A/N: Thank you to Mahoney, Beccafran and Emily for their beta help!
Dark Directed, Part Nine
~*~
Draco waited until all the students had left the classroom before he raised his head to look out over the benches. Ginny was long gone—he had known she would be, but it didn't stop the ache in his chest. She'd been terribly careless today, nearly injuring herself in class with inattention after he'd warned her...he had covered up his panic with fury, which wasn't difficult, considering he had been furious. She should have known better.
He thumped his hand on the desk and stood up, shoving his chair back. He gathered up his books and the collection of essays and vials from the day's classes and retreated to Snape's workroom. He had a whole host of advanced potions to prepare, and he was planning to simply drown himself in work. As much work as it took, to forget about the past few days, or this afternoon and how Ginny had looked at him. She hated him now, that much was terribly clear—now that she knew he wasn't who she wanted him to be, now that he'd proven himself too like his father for her, she wanted nothing to do with him.
Draco tried to push it to the back of his mind and turned his attention to his latest batch of Wolfsbane potion, which was currently simmering in one of the smaller cauldrons on the bench. He'd told Dumbledore he'd look into it, and had begun experimenting with Snape's recipe and notes earlier in the month. So far he hadn't managed to produce a successful potion, but he felt obligated to keep trying. It made a convenient excuse for avoiding the Great Hall at meals, where he'd have to watch Ginny sit in the protective circle of her friends and avoided looking at him. And after all, what else did he have to do?
Except brood. And stare at the walls. And remember her voice ringing in his ears. How can you think that?
Because that's the way things are, he thought savagely, giving the potion in the cauldron a particularly vicious stir. Because that's just how things are. That's what I've always believed. That's what I've always been told.
Told by his father, who hadn't really believed it himself, and who had disowned Draco for being unable to bend his ideals enough to bow before someone with Muggle blood.
Draco sighed and slumped against the table. He had no idea what to believe anymore. Because really, if he accepted what Ginny said, about Muggles being equal and pure blood meaning nothing, then what difference did it make if he sided with You-Know-Who? Except that You-Know-Who wasn't just a mudblood, he was also some sort of inhuman thing, and Draco still wasn't about to go groveling for scraps before some power-hungry creature.
He crumbled some monkshood into his cauldron, watching as the mixture turned from blue to a sort of dull brown, and sighed unhappily. How was he supposed to decide these sorts of things? How was he supposed to choose between his beliefs and the only person he depended on? How was he supposed to know what was right?
Why did his life have to be so hard?
A knock at the workroom's door interrupted his thoughts. Draco looked up as the door opened, his spirits sinking even further as Dumbledore entered, looking thoughtful as ever. Draco had been called to the old man's office yesterday for a stern lecture on marking down the students, and Draco sincerely hoped that he wasn't going to get a second one. The first still stung—though if he were being honest, he probably shouldn't have given all the fifth years failing grades on their essays—but he hadn't done anything today to warrant it. Besides taking points from Ginny, but there'd been reasons for that.
The expected lecture didn't materialize. Dumbledore only looked at him seriously. "I trust today's classes went better?" His tone was neutral, but Draco knew that he was thinking of the muck-up Draco had made earlier in the week.
"Yes, sir," he muttered. Dumbledore had made his way around the side of the table, and Draco could feel the weight of his gaze. He refused to look up, to be drawn into the conversation the old man seemed to want.
After a moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat pointedly. "And how are things in general?" he asked.
"They're fine," Draco replied tautly, without looking up. They weren't, but the idea of having some sort of conversation with the old man about how he had made a spectacular mess of the only worthwhile relationship he'd ever had didn't appeal.
"I realize this must be difficult for you," Dumbledore said softly. "To have been forced into this position against your will. I don't want you to think that you need isolate yourself further out of a desire to avoid others."
Draco risked a glance at the old man. Did he think this was about Potter? That he was being scared away from the rest of the castle by Scarhead and his little band of freaks? "I'm not avoiding anyone," he muttered.
It was funny how Dumbledore could stand there and sort of exude disbelief.
"I'm not," Draco repeated, willing the man to just go away. He didn't want to talk about it.
"Then you'll join us in the Great Hall for dinner?" Dumbledore asked mildly. "Surely it would be preferable to staying here."
Draco shrugged and gestured around the workroom. "I have things to do."
For the first time, Dumbledore actually looked frustrated. "Let me say again that this sort of devotion to duty, while admirable, isn't entirely necessary. You do have to eat, Draco, and if there is any reason you feel uncomfortable dining in the Great Hall, you must tell me. I am still in charge at this school, and I will try to ensure that everyone under my care is made to feel welcome."
"There's nothing wrong." This time, Draco kept his head down, and finally Dumbledore took the hint and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Draco stirred the Wolfsbane potion slowly, staring into the murky liquid as though it could give him answers. He probably could have talked to Dumbledore about his fight with Ginny, but he already knew what the old man would say. Blood didn't matter; breeding didn't matter; all that mattered was action. He'd certainly heard it enough, over his years as a student.
The truth was, there wasn't anyone who could decide for him, and he literally had no idea what to do. When it came down to it, all he really wanted was for Ginny to stop being angry with him, and if it meant adjusting his view of Muggles a bit, then it would almost be easier just to do it. After all, she was a pureblood, and that was the important thing.
Not that any of it mattered, if she wouldn't talk to him anymore.
With another heavy sigh, Draco got back to the business of potion-making, immersing himself in the work until he was too tired to continue. He went back to his rooms and readied himself for bed, only to lie there in the dark and examine the stones of the walls, pretending he didn't feel as terrible as he actually did. If he fell asleep, he'd only dream of her, or have nightmares in which he relived their fight again and again. Staying awake was preferable to that. Draco sighed loudly and rolled onto his side, to stare at the shadowy wall beside his bed, his eyes following the familiar lines of the stones in the dim light.
The sound of his door opening was very loud in the quiet room.
Draco sat up straight, shivering in the cool dungeon air as his sheets fell away. The door swung shut again, and he could hear someone else's breathing. He scrambled for his wand, heart pounding. His fingers just closed on the cool wood when a soft voice whispered, "Lumos" and a tiny beam of light appeared from the tip of his intruder's wand.
