to you to ask. If you had answered us the first time, Divinity wouldn't have came to see what all the racket –"
"Your fault, all that noise, then."
"—was about." She ended vehemently.
Harry stood up from his spot on the love seat, where he had been looking at the wall. "If you had answered her, Malfoy, she wouldn't have acted on impulse to come with us. She said she had trusted you and you said you would never lie,--"
He was appalled. "I didn't lie!" She didn't trust me!
Harry glared. "But you still wouldn't talk to her. God, Malfoy. You could have at least told Divi." And he put emphasis on the last word, as if disgusted and in disbelief he hadn't.
Ron seemed to be having a hard time staying in one place; he had paced the entirety of the empty classroom and their was a path where his shoes had kicked up dust. There was much effort going into not yelling it seemed, and some barely contained control. When he spoke, his lips barely moved. "I can understand why you wouldn't help when it was Ginny; you were always one for games and tradition, having the upper hand in the house wars and seeing a muggle lover get what they deserve." He winced at this but kept on. "But she didn't deserve this last time and now that you know, it only makes you more wrong for not telling. I knew you would be stubborn and I had told myself I'd make you talk, but I see you are having too much fun with this game of yours; but this time... It's Divi, Malfoy. You cannot pretend she's filth, that she has no respect for her house, because she was a better Slytherin than you. You can't say you don't care. I just thought maybe with something you care about at stake, you might want to start playing by the rules."
But she didn't deserve this...It's Divi, Malfoy.
"Who said this was a game?"
Hermione shook and turned away.
Because she was a better Slytherin than you,
"You are already speaking in past tense, Weasley. How's that for faith?"
Harry leaned closer, his voice quiet and sharp. "At least he believes what he says; at least it's worth listening to."
"Even if it weren't for my sister, if it were just Div, I'd go. And I will, without your help as it is you don't care about either. You're sick, Malfoy. A hypocrite to turn on your own friend; the least you could do pretend it's only for house pride. I'd believe you then." Ron walked to the door where Hermione waited.
Harry looked down at him. "When we find her, what do you want us to tell her you said?"
He smirked. "The truth, obviously."
"Our offer for any information, helpful or decorative, is still standing." He said over his shoulder. The door closed and Draco was left all alone in the dusty room. Ron's furious trail already half buried.
~~
The chamber had not changed in over fifty years.
He went into detail about how it had looked when he first found it,--a pre- organized hall ready for ceremony, meticulous in its huge grandness, so different from its tunnels—and she could only nod and remind him she was there that night, too. She could only point out she had seen the vastness just as he had, how beautiful and dark and right it all felt, and so familiar; she could only manage a muffled retort of "I was there!" after so many minutes under his care. She was drowsy already and it had only been a few minutes.
In her head, she was screaming at him. He didn't mention the only reason he knew how to get in was because of her; he never spoke of how he slipped some Serum into her glass and how he'd left her on his floor to wake up, still in costume. He didn't mention how she'd chased him down, knowing what he knew now, and how she didn't notice the dead Hufflepuff until after they both returned from underground. She wanted to remind him he had been wrong for doing that, that he had looked utterly grimy when she caught up with him in the center of the room, covered in muck but smiling all the same. The fact that neither talked for a while after that didn't surface either, and she wondered why he was so free with the chatting now.
But he didn't hear her, too wrapped up in his own whispering echoes.
He went on to say how it was a little ruined now, and the décor had changed. Chunks of stone were missing, cracks were visible, the stench of rotting hung in the air and she could only guess it was from something underwater. The statue she sat on was showing its age, something they both agreed it had never done before. Stains of ink and blood were still present on the floor, but she ignored this. He blamed it on the girl and her hero. Divi was only dimly confused, wishing she had a hero right about now, too.
Tom had never been one for ranting, so he vented in the most eloquent way she had ever known. He made the best speeches when he was mad, and you wanted to write them down in the end, but at the same time, printing them would make them real, lasting. True. She couldn't hear a word he said at the moment, from her seat on Salazar's beard, only the after echoes. A song or some strange, rolling poem.
Divi turned her groggy head to the side and saw what she'd been looking for. Without her glasses, the girl by the pillar was just a blur of black, white and red. But she felt her stare and turned away.
"--and you'll die down here, this time. No escapes, no promises." He was saying.
She ignored him. The stone underneath was cool and rough in a way it hadn't been in the beginning; it seemed this place was rotting before her eyes. Tom was changing. Not in the way he had back then, after they emerged, --the subtle things she could not stop doubled with ambition—but his eyes had a faint red tint underneath. She groaned, not wanting this to be true.
"You broke," she said, the dizziness making it hard to focus, to speak without the feeling of hurling. He only smiled a smile that was not his, one she did not return.
"Yes, well, I am a man; we do that sometimes: lie, go back on our word—which I only did for you—and, of course, change into something far greater than what we were. And I, Dove," he cooed, "Am the greatest of them all."
She mumbled something incoherent.
He touched her hair. "So eloquent,"
There was something she was supposed to do, something she'd come down here for... What had it been? Everything was Tom now, and that didn't seem right. He was taking up her vision; she couldn't breath and when she did, the taste of ink, dust and cologne stayed on her tongue. She gagged. He was cold when he touched her, and the burn was lingering; on her upper arms to keep her sitting, on the cheek to brush away hair, her chin to make her look up. Divi's eyes felt bruised at the sight of him, so familiar and wrong. Her ears burned where he'd whispered and they felt numb now.
"Face it, Love, you miss your old friend Tom." He said in his sickeningly familiar voice, such a sweet poison of its own; so confident she'd believe him this time. She wanted to jerk away from his hand when he swept a strand of hair out of the way (a gesture that would've seemed almost gentle had it been someone else); she wanted to tear the skin off where his spidery fingers had come into contact, leaving icy trails in their wake. But she couldn't and wouldn't give him the pleasure of watching her kill herself over it again. Not this time.
With his previous words in mind she mustered up what defiance was left in her and hissed, "My old friend died a long time ago."
This, like so much now, didn't seem to perturb him; in fact, it amused him. He smiled again, pale lips not quite reaching his violently red eyes, -- eyes she remembered looked so different on a human face. He waved the rebuke off as if the news meant nothing to him, shrugging. "Yes, well, pity that."
~~
By: Litt
Summary: Draco is disturbed from his moping many times by an angry mob of Gryffondors who claim he knows something of a missing member of their company which he denies profusely. When it becomes personal and one of his own is taken, he has little say in whether he helps them or not Slytherin ties being what they are. But when they find their missing friends, they cannot feel but a little lost in the unraveling stories passed around the fire of those who have not seen each other in a long time.