"It's me," Ginny said, her voice trembling. "Don't—it's me."
"Ginny?" His heart wanted to leap and fall at the same time. She'd come. She had actually come to see him. Draco waved his wand at his bedside lamp, setting a warm golden glow over the room. "What are you doing here?"
"I—I don't know," she whispered. She took a few short steps forward; her face was white in the lamplight. She was wearing a plain cotton nightdress, with her feet bare and her hair spread over her shoulders in a tangled red wave.
Something here was very wrong.
Draco threw back his covers and climbed out of bed, crossing quickly to where she stood. "What's going on?" he asked in alarm. "You shouldn't be out...and you don't even have your shadow cloak. How did you get here?"
"I don't know," Ginny repeated. She was trembling fiercely, her fingers twisting together. She wouldn't look at him. "I was sleeping, and then I woke up, and I was standing in the middle of the entrance hall and I didn't know what to do. I thought—I thought—"
"Shhhh. Come here." Draco grasped her hands and pulled them apart, stilling their restless movement. Her fingers were like ice, her skin chalk-white, her freckles standing out darkly against the pallor of her skin. Draco pulled her to the edge of his bed, not knowing what else to do, and sat her down on the edge. He knelt in front of her, his hands still wrapped around hers.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and a tear slipped down one white cheek. "I'm just...I shouldn't have...I'm sorry."
"Don't," Draco said, rubbing her hands gently. "It's all right. What happened?"
"I don't know," Ginny said, her voice breaking on the last word. She bit her lower lip and took a deep breath. "I woke up, like I said, and I was standing in the middle of the entrance hall, facing the doors. And I don't know how I got there, or what I was doing, or anything."
"Were you sleepwalking?" Draco asked. It seemed like the logical explanation, but Ginny shook her head violently.
"I don't sleepwalk. I never have. And it wasn't a dream either," she said, her voice suddenly sharp. "I wasn't dreaming. I mean, I've been having nightmares, but it wasn't like that. It wasn't me. It was like someone was using me, like I was..."
"All right," Draco said, as her voice trailed off again. He rose and sat beside her on the bed, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. "If you say you weren't dreaming, then you weren't."
"I wasn't," Ginny said fiercely. "It was like the last time—I'd wake up sometimes in odd places, and not know how I got there, or find myself covered with feathers and blood, or paint...but then it was Tom. I would write to him, and he would step inside my head, without me even knowing he could. But it can't be him, he's gone, Harry destroyed the diary, and he can't still be—" she bit back a sob and curled toward him, burying her face in his shoulder. "He's gone. He has to be."
"I'm sure he is," Draco said softly. He rocked her gently, one hand smoothing her hair. He was trying to ignore the effect she was having on him, fighting his body's reaction to her nearness. She wouldn't welcome any advances right now, least of all from him, and he was selfish enough to want her to stay with him as long as he could keep her. Even if she hadn't come to make it up with him, at least she was here.
Ginny shuddered and clung tighter. He could feel her tears wetting his shoulder, though she was struggling not to cry. He held her close and whispered soothing nonsense until her breathing calmed. When she stiffened, he reluctantly let his arms drop, and she slid away, wiping at her face with her hand. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's all right," Draco said quickly. Ginny dropped her eyes and sniffled, and Draco got up abruptly, going to his wardrobe and rummaging through his robes until he found a handkerchief. He tried to gather his thoughts but it was difficult, with her sitting there and looking extremely uncomfortable. "Here," he said, and thrust the cloth at her.
"Thanks," she said, crumpling it in her fist. She had drawn her legs up under her with her nightgown tucked over her feet, and was plucking at a loose thread in her hem, snuffling occasionally.
Draco hovered for a moment, feeling like an idiot, then gritted his teeth and sat back down on the bed, leaving a foot or so between them. It was his room, after all. Ginny glanced sideways at him and shifted so that she was facing him, though she kept her head turned away, as if she didn't want to look at him.
It hurt.
They sat for a little while, the silence between them punctuated by the odd sniffle from Ginny. Draco stared at his bedspread miserably, wishing he could think of something to say that would break the awful silence.
In the end, Ginny did it for him. "I am sorry," she said softly. "I probably shouldn't have come here. I just...I wasn't thinking. I'm sure you'd rather I left."
"No!" Draco snapped his head up to stare at her. "I mean—I—I 'm glad you did," he finished helplessly. There was so much he wanted to say, and no way he would ever find the words. He was sorry, he missed her, he wanted her to come back, he wanted to stop fighting, he wished he could take back the words he'd said and bring everything back to how it had been.
Ginny watched him, her eyes a strange golden brown in the lamplight, her expression unreadable. "I'm still angry with you, you know," she said.
Draco spread his hands, feeling even more helpless. "Look," he began, "I didn't mean—"
"Yes you did," Ginny interrupted. "You meant it. And I understand that, really. Because you were taught to think it, and it isn't as if anyone's ever told you different. So maybe I was expecting too much of you. But it's not right to talk about people as if they're somehow less worthy for something that they can't even control."
Draco processed that for a moment. "I don't know what you want me to say," he said finally. "I don't—I can't—" He stood up abruptly, needing to move, to escape from under her eyes for a moment. He paced toward his desk, clenching his fists. When he turned back, she was still looking at him with that serene, indecipherable expression, and he still had no idea what to say.
But he had to try. "I just—maybe I'm wrong, and proper bloodlines don't really matter as much as everyone says they do. I don't know." He sighed in defeat. "I don't know what I think anymore. I don't know if it's right, or wrong, or anything. All I know is that I miss you." His voice had dropped to a whisper by the end, as he fought with his pride to get the words out.
"All right," Ginny said slowly. "I can't ask you to change how you think for me. Just don't say it. Not to me. I'm not going to change my friends, and I'm not going to just sit by while you say terrible things about them. And I'm not going to change my own opinions to make you feel better either." She tilted her head up and met his eyes, her expression stern. "And you're going to have to be civil to my family."
Draco barely dared breathe. It wasn't exactly an apology, but to be perfectly honest, she didn't really have anything to apologize for. "Even Ron?" he asked, and as he hoped, she smiled ever so slightly.
"Even Ron." Her mouth tilted up further, her eyes dancing. "But if he's not nice back, you can hex him. That's only fair."
Draco smiled back, his heart lifting. "I suppose it is."
Ginny's smile faded from her lips, but it shone in her eyes as she raised her hand toward him. "Come here," she said softly, and he went, settling next to her on the rumpled sheets.
She twined her fingers in his, her dark eyes searching his face. Draco didn't know what she was looking for, only that she must have found it, for she raised a hand to his cheek and pulled him forward. Their lips met, and it was everything he wanted—her soft lips parting under his, the silken slide of her tongue, the taste and feel and scent of her wrapping around him.
Ginny pulled away first, resting her head against his neck with a small sigh as she relaxed against him. Draco gathered her close, fitting her into the curve of his chest and wrapping his arms around her. He closed his eyes and leaned back against his headboard, reveling in the comforting weight of her body against his. He kissed her forehead, and her hair, smoothing it away from her face as she nestled her head against his shoulder.
"Can we just—can we stay?" she whispered, "Like this? For a little while. Just—like this."
"Of course," Draco whispered back, and pressed another kiss into her mussed curls. "Anything you want."
~*~
Anything you want.
What she wanted, more than anything, was to stay wrapped in his arms with his chest rising and falling beneath her cheek and his arms around her, and never have to move or sleep or dream again.
But it couldn't be, and she knew it.
Draco walked her back up to the Tower, to make sure she'd have no trouble if she ran into Filch, but they didn't encounter anyone on the way. She stopped just out of sight of the Fat Lady to kiss him, twisting her hands in his robes to hold him close, unwilling to let go of his warmth.
"You need to go," Draco whispered reluctantly as they parted, his hand rubbing in small, distracting circles on her back.
"I know," she said softly. She pulled away and looked up at him, trying to imprint him on her mind, the expression he wore, the taste and feel and scent of him. "I'll come back when I can. If...if you want."
"Yes," he said fiercely, and louder than he probably meant to. He leaned down to kiss her again, quick and hard. "I want you to."
"Then I will." Ginny took a deep breath, forcing her hands to release his robes, forcing herself to step away, to leave the comfort of his presence. "When—when I'm able."
Draco nodded slowly and backed away as she walked quickly toward the portrait hole and whispered the password to the Fat Lady. She waved at him one last time from behind the frame, and crawled through the portrait hole into the dark common room.
The room was mercifully empty, and Ginny made her way up the stairs and back to her own bed. She knew she wouldn't sleep again tonight; she was too shaken by her dreams and her meeting with Draco to settle enough for it. To pass the hours until morning, she pulled her DADA textbook out of her bag and settled down to study, whispering spells under her breath as she read.
*
Despite her promise, it was proving next to impossible to escape her friends and slip away from the Tower. Ron, Harry and Hermione were up in the common room at all hours, talking softly amongst themselves, and Ginny couldn't get past them awake, never mind asleep. Ginny gave up after the third aborted attempt to leave the Tower, and settled for sending Draco an apologetic note with her latest assignment. He didn't look pleased, but he was coming to the Great Hall for meals again, which was an improvement.
Their relationship still seemed terribly fragile, the peace they'd made a delicate thing that might break at any moment. The situation outside Hogwarts didn't help; with the school year drawing to a close and tales of the war outside escalating with every passing week it would look suspicious if she didn't spend her time in the common room, or with Colin and Zoë.
"I can't believe they're still planning to make us write NEWTs," Colin said one evening, glaring down at the parchment he was writing on. "I mean, really. Don't we get some sort of dispensation because we're at war?"
"Don't be silly. They didn't last year," Zoë said. "And anyway, there's no guarantee that there will even be a battle. You just don't want to sit for them."
"I don't want to sit for them because I'm going to fail," Colin grumbled. "I'm going to fail, and then I'll never get a good job, and I'll have to slink back to my parents in shame and live in their basement and never do magic ever again." He flopped across his papers dramatically, rolling his head toward Zoë and Ginny. "I'll have to go work in a chip shop and the only news I'll ever see is what I wrap fish up in. And it'll be all Dumbledore's fault."
"I don't even know why you're complaining," Ginny said. "You're only sitting for three."
"Four. DADA, Muggle Studies, History of Magic, and Potions." Colin levered himself back up with a groan. "Though I still don't see what Potions has to do with being a reporter. Seems like a really silly requirement to me."
"For picture development," Zoë supplied.
Colin snorted. "I suppose. Though I doubt we'll even be prepared for Potions...who knows if Malfoy's teaching us what'll actually be on our tests."
"He's using Snape's lesson plans, so he's teaching exactly the same thing Snape would have," Ginny said, and jumped as Zoë kicked her in the ankle and shot her a dire look. "I mean...I assume he is."
Colin raised his eyebrows at both of them. "You're being awfully defensive of the git," he said to Ginny.
"Maybe I just don't think he's out to get us," she said defensively. "He hasn't shown any signs of it, has he?"
"No...but considering how mean he's been to you lately, I'm wondering about your attitude there," Colin replied. "Since when are you so fond of him?"
"I'm just saying, I don't think he's evil, that's all." Ginny shrugged and flipped a page in her DADA textbook. "Should I assume the worst about everyone because you want to?"
"No, but I don't see how you can be so blasé about all this, when he hasn't exactly been kind to you—ow! Zoë, did you just kick me?"
Zoë shrugged innocently and leaned over to grab her Transfiguration book from the stack in the middle of the table. "How's your essay for History of Magic coming?"
"You did kick me! What was that for?" Colin demanded in outrage.
"I did no such thing, and really, Colin, keep it down. People are trying to study."
"Well you didn't need to boot me in the knee!"
Ginny grinned and bent her head to her paper as Colin muttered at Zoë, distracted. Which was no doubt what she had intended; a few moments later Ginny took the opportunity to gather up her things and head upstairs to the dorm, where she could draw the curtains around her bed and study in quiet. She heard Adrienne and Shelley come up a little while later, and Zoë not long after that.
Her curtains parted and Zoë poked her head in. "How are you?" she asked.
"I'm fine," Ginny replied with a smile. "Just studying like mad."
"I just wanted to make sure Colin didn't bother you," she said, then lowered her voice. "I haven't told him."