AN/DIS: Really, it's two stories put together because I found that I could not finish them separately without finding something better to do; so I decided this would insure I finish at least one of the plots. I remember fitting in an excerpt from this (at first, the only part of the story I had at all) into another story, and when I looked back I decided, what they hey. I'm in the mood for more homicidal ramblings.
~~~~~~~~
For the second time in his life, Ron found his sister was no where to be found, vanished supposedly, and he was left to sit in the common room with Harry and Hermione. Both of whom didn't bother to whisper consoling words, rather hoping it wasn't as bad as everyone else made it out to be, and he found he was grateful for their companionable, if not brooding, silence. He also found the thick silence of the room full of people and the looks they threw him, or the way they would not look at him at all, to be too much and marched out with his two friends in tow.
They did not question him this time, rather walked silently by his side. But then, like they had before, they did this merely because it was better to do something then sit there. And really, what was there to say?
Five minutes later he was back in the headmaster's office, for the second time, with the rest of the family present. The twins were not smiling, Bill was absent, but everyone else held their tongue. Nobody said anything, and this time Molly did not cry; she did everything she could but cry: wringing her hands in her apron, wringing Arthur's hands. --It was not like last time, though for all the world it might have been worse, when they'd found out the youngest of the family had been kidnapped, and this was only because no one knew for sure. Albus wanted to know if there were any enemies, anyone Ginny might have left with; said the only reason, --and it was only a precaution, -- he had called everyone here was they were on an Alert.
Ron did not see what this had to do with his friend, but when this was said, he looked at him anyway out of the corner of his eye. He looked back.
The headmaster seemed so light with it, though his tone was grave, and no one questioned him. It was a meeting over logistics, over reasons why, and then they could all go on. They all wanted Ginny to walk in the door and correct their theories, they wanted her back, but all Dumbledore was doing was talking. Ron wanted him to do something!
He looked to his father who seemed the supporting pole of his mother, and saw his tired face alert and only on the man in front of him, his hand resting on his mothers back. Her shoulders shook, but it seemed merely from the cold. Every now and then she'd shake her head and say something, but even he wasn't listening. He saw Percy, tightlipped and tense, at his father's side, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but there, doing anything but this. The twins, in new dress robes, were at the corner of the desk, sitting in conjured chairs, not looking at anyone. Charlie stood between his parents, a fresh scar on his bare arms.
This was their sister! he thought. Last time Ron had to go and do it himself because this dimwit just stood there and they were willing to let him do it again?
Ron itched to leave, and he was sure Harry was thinking the same thing because he too was glaring at the old bat.
For the second time in his life, the words of one, Albus Dumbledore, seemed so meaningless, so –useless he felt he could scream and it make all the sense in the world.
For the first time in his life, in this situation, he did. More of a roar really, a big loud, angry one.
If he'd known he was going to do it, and if he'd been paying attention enough to look back on it in the future and discard how he was feeling, he'd have been proud. A real lion.
"Ronald--" Molly gasped at the outburst. She'd jumped when he'd stood up, subsequently knocking his chair down.
"Yes, but what are you going to do about it?" he said, now standing directly in front of the desk, back to his mother and father. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione move to stand up and saw Harry hold out his hand. Dumbledore made no reaction to all of this, he merely looked up with blue eyes; he had no right to look tired, if you asked Ron. "Vacate the school? Send a party of secret service house elves?"—someone squeaked, most likely Hermione. "Sit here and talk her back, because that's probably what drove her away!"
"Ron!" his father barked from behind him, but it was muffled now, due to the odd rushing in his ears. There was a mix of "Ron!"'s from behind him; some were warning, others authoritative, and some seemed semi-impressed.
He did not remember walking out, the slam of the door, the look on their faces. He didn't notice Harry until they were at the base of the stairs, staring at the gargoyle, and his friend let him go. His shoulder would have bruises, but neither cared. His friends green eyes weren't saying much, but he managed to keep Ron in check long enough down the hall. There was no reprimanding, because it was obvious they both agreed; Hermione's only point was they had to stay level headed or what good would it do?
Once in front of the Fat Lady, he turned around without breaking his stride.
"Where are you going, now?" Hermione asked, exasperated.
"Dungeons," Harry answered for him.
She sighed, "What for? It's not likely she ran down there, or anyone is thick enough to keep her that close. –It is possible they think we wont check but really, Ron," she was at his side now, pleading. "What do you think you're going to find down there?"
He kept walking; not sure which hall was the right one since they all looked the same.
Finally, they were in front of the Slytherin common room door.
"Mudblood!" he yelled, the echo causing it to swell and he hadn't known he'd said it until his voice came back. And he said every curse word, every little thing he thought about them and knew they thought about him. Soon enough, he heard the other two join in, their suggestions not as rash, as he'd taken all of those.
"Heard of knocking?" the portrait asked, a well-postured man in velvet leaning on a pillar of some grand building.
"Open up,"
He smirked; not looking anything like Malfoy when he smirked. "Make me." And Ron kicked the frame causing the landscape to shake. "You don't belong down here, neither did the other one." These words stopped him dead and he backed up, giving in to Hermione's placating hand; she glared over his shoulder, "Don't listen to him, everyone in the castle knows. He could be lying."
"Could be, Mud-girl, but I assure you, I am not." The unshakable portrait said, readjusting his cape. "I am a Slytherin, and we do not lie unless there is something to get out of not telling a shade of truth. In this case, there is not."
Harry hissed, or so it seemed to Ron.
The portrait raised an eyebrow. Ron and Hermione looked at their friend, who was about to shrug bemusedly, but the door opened, groaning a grudge. No one was sure if it had been Harry's command or someone on the other side, but they stepped in anyway. The room was dark but not from lack of light, for there was a fire going, but from the tapestries on the walls and the rugs and furniture and expensive things crammed together.
Leather couches cast strange shadows in an already dark room but no one they could see was in them and Ron remembered he was mad.
Hermione did not look comfortable or at all sympathetic but she said nothing.
"If we're caught," Harry says blandly, looking bored, "we won't be any help. Just to say I said so."
"He's right," Hermione says gingerly, casting Harry a grateful glance. Harry shrugs. "Going around like a blood hound accusing everyone isn't the most productive--" and she's cut off.
"I am not a blood hound," Ron finally says, choosing which insulted him more. Then he gets his fierceness back. "And don't tell me what is and isn't helping because this is a lot better then sitting around talking about doing something! Wait 'til I get my hands on his greasy little neck-- ,"
Harry pipes up, not expecting this, though it makes sense. "Who?"