"I know you wouldn't," Ginny replied. "I'm not worried about that. And I'm not worried about Colin, either. He's just being himself."
Zoë smiled. "Good. I didn't think you would be but..."
"Yeah. And thank you," Ginny said. "For stopping him."
Zoë nodded, her smile widening. "That's what friends are for," she said, and let the curtains drop closed again.
Ginny let her own smile fade and slumped back on her bed with a sigh, her DADA textbook spread open on her chest. She wanted to see Draco, wanted to get out of the Tower so badly she thought she'd burst with frustrated tension. She was sick of studying, sick of having to spend time with her friends when the one person she wanted to spend time with might as well be in the Sahara. Their one brief meeting hadn't really solved anything, but there was no way to decide anything about what they would do after the war was over and she'd left Hogwarts without talking to Draco.
Which she couldn't do.
Ginny sighed again and rolled onto her side, letting her book slide off her chest as she curled around her pillow. She could hear the other girls settling to sleep and let her own eyes fall closed, her mind a jumble of disjointed thoughts.
*
She was dreaming.
She was dreaming, and knew it was a dream, because she'd had the same dream so many times before. They were in her dormitory and he was talking to her, whispering in her ear, his voice soft and deep. He was asking her to do something, to go somewhere, but she didn't want to move. She didn't want to leave her room, the warm cocoon of her bed. There was a reason that she shouldn't listen to him, but she couldn't remember now exactly what that reason was. Wasn't he her friend, her best friend?
I would never hurt you, Ginny.
"I know."
And I wouldn't ask you to do anything you couldn't do.
"Yes, I know."
It's so simple. All you have to do is get up. Just get up, and walk down to the entrance hall. You can do that for me, can't you?
"Of course."
And it was a simple thing, so simple that the trip to the entrance hall barely registered. And why would it? She was dreaming, and the nagging feeling that she shouldn't be doing this was fading as she moved. She could hear his voice as though he were standing right behind her, whispering in her ear, and it was the easiest thing in the world to open the great doors of the hall and step out into the pre-dawn chill. Somehow she had shoes, though she didn't remember stopping to put them on. But dreams didn't have to make sense.
Now walk to the gates, Ginny. You can do that, can't you? You're so strong, so brave. I have always admired that about you, you know. You're such a brave little girl.
Ginny frowned a little at that. She wasn't a little girl anymore, and he of all people should know that. He was her best friend, and she told him everything—he had to know that she wasn't a child anymore. But the thought quickly faded as she moved down the steps and onto the path that led around the lake and toward the Hogwarts gates. It was a very pleasant morning, with the rising sun just beginning to peek through the mist that shrouded the grounds, the sky lightening to blue above her.
The walk didn't take long, and Ginny stopped again, not far from the huge gatehouse that guarded the castle grounds. There was something about the gate, something she wasn't supposed to do...it was hard to think properly about it, as though her head was crowded with thoughts that weren't her own.
Open the gate, Ginny. You've come all this way, and I'm so proud of you. Just do this last thing for me.
"But..."
Come, Ginny. I'll give you everything you ever wanted. Just open the gate.
"Everything I've—"
I'll give you Harry.
Harry. The thought thrilled her, a happy, familiar little shiver, like she used to get whenever she heard his name, or wrote about him in her diary. She'd felt like that about him for so long, and now he was being offered to her. Everything she had ever wanted.
She paused, caught even in her dream by the wrongness of that thought. Harry wasn't everything she wanted. Not anymore. Not for a long time.
Ginny opened her eyes.
She was standing on the grounds, not ten feet from the castle gates. The Aurors who had been standing guard were sprawled on the ground, limp, their necks bent at odd angles. And outside the gates, looking in at her, was a sea of black-robed wizards in masks. And at their head, tall and skeletal in black robes, was a half-human thing with glowing red eyes set in a pale, pale face.
Ginny stared for what seemed like an eternity, while the thing drew its wand with agonizing slowness. Move, she thought. Move, before he gets his wand out. But it wasn't until the thing—Voldemort, it must be—had pointed his wand at her, had opened his mouth to utter some spell, that Ginny managed to shake of her paralysis. She dodged off the path as a spell exploded where she had been standing, and ran at an angle toward the wall beside the gate, following the curve of it toward the lake. If she could get to the lake, she could use the scrubby bushes and trees there as cover as she followed the shore back to the castle.
If they didn't get the gates open first.
If he didn't manage to get into her head again and make her open them.
She could hear thwarted screams of rage, felt something pressing down on her mind as she ran, trying to force her to turn, to go back. "No," she whispered, pushing herself to run faster. "No, no, no, no, no." This was not happening. Not again.
The castle came into sight, the huge main doors hanging ajar where she had pushed them open earlier. Ginny dashed up the steps and through them, pausing in her flight to shove them closed again. She hadn't seen anyone on the road behind her, but that didn't mean anything.
Dumbledore. She had to get to Dumbledore and tell him, had to warn the teachers. Ginny raced across the entrance hall and up the stairs that led to the Headmaster's office. The halls were empty at this hour of morning, though Ginny could barely spare time to be grateful for it. She came to a skidding stop at the gargoyle that guarded the stair to the office, gasping for breath.
"Pepper Imps," she said, and made a small, sobbing noise when the gargoyle refused to budge. "Oh, no. Please don't do this. Chocolate frog? Cockroach cluster? Oh, God."
"Miss Weasley?"
Ginny spun around and sagged with relief to see Dumbledore there. Professor McGonagall was just behind him, with Harry and Professor Delacour beside her. "Oh, thank Merlin," she gasped. "He's here, Professor, he's here right now, he's at the gates! They've come to the school, the might already be inside!"
Dumbledore raised one white eyebrow. "Who is here?"
"You-Know-Who! He's here, at the gates, I saw him!"
Dumbledore examined her carefully, his face grave. Behind him, Professor McGonagall was shaking her head in disapproval, and Harry and Professor Delacour were staring at her.
"Sugar quill," Dumbledore said, and Ginny blinked. But he wasn't speaking to her; the gargoyle had slid aside to reveal the stairs to his office. He motioned Ginny to precede them.
She stepped onto the moving staircase, trying not to feel so frightened. What if they didn't believe her? What if the Death Eaters had gained entrance already and she was too late? A tear slipped down her cheek and she bit her lip. Crying wasn't going to help.