Ron mumbles distractedly about a Slytherin. It cuts down their choices. Hermione gives him an unconvinced look; "You're the dog without a scent that goes rushing into the chicken coupe, aren't you? Look," she adds a stamp and an expansive hand wave for emphasis, "there is no one here,"
Harry seems to have only come here for the confirmation of this fact and passes Ron a sad look. "She's right. I doubt even Snape could find someone to blame in this room,--besides us."
"Ron," she starts but is again interrupted.
"Whoever you were looking for could have met you outside." Came an irritated voice from a lazyboy-like chair in the corner. "And put that paper weight down, you'll dirty it up and there is no telling how long it'll take to get your muck off."
Ron dropped it and was satisfied with the crash and splinters of glass, music; the boys glare was a bonus. He felt a whoop of smug satisfaction and, if he had not been so busy glaring himself, would have sent the other two an I-told-you-so grin. "You."
"Me," he agreed.
--
Divinity was a light sleeper. She'd fallen asleep in a friends room due to the fact there was something a party in her own dorm and if she stayed she was sure she'd end up kicking them all out or joining herself, and she was so tired. It was only 8, from the looks of it, and, as a rule, no one else had even hit the sack yet; though that did not mean no one was in bed, another reason she had left. Sleeping through loud laughs and music was one thing, but really...
So, when the party moved to the whole floor, she had gotten out of bed and bunked with some second years. It was not as if they were bothered by a cranky, disheveled seventh year drooling on their floor, it was just as she'd said to their quizzical looks: what could they do about it?
Though not one of the younger girls denied this logic of hospitality, none offered to help in the comfort department. Thinking she'd have done the same thing to them in this situation, she made due on the floor, wrapping herself tight in the green house blankets, more out of habit then necessity. One got used to the cold after a while.
Light conversation drifted above her from one bed to the other and she was only half inclined to tell them to shut up. The other half wanted to join in and correct their gossip because their sources had been wrong when they said Blaise and the portrait on the fifth floor traded strip teases; she held her tongue though. She did this partly because she did not want to ruin their fun, though it was disturbing twelve year olds these days found this sort of thing exciting enough to giggle about, and tell them Blaise wouldn't give out a tease for free. Another part told her not to correct because the rumor was strange and Blaise would do it, so who was she to deny the world of such an image that might be correct?
Soon the conversation turned to Divinity herself. Probably thinking her asleep, they whispered about if one of them should go get her friends, because she was obviously drunk. Another said no, that was just how weird she was. Someone else in the room commented on how she was the Queen, and Royalty got to do whatever they want—mainly because the current royal family were all upper classman (and she fought the urge to correct this, but didn't for the same reasons as before.)--, just like Draco. You wouldn't see Draco on the floor now would you? Someone snapped. They argued now, asking that girl if she was offering her bed up. Divi wasn't sure how much more she could take. It was funny, though, to hear them say this: her, the arch-Queen of Slytherin, next to the consort Pansy, and Draco with his lumbering knights. One big family of snakes, and she was the outcast queen.
She chose to ignore the fact that this was only because she and Draco fit into their roles as polars of the house so well it only made sense they were put together. Draco the public, aristocratic, cuttingly beautiful part, and Divi the creative and disturbed anti-social freak prone to giving out silent speeches and being in every essence what Slytherin used to be.
Pansy would be furious.
The heat wore off and they admitted there was an advantage to having her in the room (by this point she didn't mind being talked about like she wasn't there, she was sleeping after all). It was better then a drunk somebody else or a giggling someone playing hide and seek and finding that dorm suddenly unplottable. This happened twice and she had kicked the people viciously from under her blanket. The twelve-year-olds had laughed. Divi found she could not sleep here either if it kept up.
And they did. They relived the scenarios so many times in the next hour she took the next opportunity to get out as fast as she could.
Someone knocked on the door and Div made a grand show of rolling over groggily to get it. It was a fourth year, Beatrice, if she remembered correctly; the girl had a woebegone look about her, as if she were perpetually grudging something she couldn't help, and who could blame her with a name like that? One of the girls behind the 17-year-old greeted the newcomer and Div was glad she was making her exit now; they'd never shut up.
"Where are you going?"
Div crumpled up her blanket and slipped on her slippers. "To sleep in the great hall. No one in this house seems to care that I've a splitting headache anymore, when they should. Thank you kindly lady's for you hospitality."
"You don't have a splitting headache," one of them pointed out.
She turned around from the door to look back; a group of shrieking girls had run past chasing a boy with makeup on. "I do now."
"Wait," Beatrice called.
Divi sighed and waited one step out the door. "For what?"
"Haven't you heard?" she asked, a pompous smile rising on her face. Div assumed it didn't matter whether she answered or not and her theory proved correct, the girl went on, standing in the center of the room like an announcer, turning to the others excitedly, voice vapid and fast. "That little Weasley girl went and got herself taken again. The old bat was telling Snape just a few minutes ago, he's coming right now to inform us. I wouldn't go to the great hall;" she turned to Div. "If they do anything about it, the investigators will blame you for being out. And I doubt the professor will be here anytime soon, so I'm making it my duty to inform the house." She said this with relish, as if she were important for knowing.
"Well go on then," was all she said.
Div fought down the urge to tell the girl she had no right to call her "little Weasley" when the said girl was a whole head taller than herself. She also did not point out that this was not worth stopping her for and merely walked out. On her way down the stairs she noticed it got quieter, the voices from above echoes; it felt like she was descending from a very hot place to somewhere that was cool. No one was down here save little, sleeping first years and the endless train of rogue boys and girls sneaking in and out of the dorms. Beatrice's' voice carried down and Div only allowed herself to be mildly worried about the fourth year forcing her way into a makeshift mosh pit for the sake of saying she had if someone asked later on.
When she reached the common room she realized it was not, in fact, empty.
It took only a second for the scene to sink in but she did not move from the stairs even after she realized Draco was being pinned the wall by an angry redhead and there was two other Gryffondors with him. He was yelling, the red head named Ronald, and Div found it to be unnecessary, as he was only a few inches from the blondes' face.
They said she was the essence of Slytherin pride gone bad, and this was only true to them because they had been raise on the curdles, while she had tasted the milk straight from the Serpent mother. They thought it meant no Gryffondors should set foot in their room because it was something they owned, something no one else had right to come near; they thought it meant pranks and snide remarks. She often told them they were only copying off of the feud between two dead guys and it was pointless because they both died old, bitter men, didn't they?
For all their talk, they weren't being very original. She'd be the first to tell you it was merely a thing of respect, not the rivalry it had become. Who cares if one wayward, idiotic Lion got into the den, they were disrespecting themselves. What really merited fights was the rough treatment of a housemate, like now, but most started these disputes, as had Salazar, and she stayed where she was because Draco was always staring something.