A gentle hand rested on her shoulder, guiding her into the office and to a chair. Dumbledore moved away when she was seated, and lifted a strange contraption off a bookshelf, carrying it to his desk in silence.
"Really, Albus," Professor McGonagall began, but Dumbledore raised one hand and she fell silent. His face was intent as he fiddled with the odd machine, and no one else seemed disposed to interrupt.
"Ah, here we go," he said finally, and the air above the contraption went opaque, then cleared to reveal a perfect miniature picture of Hogwarts and the grounds. The group of dark-clad figures milling around the gate was clearly visible. Professor Delacour gasped, and Harry let out a quiet oath.
"So he has finally gathered his courage," Dumbledore said softly. "He has brought the battle to us."
Professor McGonagall had gone rather pale. "Shall I go and assemble the staff?"
"If you would, Minerva. Fleur, if you would be so kind as to contact the Ministry. In particular, notify Kingsley Shacklebolt. He's an Auror, and he knows who will need to be informed."
"Of course," Professor Delacour murmured, and followed Professor McGonagall out.
"Shouldn't we be going down to guard the gates?" Harry demanded. "If Voldemort's right there..."
"The gates will hold," Dumbledore said, his eyes on the image of Hogwarts still floating above his desk. "Our real concern is for when Voldemort realizes he cannot break them and thinks of coming through the forest. There are creatures there who will answer if he calls, and I have no doubt that he knows the secret paths through the forest's depths."
"Then this is it," Harry said, his voice grim. "We fight him here."
"I am afraid so. Once Kingsley and Moody have been informed, they will rouse the Ministry. We shall have to hold here until they arrive." Dumbledore moved a knob on his machine, and the image of Hogwarts vanished. "Miss Weasley, I must ask you to return to Gryffindor Tower. Harry, if you would escort her there, then return to the staff room with Ron and Hermione?"
"Of course," Harry said, and extended a hand to help Ginny out of her chair. She let him lead her down the stairs, feeling strangely let down. All that worry, and now they were shunting her off to Gryffindor, as though she hadn't done anything at all. No one had even asked what she'd been doing outside the castle.
Harry led her in silence, apparently sunk in his own thoughts. Ginny almost wished he would talk—she needed something to take her mind of the awareness of Voldemort outside the castle walls. She could feel him out there, feel his frustration and rage as he threw spell after spell at the gates and they still refused to fall.
"Ginny."
She whipped her head up. Harry was a few steps ahead, looking at her strangely. She had the feeling he'd said her name more than once.
"Are you feeling all right?" he asked. "You look a little pale."
"No, I'm fine," she said, and shook her head to clear it. "I'm just..."
"Don't be scared," Harry said, in what he probably thought was a bracing tone. "Dumbledore said Voldemort can't get in. There's nothing to worry about."
"I'm not—" Ginny began, but she let the words drop. She wasn't afraid, exactly, but it was easier to let Harry think so than try to explain what was really wrong. "I know we'll be fine."
"And we will," he said. "We've got Dumbledore, after all, and all the teachers."
"And you," Ginny replied, and grinned when he blushed.
"C'mon," he said, ducking his head. "We should get to Gryffindor."
Ginny grinned again, her spirits lifting a little, and followed.
~*~
The staff room was packed full of teachers when Draco arrived in answer to Professor McGonagall's summons. Everyone was here, from Filch to Professor Sinistra—even Binns was floating in one corner, looking baffled. It was awfully early in the morning for a staff meeting.
Draco slid into an empty spot beside Madam Pomfrey and leaned forward, wondering if it would be worth pumping her for details. Though considering how confused she looked, she probably didn't know. In fact, most of the teachers looked puzzled, with the exception of McGonagall; she just looked tense.
Dumbledore arrived not long after, with Potter, Granger, Weasley and Professor Delacour in tow. Draco rolled his eyes; of course they were involved somehow. He leaned back in his seat as Dumbledore raised his hand for attention. Not that it was necessary, since everyone was focused on him already.
"I have grave news," he said. "Voldemort has come to Hogwarts. He is at our gates as I speak."
He might as well have dropped a stun-bomb.
It took a moment for the news to sink in, but once it had all the teachers exploded into shouting at once. Draco sank back in his chair, stunned. Voldemort was here, at their very doors. And that meant that the Death Eaters must be here too.
His father was here.
Here, right now, at the gates, and it would come to battle in mere hours, and Draco would have to go and face his friends, his peers, all the Slytherins who were dutiful little sons and daughters and followed their parents into Voldemort's ranks. He would have to face his father, maybe over wands, and there was no way to avoid it, no way to hide in the castle and refuse to go out there without looking like a coward or a turncoat.
Except he was a coward and a turncoat as far as Father was concerned, and nothing he did now would make a difference. He'd waited too long to make a decision one way or the other, and now it had been made for him. In a way he was relieved; anything that happened now was out of his control.
Draco dragged his attention back to Dumbledore, who had raised his hands, gesturing for quiet. "Please!" he was saying loudly. "You must remain calm! Yes, Voldemort is at our gates. The Ministry has been notified, and Aurors are being dispatched even as we speak, by Portkey and protected Floo. The gates will hold, but our main concern is that Voldemort will approach the castle through the forest."
"And what if he does?" demanded Professor Vector. "Does the Ministry expect us to hold him off ourselves?"
"The Ministry is coming," Professor McGonagall snapped. "As Albus has just informed you. We have only to hold the castle, Isaac. Surely you are capable of helping with that?"
Vector subsided with a grumble, but Draco thought he had a good point. What good would the teachers do? Binns was dead already, Vector's bulk was evidence that he rarely left his rooms except for meals and classes, and many of the other teachers were scarcely better. They knew teaching, most of them, not defense.
Potter was stepping forward now, straightening his narrow shoulders. "Hogwarts isn't totally defenseless, Professor," he said. "You've got three Aurors right here, and more are on their way. We're ready and able to take charge of the castle defenses. Hogwarts won't fall on my watch."
Draco suppressed a snort, but many of the other teachers looked reassured. Of course Potter had survived attacks by Voldemort before, but fighting off a determined band of Death Eaters? He hoped the Ministry planned to send them a lot of extra Aurors.