This is, after all, what the real Slytherin would have done.
So in a sense, no, she wasn't an example. Just a faded form of what had been stuck in a time where this was not taken seriously.
"Where is she?" Ron was saying, not, she guessed, for the first time.
Even from this distance she could see his smirk and it amazed her he could do this while be asphyxiated. She raised an eyebrow though, more out of amusement then curiosity; she knew who "she" was, and Draco did too from the look of it. Div could tell from his opaque front that he did not have the answer to the boy's question.
Harry and Hermione, it seemed, had not given up on trying to restrain their friend, but the fact that it was Draco and his smile seemed to refrain from doing so. They hovered over Ron's shoulder, looking expectant. Ron pressed his arm, the only part touching the other boy, as the rest of him seemed to lean as far away from him as he could, harder into the others neck. If he had in fact answered, it came out gargling and incoherent.
Divi found the amusement was starting to ebb now, and the sight of the two rather tactless. Anyone could walk in, Severus supposedly, and that would be four useless trips to the headmaster; really, where was the creativity, the style, the class? Kids these days were hopeless.
Hermione stepped up and whispered something. Draco grinned. "Yes, listen to your girlfriend, let me go, it's obvious I can't say much--" he cooed before getting cut off by an absent Ron.
"Shut up, Malfoy." Harry added.
Ron, nonetheless, released the other boy with a none too gentle shove that left Draco gasping and rubbing his neck. He was glaring before he reached their eyes.
"Stupid Slytherins." Ron muttered.
"Aw, come now, Weasley," Divi said, having had enough; she was making her way across the room. "We're not that bad."
She was right next to Draco now, lending him her shoulder in an imperceptible way only he knew; he took it with what she guessed must've been the pompous, casual air everyone said they had together; of any boy with his girlfriend when the time to show her off came. He was probably leering over her shoulder, but she could not see his face since he was behind her; he was really leaning on her heavily. She had wondered for a second if he would take up her silent offer or if he'd let her recover on her own impulsiveness, but now that he had she pretended he wasn't heavy at all and set a similar smile on her own face. This was how they looked out for each other in this house, she'd told them all once, and they'd taken it to heart: through stage whispers; staged kisses; slight of hand; smoke and mirrors. They must come off as really slimy she couldn't help but think.
Real charming and not at all menacing, the pair of us.
Ron only managed to look surprised for a second before his annoyance came back, his cheeks were red and she wondered why. It was as if a teacher had walked in and she did not like the silence, did not like the arrested argument and the still raw glares. Really, why stop the party now that she was here?
Music and shouts could still be heard from the dorms but it seemed a world away now: the musical score to some other movie.
--
Draco got tired of repeating himself after the first few minutes and was once again grateful when she did it for him.
"He says he doesn't know." She said, still in her old sweats, the ones that she'd cut one afternoon with a kitchen knife so they came up to her knees, and a black tank. He could feel her voice and concentrated on that rather then strain over the racket of the party above. She growled low in her throat several times while talking to Ron, but that was not for them to know.
They did not glare as much at her as they had at him, though they threw one every so often, but there was contempt in their gaze that he knew she couldn't miss. He wondered, vaguely, if it ever got old.
She shifted under him and he let off a little, his own shoulder very sore, and settled for merely his hand on her shoulder.
"Let him speak." Harry said. "If there's enough oxygen left that he can smile like that, he can talk."
Normally he did not talk to her this way and Draco could tell neither was very used to it because of the way they both tensed up. He had watched Harry enough in the six years they'd known each other to know when he was uncomfortable or angry, or both; right now he had his arms crossed as if that shielded the fact he stood a little straighter and you couldn't see his shoulders. Divinity merely took in a slow breath and, though he hadn't known her as long, he was sure she'd raised an eyebrow. He felt her shoulder tense under his hand and gave it a squeeze.
"Fine," she said, buying him time. "But I'm sure you'll find his answer, no matter how much you may not like it, is the same as it has been for the past five minutes. As is your question," she nodded towards Ron who just stared at the couple harder every time as if they were hiding something or he couldn't tell them apart.
Draco was startled to feel the girl move, not so much for he was still in contact, but she was facing him now, a new face. Yes, they were opposites; she was the light to his dark, all native skin to his pale. Dark eyes that really cared and hair, now in pig tails under a strange bandana, that curled in his hands. She did not have to ask out loud but she did any way. "How about it, Draco? Up to another round of 20 questions with the Red Ribbon gang?"
There was a joke there that not even Harry got, and he assumed this was the sort of gags they pulled on one another in their time together, knowing things Draco and Ron didn't about muggle things, but it was still funny in a sarcastic sense. If Hermione got it, she didn't laugh.
Gradually, she pulled away from him, letting him get his balance back, though it must not have seemed so to the others and he trusted she'd keep it that way. Under her silent direction, he'd managed to keep his reputation.
It was not as bad as he'd thought originally, when his vision was all black spots and his fingers were cold and even the breathing in Divi's shampoo hurt. He was angry with himself for allowing it to weaken him, but he blamed it on the drinks Marcus had snuck in. Yes, it was the Mai Tai's, and he would stick to that story.
He nodded.
"So where is she?" Ron asked again.
"I don't know." Draco answered again.
"Okay, who are we talking about here?" Divi slipped in.
Ron looked as if he wanted to say something, but he shut his mouth. He seemed so intent to keep his mouth shut, he said the next bit through gritted teeth. "My sister, Ginny."
Draco saw Divi's eyes brighten, but not with realization, as he expected they would not, but confirmation. She knew.
"Virginia. Yes, I see." Was all she said.
Harry passed her a look but she was looking at Draco now. She was not talking to him though, when she said, "Why would you come to Draco, though? Why us?"
Ron finally said what he'd swallowed earlier and no one in the room was surprised to hear it. It had hung in the air right after her initial sentence, something it seemed she had invited or walked into. Only they all knew she hadn't. "There is no 'us'. This has nothing to do with you."
Her smile was familiar to Draco—and it seemed so to Harry also,--who had seen it so many times. It seemed so appropriate now he could not help but smile; without doing so, he stepped back and let the girl have her prey. In his head, she'd passed him a courteous nod.
"Oh, doesn't it?" she asked equably.
Ron said nothing.
After several other seconds passed, Divi turned to them on a whole, apparently after composing a speech. "I assure you, Weasley, it is as much my concern as it is Draco's, because he is in my house, and we, like you, look out for one another. I watched you suffocate him for a few seconds and it seems only fair that it be reciprocal if need be, so shut up."
Ron's eyes widened; his mouth a bitterly thin line.