Dumbledore raised his hands again. "The Aurors will be arriving in the Great Hall shortly. Isaac, I would like you to assist Minerva in setting up a defensive plan, and I will be putting you in charge of directing people to where they are most needed. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger will be in charge of the defenses themselves, along with myself. Poppy, if you would prepare the hospital wing...I hope that we won't need your services, but it's best to be prepared. Hagrid, when our defenses are in place, I want you to bring all the students to the Great Hall. Better that they are all together than scattered about the school. As well, if it is necessary to give ground, we can hold the Hall longer than any other room."
The mood was grim as Dumbledore parceled out assignments to the other teachers; most were to help form a guard around the central castle. Draco was one of those, which surprised him. He thought Dumbledore might have shipped him off to the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey—in fact, he would have been glad to be out of it. But instead he was forced to fall in behind the rest as they headed for the Great Hall.
*
Draco sat in his chair at the Head Table and scanned the Great Hall. With the addition of a score of Aurors and Unspeakables from the Ministry the room seemed over-full. The students had arranged themselves into houses, and were sitting in small groups at each table. About half of the Aurors were milling around in front of the doors, and the rest were standing in groups in front of the table, talking amongst themselves. The teachers had arranged themselves at their usual seats, though Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick were walking up and down the long tables, trying to reassure the students.
Ginny was sitting with her friends near the end of the Gryffindor table, close to the Hall doors. She looked strained, her face almost the same colour as her white shirt. She had looked at him only once, meeting his eyes as she filed in behind her friends, before dropping her head, bright red curls falling over her face. Draco clenched his jaw and tried not to mind. He would have liked a little more notice, but she was being cautious. Which was understandable, with her brother hovering around and the room full of Aurors.
Draco dragged his eyes away from her again and tried to focus on the conversations going on around him. If they had him in the Great Hall, that probably meant they wanted him to fight—or just wanted to have him where they could keep an eye on him. He was sure that the other Aurors didn't trust him any more than Potter or Weasley did. The tall black one, Kingsley Shacklebolt, hadn't stopped glaring in Draco's direction since he arrived.
Currently Dumbledore was the centre of the small group who'd been silently declared the leaders of their little army: Potter, Weasley, Granger, McGonagall, Shacklebolt and another Auror Draco hadn't been introduced to. They were speaking in hushed voices, though Draco had a fair idea of what their conversation must be about. It wasn't just Hogwarts under attack today; word had come that the Ministry was under assault by another group of Death Eaters, and the score of Aurors who were here were all that could be spared.
Draco swallowed hard and looked across the hall again, more worried than he really wanted to admit. If what Dumbledore said was true, and You-Know-Who was at their gates, then this was where the real battle would be, and they didn't have nearly enough resources to fight it. He tried to push away the small knot of worry forming in his chest, and risked another glance at Ginny's spot at the Gryffindor table, more for reassurance than anything else.
But Ginny wasn't there.
Draco sat up a little straighter and scanned the hall again. She couldn't possibly have left without Draco noticing—he'd been watching her, after all. But there were her useless friends, Creevey and his little brown nonentity of a girlfriend, who hadn't even noticed her empty seat.
Draco clenched his hands in agitation. She must have left the hall when he wasn't looking, but why? He stood up abruptly, ignoring the strange looks of the others at the table, and made his way toward the crowd at the main doors. The doors themselves were being guarded by a stocky female Auror he didn't recognize.
"Here now," she said, and grabbed his sleeve as he went to move past her. "Where do you think you're going?"
Draco swung around and glared. "Ginny Weasley," he snapped. "Did she just leave this way?"
The woman flushed and raised her chin. "She was just stepping out to the loo. I sent Coral with her and they'll be right back, so why don't you just wait—"
But Draco had already pushed past, shoving the door open. The entrance hall was empty, but the main doors...
The main doors were standing open.
Draco bit back his rising panic. The only thing standing between Voldemort and the castle were the defenses the Aurors had set into the walls. The spells hinged on the castle being closed to the outside, and if the doors were open...
If Ginny was out there...
Draco crossed the hall at a run and skidded to a stop at the edge of the doorway. At the bottom of the stairs was a small figure with bright red hair, and across the lawn, near the edge of the forest, was a solid line of Death Eaters with a tall, inhuman figure at their head.
Draco paused at the castle door, frozen with a heady mix of panic and horror as he watched Ginny walk evenly onto the lawn, toward that group of black-clad wizards.
"Ginny!" he called, his voice cracking with fear, but she didn't seem to hear. Draco wavered for a moment, looking from her to the Death Eaters and back, then took a deep breath and ran down the stairs. He grabbed her arm when he reached her, spinning her to face him. "Ginny, what—"
She didn't answer, moving like a rag doll in his grip. Her eyes looked...vacant, as though what made her Ginny was somehow absent. She stared at him without comprehension for a long moment, her eyes blank and strange.
Then she blinked and it was only Ginny, looking up at him in confusion. "Draco? What are you—?" She took in her surroundings, the stair and the open door, then turned her head and caught sight of the Death Eaters across the lawn. She made a muffled, sobbing noise and covered her mouth with her hand.
"Come on," Draco said impatiently, and yanked on her arm. "We need to get back inside."
The Death Eaters were moving.
Draco watched them with a sort of horrified fascination as he backed toward the stairs, trying not to admit that he was searching their ranks for his father's familiar figure. Ginny couldn't seem to look away either; she let Draco pull her away, but she seemed curiously reluctant to retreat to the castle.
"Ginny, come on," he said frantically. She wasn't listening, the strange, blank look back in her eyes. Draco dragged her closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. He would make her come with him, even if it took carrying her. "Come on. You don't want to do this."
"...trying," she moaned. "Stop. Please..." Her hands curled in his robes even as she pushed against his chest, as though she was struggling between fighting him off and staying. Her eyes cleared, and she stared up at Draco in desperation. "Don't let him," she whispered. "Don't let him make me."
"I won't," Draco whispered. "I swear it." He hugged her tighter and turned away from the lawn, pulling her toward the stairs. He didn't quite dare to run; he didn't want to risk losing hold of Ginny in a rush, but the Death Eaters were moving closer and closer....
"MALFOY, GET DOWN!"
Draco dropped to his knees, obeying the command in that voice without even thinking about it. He curled himself over Ginny and felt a spell singe his hair as it passed overhead. He could hear Potter and Weasley shouting counter-spells, and he hauled himself up and toward them, half-dragging, half-pushing Ginny with him.
He dodged another spell, and then another, and then they were up the stairs and the doors were slamming shut behind them all, with Granger's shrill voice calling out spell after spell to set the wards again.
Draco slumped against the wall beside the door with Ginny in his arms. She had fallen against him as the doors closed, and buried her face in his robes with a small sob. He held her close and let his head rest against hers, thankful that she was safe; that had been far too close.
Their reprieve didn't last long. Weasley spun around and advanced on Draco, his wand held at the ready. "What the hell is going on?" he shouted. "What was Ginny doing outside, Malfoy? And what were you doing?"
"Going after her?" Draco said, infusing his voice with as much disgust as he could manage. "Since no one else seemed to notice that she'd disappeared."
Weasley's face went an odd purple-red. "Don't you tell me that you were out for her best interests, you stuck up prat! Now get your hands off my sister and explain what the hell it is you think you're doing!"
"Oh, shut up, Ron," Ginny said, her voice rusty. She turned her head slightly so she could glare at her brother. "I'm perfectly fine right where I am."
Draco smirked at the pole-axed expression on Weasley's face. He would have laughed, but Ginny turned her head away, swaying against his chest. He braced himself, and tightened his hold on her, to keep her from slipping out of his arms.
"We haven't got time for this," Granger said. She grabbed Weasley's wand arm and tugged it down, then shoved him to one side. "The important thing is finding out what happened. Ginny?"
"I'm sorry," Ginny whispered in reply, her voice muffled in his robes. "I didn't mean to, I swear I didn't, he made me, I'm so sorry."
"Who made you?" Granger asked, but from the look she was giving Draco it was fairly clear who she thought it was. Draco gave her his best sneer. Stupid mudblood.
"Riddle," Ginny said, and turned her head to face Granger. "It was Tom Riddle."
Granger gawped at Ginny for a moment. Clearly, she hadn't been expecting that answer. "T—Tom Riddle? What—how...?"
"I...have nightmares. Had them. Ever since first year. I thought that was all they were. Just...dreams. But they changed, and now I—I can feel him," she said faintly. "I can feel him in my head." Her voice caught on a sob and she turned her head into Draco's chest again, shaking even more fiercely. "I should have said. I should have told someone and I didn't, and I'm so sorry."
Weasley still hadn't lost his flummoxed expression; he exchanged a nervous glance with Potter, and both of them looked at Granger as if they were waiting for her to do something.
"Right," Granger said, in a take-charge tone she'd obviously copied off McGonagall. "I'll go get Dumbledore."
She spun around and made her way back to the doors to the Great Hall, where a small group of Aurors was milling about. She pushed through them, barking orders as she went, and disappeared into the Hall. The Aurors moved forward to ward the doors more fully, carefully ignoring their little tableau.
Ginny leaned heavily against Draco, her eyes closing. She looked...well, to be honest, she looked terrible, tired and drawn, the tiny lines that fanned out from her eyes more pronounced than ever. He rubbed her back with one hand and she sighed, but the tension didn't leave her.
Potter and Weasley were watching him now, with identical strange expressions, but it was Potter, and not Ginny's brother, who finally spoke. "Ginny," he said cautiously, "What sort of dreams? They're not...they're not like mine, are they?"
"How would I know if they were?" Ginny asked, turning in the circle of Draco's arms so she could face him. "I've had nightmares since first year, but they've always been just dreams! And then they changed. It was like...like when...with T—with Riddle. It was like it was when he was using me. I'd wake up and have no idea how I got there. But those only started in the last few weeks, and I didn't know—"
"Right about the time you started hanging around with him, I reckon!" Weasley spat, glaring at Draco. "I knew there was something fishy about him being here!"
"No it wasn't, Ron, that was months ago, and would you please just shut up?" Ginny snapped back. "It's got nothing to do with Draco."
Weasley went purple again, and Potter reached out to grab his arm quickly. "Ron, now isn't the time."
"No indeed, Mr. Weasley, it is not the time to begin fighting amongst ourselves." They all turned as Dumbledore approached, with Professor McGonagall, Granger and a senior group of Aurors trailing behind him. He paused beside Potter and looked at Ginny. "If what Miss Granger has said is true, something very serious has happened."
Ginny wiped at her face with one hand, but she didn't move away from Draco, for which he was profoundly grateful. He felt better just being able to touch her, even with the death glares the Weasel King was shooting at his head. Ginny seemed to feel the same; she settled back in his arms and wrapped her cool hands over his where they were clasped around her waist.
"Miss Weasley, you say you've been having dreams," Dumbledore said quietly. "What sort of dreams?"
Ginny took a deep breath and leaned into Draco a bit. She seemed calmer, but he could feel the strain in her, a stiffness that wouldn't fade. "They're not exactly like dreams. I mean, I start out dreaming, but then I wake up, and I'm out of bed, outside of the tower, like I've been sleepwalking, but...that's not what it is. It's like...it was the same way when Tom—when Riddle. When I had the diary. Except it's different. I don't know how to explain it."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "How many times has this happened?"
"I'm not sure. Three or four times, I think," she said. "That I know of. And today, in the hall...I wasn't sleeping, but I don't remember leaving. And I can still—he wants me to open the doors. I can feel it."
As if in response to her words, the doors shuddered ominously as they were hit with a spell from outside. Everyone jumped, even Dumbledore, and Draco tightened his hold on Ginny's waist.
"I think he may not rely on only that to break down our doors," Dumbledore said, raising his eyebrows. "Minerva, if you could gather the Aurors together and bring them here, I think we might be requiring their assistance soon. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, if you could help Minerva with the organization, I'm sure that would be a great help."
"But what about Ginny?" Weasley demanded. "And this thing about You-Know-Who being able to use her? What's going on?"
"I am not sure," Dumbledore replied. "Although I can guess. It seems that Voldemort has discovered the connection the echo of his younger self had with Miss Weasley from her first days at Hogwarts, and has found a way to use it. I would guess his hold on her is not as...complete as it was then, or she would not be able to resist his pull on her mind. But it is enough for him to act through her, albeit briefly."