"I understand you are hurting, or in pain, or whatever it is that is causing you to howl and make that awful face, but use your sense here. It is not likely he was going to change his answer after the fifteenth time and you should have stopped there; but you didn't. As you are single- mindedly determined to find your sister, I am giving you the benefit of the doubt that you are on a passion buzz and that you care." And her voice was low now. "But as you came into my house, man handled my friend, it is my duty and right to involve myself, even if that means making a point you obviously wont get, even if involvement includes retracting myself from your presence, but don't you dare say I don't care. I do what I say."
"And you said a lot."
Her smile turned icy and he felt it, his hand back on her shoulder now. "Then I guess I'll be doing a lot," And there was a drain in this, something in her voice that made him want her to take it back. Then again, it was all so melodramatic who wouldn't?
Hermione asked, "What are you going to do then?"
Divi looked at her for the first time. She was no longer smiling. "I'll help. I'll come with you, if you let me."
Harry, who had caught the same wavelength as he had it, seemed, or some other one for he looked overtly weary, was shocked.
Draco was shocked, too, despite how he'd seen it coming. He squeezed her shoulder again, this time not out of anything other then the sake of keeping face. He looked at her. "Et tu?"
She rolled her eyes and made her way to the Gryffondors who did everything but back away.
--
"I thought you were leaving,"
She sat next to him, the corner of her mouth curled into something that looked like a smile, but wasn't. "Didn't get to say goodbye,"
And she saw how this hit him, his expression both accepting but confused and worried. There was a part of him that knew what she meant but neither Slytherin much listened to it; he was too busy trying to figure out what was bothering him about this and she was too occupied wondering if she wanted him to find out.
The party had wound down since she'd left; ushering the three out in the knick of time, and now the occasional person would wander in with a pillow, heading to their rooms. From their spot on the love seat, they saw these people, the ambling drunk leaning on a friend taking them to the wing, the boys and girls switching rooms and the suddenly drag quidditch players, but none saw them. They were a nice distraction but she found it annoying too that, every time she worked up something to say someone would walk in. Draco must have sensed this for, well into an hour later, when she had been dozing on his shoulder, he said, "Coast's clear."
"Wish it wasn't. Wish it was littered with water bottles, broken glass and letters in foreign languages not meant to be read. Which sort of defeats the point."
He looked down and she knew this from the shift of his shirt, which smelled like the dungeon and soap. Then he looked away. "The Gryffondors might need you," he said, his voice rumbling through her head.
She closed her eyes to the fire, the flames still dancing across her eyelids, and she, realizing there was no alternative escapes, opened them again. "They can get by fine enough without me for a while, I think. Plus, I'm working on new places to look. Have any ideas?"
It was really a different way of asking but she knew he knew and she had to try.
He looked at her sideways and in the firelight, she could see his irises stick out like ice and the little dark something trapped underneath. His eyes looked tanned golden and dark blue. She sat up.
"Draco," She said, "I wasn't going to say anything before, but don't ever let me lie for you like that again. Ever. Even if there is the slightest chance you might be right, don't let defend you on grounds you wont cross yourself just because you know I will. I don't like being predictable."
"Don't let you lie?" he asked. "Don't you mean don't make you?"
She knew he only said this because he wanted to hear it out loud, his own confused thoughts open for evaluation; she'd just tell him how he was not confused at all and how he just wanted attention. "No, you couldn't make me, but you knew I would, so you let me. You could've stopped me but you didn't; don't let me doubt you again, Malfoy. I felt a fool out there, talking to him, and I just kept telling myself that maybe I was right and what I said you'd tell me later. So," she said, facing him. "Tell me."
He raised an elegant eyebrow, as was the only way to describe it. It was not bushy, plain or plucked. "Tell you..."
"You can play innocent with them, and even they don't buy it, but I'm here. It's not like I'm going to rat you out; we'll just find her and get it over with. No chips. And if you don't, well, then, I won't feel like such a big, used fool anymore."
He looked at her for a long time. "And you would make of fool of yourself for someone, even if that someone was capable of doing themselves?"
"I would do that for anyone who didn't ask me not to. Draco, you can tell me."
He didn't say anything.
Divinity didn't ask again.
--
The walk from the Slytherin common room seemed longer and more confusing in the dark then the one running towards it.
"Oh, God." Harry said after a few minutes. "We're lost."
Hermione pointed out the obvious; they could either use the spell Harry had learned or follow the two stumbling people out. Given that the trail was spotted with the products of too much drinking, they waited while Harry whispered "point me" every now and then feeling like idiots, but clean idiots as Ron pointed out.
They were led to a stone wall not far from the actual door.
"We're lost." Harry reiterated, trying to prove his point.
"No you're not," Divi said, walking up to them from the portrait. It had seemed like only a few minutes ago she'd dropped them off in that same spot telling them she'd be back. Harry knew, in reality, it had only been that long.
Ron turned to her, still cross. "Who are you to say we're not?" he asked defensively. Harry felt a bitter wave of pity for the boy and stepped in front of him; Hermione groaned and grabbed him by the collar. Tag teamwork.
The Slytherin was the only one out of uniform but she managed to stay in character. "A person who know their way around the school. You're in front of the Head boys Common Entrance; he gets into his native house through a door on the other side. He showed me the other door, step back." And she'd been referring to Draco.
Hermione looked surprised at the door opening to two other doors, but once Div opened the right one and they all stepped into Draco's room, it seemed the marvel had worn off. She seemed merely irritated again.
"You have a door like this, right?" Div asked her.
"Yes," was all she said.
Harry wanted to leave as quick as he could, Draco's room was almost an exact copy of the common room, but found no one was moving quickly enough. Even Hermione, it seemed, hadn't been in here either. Divi opened his door and stepped through to the Head Common room they shared and walked straight to the door leading out. Harry wondered how many times she'd been in here and he wanted to mention they still didn't know the way out of the Slytherin dungeons, but didn't, as it seemed redundant and a little intentional on the girls part.
Wasn't she the one volunteering?
"You all do know the way from here, don't you, or would you prefer a detour to your common rooms? It's right through there, right behind the mirror—"
Hermione let out an indignant, strangled noise. Harry fought down a smile, thinking it inappropriate at a time like this. Ron was paler than usual, looking around the room with quiet eyes, all the energy gone. He looked tired and Harry opted to stop by the common room.
"That is," he turned to Hermione who looked murderous. "If you don't mind."
She shook her head and lead the way to her room. Like Draco's, he noticed it was decorated in the style of the owners' house, red, gold and lions. Books littered the table in front of the fire; a couch that looked well used. The vanity was bare except for a brush or two, a book, tomorrow's uniform and pictures stuck on the mirror.