Weasley frowned, and Draco couldn't blame him. That wasn't an explanation at all. "How could he have a connection with my sister? That was years ago, before You-Know-Who even got his own body back!"
"Ron's right," Granger said, her voice puzzled. "How could he know that it was Ginny at all? And even if someone told him what had happened with the diary then, what good would that do him now? He'd need something, probably the diary itself, to set up the spell that would let him link to her. Without something to focus it, the spell wouldn't work, and since he doesn't have the diary...."
"Er," Potter said quietly, and flushed as everyone turned to look at him. "Actually, he probably does have the diary. I sort of gave it back. To Lucius Malfoy, to make him set Dobby free."
There was a long pause while everyone stared at Potter and Potter looked as if he wanted to sink into the floor.
"Good one, Potter," Draco said softly, breaking the tense silence. "Treated it with your usual brilliance, I see, and your typical disregard for how your actions might affect others."
Potter narrowed his eyes furiously. "You're one to talk, Malfoy. It was your father who gave it to her in the first place! And I don't think anyone's quite explained exactly how you knew Ginny was out here, either!"
"I saw her leave. Which you didn't notice. Along with a host of other things you've never noticed," Draco sneered.
Potter made an outraged noise and took a step forward, only to be stopped by Dumbledore's outstretched arm. "That's quite enough," he said sternly. "What is done is done, and Harry cannot take all the blame for that. I could have prevented him from taking the diary then, and I did not." He turned to Ginny, his normally bright blue eyes dulled with sympathy. "I can only say that I am sorry."
"Sorry," Draco muttered contemptuously, but Ginny twisted her head to look at him, her hands tightening on his where they still rested around her waist.
"Don't," she said softly. "Draco, please. It's not worth it."
There was a whole host of replies he could make to that, starting with the fact that it was very much worth yelling at Potter for his carelessness in putting Ginny in danger, but she looked so distraught he couldn't bring himself to upset her more. He raised his eyes to Dumbledore instead, gratified that the old man did seem genuinely sorry. "Isn't there anything you can do?" he asked. "Some way to block whatever spell he's put on her?"
"Not in the little time we have now," Dumbledore said sadly. "Although..." He stepped forward and laid gnarled hands on Ginny's head, closing his eyes in concentration. A soft gold glow seemed to flow from his hands and over her hair, sinking into her skull after a moment. "I'm afraid I cannot totally counter-act the spell, but that should block the worst of it. And I think it would be best, Mr. Malfoy, if you took Miss Weasley back to the Great Hall."
Draco nodded and made to guide Ginny away, but Weasley seemed to have got over his speechlessness. "Wait a minute!" he demanded. "Why is Malfoy taking care of Ginny? You can't just let him go off with her!
"Focus, please, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall snapped, turning a stern glare on him. "We have more important things to worry about. I'm sure Mr. Malfoy will take care of her." She glanced at Draco, and he realized that she must know. Know and approve, or at least, didn't care enough to make a fuss about it.
Dumbledore stepped forward too, giving Draco a chance to pull Ginny away from the group before Weasley could recover enough to protest again. He guided her back to the doors, one arm resting gently around her shoulders. She still seemed shaky, her steps slightly unsteady.
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked her quietly.
"I think so," she whispered. "I can still feel him, but it's not quite as bad. I just—" She bit her lip, her eyes suddenly filmed with tears. "It isn't fair. Why can't he just leave me alone?"
Draco didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say to comfort her, nothing he could do here, surrounded by people who couldn't know what they were to each other. He pulled her a little closer to his side, rubbing her shoulder. "It'll be all right," he whispered.
Ginny shook her head, but didn't say anything more as he brought her into the Great Hall, guiding her past the small group of Aurors and teachers gathered around the door. One or two of the professors looked askance at them as he walked her past, but Draco merely glared and ignored them. Her little brown friend—and Draco knew he should remember her name, since he taught the bloody girl—came rushing over to grasp Ginny's hands, her eyes wide. "All you all right?" she asked. "Where did you go?"
"I can't, Zoë, I—" Ginny faltered, glancing up at Draco. "I can't say."
"But Ginny—"
"She's not feeling well," Draco interrupted, before Zoë could say anything else. She shot him a strange look, then raised her eyebrows at Ginny in a way that made Draco wonder what she knew. "You need to sit down," he said to Ginny.
"I think so," she said softly, and she was looking peaky. Draco wrapped one arm possessively around her shoulders and pushed past her little friend, guiding her toward the Head Table. He wasn't about to let her sit with the students, not with the absolutely brilliant job they'd done in looking after her so far.
He steered her into a chair at the end of the table, ignoring the odd looks the other teachers were giving him, and knelt in front of her. "How do you feel?" he asked. She still looked pale, her face strained.
"I can't—it's hard to explain. I can still feel...it's like I can feel his mind, but he's not paying attention to me anymore. And the spell makes it harder." Ginny clutched at his hands. "But he's still there, and he wants..." Her voice trailed off and she leaned back, her eyes going strangely vacant again. Whatever she was looking at, it wasn't in the room.
The rest of the teachers were leaving the Head Table, to make their way to the doors where the Aurors who had stayed behind were gathered, huddled around a small bowl that reflected what was happening outside. Even through the thick castle walls they could hear the sounds of spells shattering, and every so often, one of the Aurors would look up, to tell the teachers and students sitting closest what was going on, but Draco was too far away to hear what was being said.
"It's close," Ginny whispered suddenly. Draco turned to look, but she didn't seem to be aware of the room; her eyes were still eerily empty, her focus turned inward. "I can feel—he's angry. Something's happened, and he's not happy. I don't know..."
"Ginny?" he said cautiously, but she didn't seem to hear him.
"I think we're winning," she whispered. "We're winning. There's more Aurors now." A shudder went through her and her hands tightened on his, awareness flooding back into her eyes. "It's—it's—oh. Oh," she said softly, her face brightening. "Oh. I think—I think it's—he did it. Harry did it! Voldemort is dead!"
And then she collapsed forward into Draco's arms as all around, the students and teachers in the Great Hall burst into cheers.
~*~