She marched straight up to an ornate mirror and growled something. Divi took the liberty of being the last through, standing on the couch that served as stairs underneath as if she'd gone blind. "So much red."
Harry ignored this leading Ron upstairs.
No one else was in the common room either, no one awake at least. He saw Hermione fight not to wake them up to send them up stairs, close her mirror—it was portrait on this side, of someone uncannily like herself—and send Divi out all at once. Had it not been for Ron, he would have comforted her, but there were other matters now.
Once Ron realized he was being led to his room he snapped out of his daze. "No! I'm going too!"
"But you're tired, you can barely walk." Hermione said.
"That's because Harry won't let me go."
So Harry let him go. He stumbled down a few steps but quickly got his balance and said, "I can walk. I'm going."
"As fascinating as that announcement is," Divi said, still in between the Head Girls' room and the Gryffondor common room. Harry sent her a look and she cut herself off.
"Aren't you coming down?" Hermione asked.
Div looked down at them, looking like so many crashed sailors in a banana tree with her outfit and attitude. "You guys have this neck of the woods covered, I think I'll search on the other. Stay together, though, they're supposedly sending over investigators. Collaborative stories work better with collaborators."
And with that, she was gone.
"She could have at least shut the door," Hermione groaned.
"Think we'll see her again?" Ron asked as Hermione scrambled up to close the portrait. And Harry knew what his friend meant; if they would bump into her on the way to some place they hadn't looked or if they'd find her in the common room, as if she could hide from this and go back on her word. But it didn't sound like such an easy question all of a sudden.
So he didn't answer, merely led the way out the portrait hole.
--
It was cold wherever she was and she wished it would help numb her up because she was bruised all over.
Ginny thought she heard people calling her name but that seemed so wrong; no one was here but her. She knew this because, though she hadn't opened her eyes in the whole few minutes she'd been awake, she could feel the vastness around her. The marble, gritty and cold, underneath her seemed empty, the only word for it, and she felt as if there weren't anything for miles and miles above her. Thinking about it made her head hurt; so she stopped and tried to sleep and, when that failed, decided to just lie there.
She tasted blood and felt it like a trail of burning acid across her cheeks where it slid from her forehead and the crack in her lip. It was sweet and, for lack of anything else to do, she swallowed it.
The air around her cooed.
Her heart had taken a trip hammer beat now as she ran through all the possibilities. She could have fallen from her broom, but she had flown in days if not in her dreams, and she was in a nightgown. Who flew in a nightgown? She remembered an inviting voice; maybe she was at friends' and fell. A lot of voices drifted up from her memory; she was at school then. They should be rushing to Pomfrey right now.
She heard a sigh and took it as her own. Behind her eyes she saw things crawling and clawing at her; various bloody scenes ran past and it was a struggle to just keep still. Along with the voice, there is an explosion of a feeling she cannot name then a slow trickle of something else and no more. She knows where she is.
Opening her eyes she is met with a thick wall of black.
Oh, Ginny, what have you gotten yourself into now?
Stay calm. Don't move.
And no sooner does she tell herself that does the instinct to run kick in, though she does not know where to run to. Slowly, with the thrum of energy that is unnerving, she scoots along the floor, the only sound is her padding hands reaching behind her for an edge or a crack. There is none and soon she finds herself against something just as cold as the floor but going up. She, still looking blindly in front of her, slowly lifts herself on shaky legs, clutching at what she now knows to be one of the beautiful pillars.
There is a beginning of a tail under her hands, and she counts the scales while she waits for something to happen.
There is no use trying to figure her way out of here in the dark; the room is full of symmetrical irony, every pillar made to dance the same distance apart, and that was far enough. She bit back hot tears and sank down to the base.
She had heard muggles wishing they could do things instantly "like magic" so it would be easier. She imagined what it would be like not being able to, as there were things she could not do herself. She thought of watching her imaginary pet dog walk off without her, calling its name to no avail, and wishing she had super light speed, running up in front of it without a sweat before it could take another step. She had been over for dinner once and saw the strange spraying contraption and wondering if it ever got tiring for them; she imagined she'd think it would be nice, sighing, but she did not think she'd want for an instant fix all the time.
She'd chased the dog or walked back to the house and opened the door later to it whining; she'd washed the dishes anyway. Because that was all she could do, in the end, and it had worked.
So she stayed where she was and did not want for anything but to be safe in the dark because it was all she could do. Without her wand, this spark of will was all she had.
Hours later, though there was no telling here, she woke up curled on the floor. There had been no reason either; just that she'd wanted to wake up to see nothing. Shivering, she eased herself back into a dream.
The second time she woke up Ginny was not sure how long she'd been out. She was farther from her pillar than she'd remembered and she felt groggy as anyone would when they take too many naps. Her mouth was dry and her head hurt again, the blood dry but itchy. That's when she noticed what had woken her, a soft noise from somewhere in the room. Ginny froze.
The dark seemed to muffle everything, including sound, but there was that cold emptiness that made it echo too. Another moan and a flat thud. Someone!
Rather preferring it to be human, she dispelled the thought it was not. She slowly stood up again, careful not to make too much noise, but she did not make a move to call out. Whoever it was made a lot of racket, she noticed, thudding around in a way she knew she herself had not. It seemed that someone finally bumped into a pillar of their own and the noise stopped. Their breath was shallow and for the first time, Ginny noticed the dripping.
The obvious choice would be water, but the water she imagined was black and tasted like metal.
Whoever it was over there had splashed on their way across the room. Ginny had an advantage now, she knew where the exit was, but there could be so many she still wasn't sure where what was. The only big landmark would be the statue, and that was as far away from her sea of supporting pillars as she didn't want to go.
Someone else was whispering, that cooing wind she'd heard and the sigh she'd felt; it was velvety and far away; the new comer had gone quiet. She strained her ears, trying to figure out if she should call out.
An off key, dazed lullaby reached her, and the rustling stopped, apparently listening. The voice was familiar, a schoolgirls. But there were so many people she heard everyday, half with no name, and the assumption one was down here with her only slowed her memory.
"I come from a far away land,
Dear friend of mine, you knew it once
The voice was layered and lazy, if not a little tight. If Ginny didn't know any better, and she was sure now as it seemed familiar enough, she would have sworn the other girl had been crying. But she'd seen that person enough to know the rawness must've been from screaming if anything at all.
"Traded the sun for your sin, but left me there; I'm searching now, don't let me down,
It was some cruel joke what was going on, she thought. They were both pawns and she could hear the other voice mixed in now, wanting to laugh for its cunning. She could see the other girl too, a shadow hunched against a pillar like an after image of herself, fighting her lips with shaky hands. The stayed at her side; Ginny could imagine her eyes glaring, it was a familiar enough sight, and looking around but her face smiling while it sang.
"For a sunset with flaming--let me go!" the girls voice reaching a frantic pitch.
Ginny watched, horrified as her imagination took this in, as the dark figure seemed to throw herself away from something, or something away from her, her back hitting the stone behind her enough to make her still.
As if snapped out of her own trance, everything came back in a loud, cold rush; or maybe it had always been there, just quiet and contained. The air around her felt restless and mocking in its omnipotence. She crawled until she was a pillar away from the slumped form.
She was still alive, mumbling in her sleep.
Ginny kicked her gently until she was awake, now sure of who it was. She didn't need to whisper, should've yelled above the near hurricane above, but she did anyway. "Are you OK?"
The girl didn't say anything for a second, and then, "No."
"Well, is there anything I can do?" she asked, still sane.
"Not unless you can heal a collar bone," she grunted. "But enough about me, how long have you been down here?"
Ginny shrugged but thought about how dark it was and said, "Don't know."
Something had been ticking and she realized it was the other girls watch, but it seemed useless now. "We've been up for hours looking for you. They couldn't find another way in and I forgot about the other doors. Help me up, would you?"
Ginny struggled with the other girls weight and tried not to touch her right collar bone.
"I know you, you're in Ron's year. Slytherin." Ginny says, feeling a little lighter now that she wasn't alone. If she squinted in the dark, she could make out the other girl against gray pillar.
"That seems to be what everyone's been calling me today, yea. In my old schools, seniors didn't have to go through this. –Put everyone in a ditz you have." She laughed against the stone now that Ginny had let her go, more a weezing gasp. "Remind me not to do that again, it hurts."
Ginny nodded again not caring if she could see.
"This beats worrying about my glasses, now it doesn't matter what I can and can't see." She said, casually; even in the dark, Ginny could tell the older girl was looking around, possibly for a way out. "We're not safe here," she whispered. "You should get out, do you remember where I came?"
Ginny shivered, remembering the song and the abrupt ending and how the Slytherin had given a little choking sob as if something were taken from her. Ginny looked around at the shadows.
"Before, when you came in, what—why--?"
"The song?" she finished. "That was a joke. Not funny, but what do you expect?—He was never very funny." She added quietly.
The fifteen and a half-year-old said nothing. "He--"
"Ron's waiting for you, when you get up there just tell him to go to the sixth statue to the right. If he doesn't come back I'll haunt him, now go." She said insistently, nudging her with her good arm.
Ginny padded her way a few steps but stopped and looked back.
Just as she did so, torches she had expected to be lit before came to life, bringing everything to some very bizarre reality she could've went on believing wasn't real as long as she didn't look back. The first thing she saw was empty space, apparently her gaze wasn't as accurate as she'd hoped. Looking to the left she saw a dark skinned girl with raggedy sweats, a black tank and a bandana with yellow smiley faces on it, looking all pale and tired.
She remembered seeing the girl walking around with Draco, looking the complete opposite of him in nearly every way other than that authoritative smile they both wore. She remembered how Harry had introduced them all to her at the end of the summer and how he'd looked, how they both looked, whenever they were in the same room now, as if all they saw when they looked at each other was a name and they could not pronounce it anymore it had been so long. The girl had been smiling more openly then, that summer, and Harry had too, but now—for whatever reason—they made no attempts to even joke around. And Draco rubbed it in.
Her nails were green, a new color, and they dug into her right arm as if holding it to her side. Ginny bit her lip and would have walked back, but the new light seemed to take up all the oxygen in the room like greedy candles and it was exposing and the shock kept her where she was.
The other girl looked around her pillar and turned back to her, glaring as if she expected her to be gone, looking at her like she was stupid for being afraid and wanting to help.
Then, in the shocked quiet of the now lit chamber, they heard footsteps.
Ginny found a big section of rock near the wall and huddled there, not much minding the roughness or the new pain in her knees and back.
The girls looked at each other, both knowing who it was.
Neither were glad to see him.
--
--
His smile was, if anything, widening by the second.
And that was no comfort, as someone who rarely smiled out of ecstasy nor mirth, this façade looked purely menacing on the boy and she was at a loss what he wore it for. Surely he wouldn't be happy to see her, not after all those years... Not after Halloween and the meetings thereafter they had had.
Especially not after their last meeting.
No, he truly shouldn't be happy to see her, so why the smile? Why the grin and not a glare? Not that she wanted him to be angry, for she had witnessed his wrath before, but this just wasn't right.
"Divi..." He sighed, his voice dreamy, far away; almost an echo of its former self yet she still heard the message ringing through loud and clear. Dark eyes fogged over and clouded as they looked at her as if for the first time in years spent hunting, and there she was; standing in the chamber under his very nose, at his mercy. A madness shone through and she could tell this wasn't a good sort of daze that had taken over him within a split second, distracting him for a time from her fallen friends. For this reason and this reason alone, she stood her ground.
He took a step forward; she backed up.
Opening her mouth as if to say something or gasp in suspended shock, finding nothing to say or any air in her lungs, she shut it again; the task of retreating backwards and finding something appropriate to say to someone you haven't seen in 50 years too great at the moment. Finally, when he was barely a foot away from her, and she backed against a stone wall in turn, she found composure and heard her voice-- albeit faint, cracked and disbelieving,-- ask "Tom?"
~~
"What do you mean by She's gone?" he asked slowly, for the second time that day.
The boy rolled his eyes and could not help but think, not for the first time, the boy had something missing upstairs. "She's not here. Her presence is no longer gracing us, here in the dungeon, and obviously she's been absent in your tower." He tried, and failed, to stay away from sarcasm, but it was a part of him. Just as the glasses were a part of Potter, and freckles the Weasley's and books an extension of Granger. Sarcasm was his language, his glares and smirks and occasional sneers were facial expressions, the only he chose to use most of the time. As most of the time he was dealing with dimwitted Gryffondors.
"But where--" the red head started up again, his one tracked mind getting the best of him.
"Don't know." Draco shrugged.
Harry glared, and, for the first time in years looked him in the eye with no loathing or malice. His eyes were blank and he could not help but realize who he learned it from. His voice was bleached and flat. "Don't even think about saying you don't care. She was your friend too."
"I wasn't," he assured them. Of whether he cared or if he was her friend, he didn't know himself. "I never—"
"Cut the crap, Malfoy. If you know something, tell us, if not," Ron hissed, getting in his face, "get out of my way."
He raised an eyebrow only faintly annoyed at being interrupted and extremely aware of what the other boy had for dinner. "I can barely do that if you have me pinned to a chair, now can I?"
Hermione looked to Harry and he nodded. Once the Slytherin had his limbs back, he flexed his fingers and set them all with a glare. "I really don't appreciate this. This is the second time today you've all barged in here asking questions about some missing girl as if I know anything about it. That's badgery. At least last time it was about one of your own, now you went and got Div involved," and he was aware of the tenseness now.
"Last time," Hermione said, "you knew something. You knew about Ginny and you knew about everything your father did and was about to do and you're the one who tipped us off, so it only made sense we come to you to ask. If you had answered us the first time, Divinity wouldn't have came to see what all the racket –"
"Your fault, all that noise, then."
"—was about." She ended vehemently.
Harry stood up from his spot on the love seat, where he had been looking at the wall. "If you had answered her, Malfoy, she wouldn't have acted on impulse to come with us. She said she had trusted you and you said you would never lie,--"
He was appalled. "I didn't lie!" She didn't trust me!
Harry glared. "But you still wouldn't talk to her. God, Malfoy. You could have at least told Divi." And he put emphasis on the last word, as if disgusted and in disbelief he hadn't.
Ron seemed to be having a hard time staying in one place; he had paced the entirety of the empty classroom and their was a path where his shoes had kicked up dust. There was much effort going into not yelling it seemed, and some barely contained control. When he spoke, his lips barely moved. "I can understand why you wouldn't help when it was Ginny; you were always one for games and tradition, having the upper hand in the house wars and seeing a muggle lover get what they deserve." He winced at this but kept on. "But she didn't deserve this last time and now that you know, it only makes you more wrong for not telling. I knew you would be stubborn and I had told myself I'd make you talk, but I see you are having too much fun with this game of yours; but this time... It's Divi, Malfoy. You cannot pretend she's filth, that she has no respect for her house, because she was a better Slytherin than you. You can't say you don't care. I just thought maybe with something you care about at stake, you might want to start playing by the rules."
But she didn't deserve this...It's Divi, Malfoy.
"Who said this was a game?"
Hermione shook and turned away.
Because she was a better Slytherin than you,
"You are already speaking in past tense, Weasley. How's that for faith?"
Harry leaned closer, his voice quiet and sharp. "At least he believes what he says; at least it's worth listening to."
"Even if it weren't for my sister, if it were just Div, I'd go. And I will, without your help as it is you don't care about either. You're sick, Malfoy. A hypocrite to turn on your own friend; the least you could do pretend it's only for house pride. I'd believe you then." Ron walked to the door where Hermione waited.
Harry looked down at him. "When we find her, what do you want us to tell her you said?"
He smirked. "The truth, obviously."
"Our offer for any information, helpful or decorative, is still standing." He said over his shoulder. The door closed and Draco was left all alone in the dusty room. Ron's furious trail already half buried.
~~
The chamber had not changed in over fifty years.
He went into detail about how it had looked when he first found it,--a pre- organized hall ready for ceremony, meticulous in its huge grandness, so different from its tunnels—and she could only nod and remind him she was there that night, too. She could only point out she had seen the vastness just as he had, how beautiful and dark and right it all felt, and so familiar; she could only manage a muffled retort of "I was there!" after so many minutes under his care. She was drowsy already and it had only been a few minutes.
In her head, she was screaming at him. He didn't mention the only reason he knew how to get in was because of her; he never spoke of how he slipped some Serum into her glass and how he'd left her on his floor to wake up, still in costume. He didn't mention how she'd chased him down, knowing what he knew now, and how she didn't notice the dead Hufflepuff until after they both returned from underground. She wanted to remind him he had been wrong for doing that, that he had looked utterly grimy when she caught up with him in the center of the room, covered in muck but smiling all the same. The fact that neither talked for a while after that didn't surface either, and she wondered why he was so free with the chatting now.
But he didn't hear her, too wrapped up in his own whispering echoes.
He went on to say how it was a little ruined now, and the décor had changed. Chunks of stone were missing, cracks were visible, the stench of rotting hung in the air and she could only guess it was from something underwater. The statue she sat on was showing its age, something they both agreed it had never done before. Stains of ink and blood were still present on the floor, but she ignored this. He blamed it on the girl and her hero. Divi was only dimly confused, wishing she had a hero right about now, too.
Tom had never been one for ranting, so he vented in the most eloquent way she had ever known. He made the best speeches when he was mad, and you wanted to write them down in the end, but at the same time, printing them would make them real, lasting. True. She couldn't hear a word he said at the moment, from her seat on Salazar's beard, only the after echoes. A song or some strange, rolling poem.
Divi turned her groggy head to the side and saw what she'd been looking for. Without her glasses, the girl by the pillar was just a blur of black, white and red. But she felt her stare and turned away.
"--and you'll die down here, this time. No escapes, no promises." He was saying.
She ignored him. The stone underneath was cool and rough in a way it hadn't been in the beginning; it seemed this place was rotting before her eyes. Tom was changing. Not in the way he had back then, after they emerged, --the subtle things she could not stop doubled with ambition—but his eyes had a faint red tint underneath. She groaned, not wanting this to be true.
"You broke," she said, the dizziness making it hard to focus, to speak without the feeling of hurling. He only smiled a smile that was not his, one she did not return.
"Yes, well, I am a man; we do that sometimes: lie, go back on our word—which I only did for you—and, of course, change into something far greater than what we were. And I, Dove," he cooed, "Am the greatest of them all."
She mumbled something incoherent.
He touched her hair. "So eloquent,"
There was something she was supposed to do, something she'd come down here for... What had it been? Everything was Tom now, and that didn't seem right. He was taking up her vision; she couldn't breath and when she did, the taste of ink, dust and cologne stayed on her tongue. She gagged. He was cold when he touched her, and the burn was lingering; on her upper arms to keep her sitting, on the cheek to brush away hair, her chin to make her look up. Divi's eyes felt bruised at the sight of him, so familiar and wrong. Her ears burned where he'd whispered and they felt numb now.
"Face it, Love, you miss your old friend Tom." He said in his sickeningly familiar voice, such a sweet poison of its own; so confident she'd believe him this time. She wanted to jerk away from his hand when he swept a strand of hair out of the way (a gesture that would've seemed almost gentle had it been someone else); she wanted to tear the skin off where his spidery fingers had come into contact, leaving icy trails in their wake. But she couldn't and wouldn't give him the pleasure of watching her kill herself over it again. Not this time.
With his previous words in mind she mustered up what defiance was left in her and hissed, "My old friend died a long time ago."
This, like so much now, didn't seem to perturb him; in fact, it amused him. He smiled again, pale lips not quite reaching his violently red eyes, -- eyes she remembered looked so different on a human face. He waved the rebuke off as if the news meant nothing to him, shrugging. "Yes, well, pity that."
~~