Author's Note: a HUGE, big, fabulous, wonderful "thank you" and a gigantic hug to ALL FOUR OF MY REVIEWERS! Whoo!!! You're my heroes! smothers in hugs
I hope this chapter makes ya wanna review me. Weenk, weenk.
This chapter was actually written around August. I just found it on my computer. So, here you are. Apologies if you were waiting for it.
(Gryffindor common room, Wednesday evening)
Ron was glaring daggers - no, gigantic axes - at the fire in the common room, a dark, vengeful look upon his freckled features. He breathed hard through his nose. "Ginny," he said finally, "are you planning on telling me exactly what transpired?" Wow, that was a big word for me. Transpired . . . Gotta use that more often.
Ginny gave a quarter of a smile at her brother's newfound big word, then returned to her thoughts. She'd been pondering, for the last few minutes as she pretended to read her magical fungi textbook, what to tell Ron when he asked why Malfoy had slapped her.
"Well," she began, "he began to make snide comments about me, and our family, and Harry, so I just lost it and sent a tripping spell in his general direction." She waited for Ron to snort with laughter, and was satisfied when he did so. "He dropped all his books, and so I said all innocently, 'Why, Malfoy, do you need a hand?' or something like that." Now what to say. "And he replied something about not needing mine when he can slap me with his own, and boom! Slapped."
"And then?"
"So then I completely lost it and began calling him everything from a snot-nosed Slytherin jerk to heartless, snake-like spawn of demons. Or something like that." Ginny blushed a little. "I was pretty mad."
"And then?"
"Then Flitwick comes along and tosses us in detention, and Malfoy smirks and leaves all haughtily." She glanced over at Harry, who was also listening with rapt attention. She'd been able to convince herself, last year, that she was wholly over him, but those green eyes still put little butterflies hopelessly flapping about in her stomach. She decided to play the poor-slapped-Ginny card. "My neck – it still kind of hurts. I think the - the impact of his hand did something to my neck joints."
Harry looked troubled. "Maybe Hermione has a spell to relieve neck pains. Hermione?" he proceeded to explain Ginny's predicament to the mound of parchment at the nearest table.
Ginny sighed inaudibly. You could have offered to massage my neck. Then she remembered that she was completely over him, and shook herself. She looked at Ron, who was gripping the armrests of his plush chair so hard his knuckles not only turned white, but cracked loudly and caused all the veins in his hand to stick out and turn a sickly shade of purple.
"Ron," sighed Ginny, knowing what he was thinking. "I can fight my own battles, you know. You don't have to beat up big, bad Malfoy for me."
"I know I don't have to," said Ron through clenched teeth, "but I so, so want to right now. Freaking jerk."
"Don't do anything rash or reckless, now, Ron," the small mountain of parchment reminded Ron.
"Oh, well, excuse me Miss Homework, I was just about to freakin' pound him into a pulp and then earn myself expulsion." Ron was still bitter toward Hermione for yelling those insults in the hallway the previous week.
Harry rolled his eyes. "Listen to your sister, Ron. You heard the girl. Stay out of it for now." Good Lord, I sound freakishly sensible. I ought to be planning Malfoy's unfortunate, painful demise with Ron instead of obeying Ginny's orders.
Ginny pursed her lips. "Your sister?" "The girl?" I have a name, you know! It seemed as if the only people who knew her name were family members and boyfriends, if she had any at the given moment. However, she and Dean had broken up at the start of school after a big fight about something stupid. She had even forgotten what it was - oh, yeah, I "accidentally" insulted the Richmond Rhinos. So stupid. Do all boys' minds consist of sports, girls, and fluff?
"Gin? Ginny!" Ron looked at her expectantly.
"Unh?" she said intelligently.
"Do you happen to have a bit of rope, about six feet long?"
"Nunh," even more brilliantly.
Harry rolled his eyes. "He's just teasing you, Gin. Hermione and I'll try to keep him away from your 'battle' but we can't promise anything."
Since when did she have a battle? Oh, since she told Ron to keep out of it. "I hope you lot aren't expecting me to, I don't know, 'get even' with Malfoy, are you?"
"Heck, yeah!" came Ron's enthusiastic reply. "And not just at the next Quidditch match!"
Ginny was a Chaser. "No, that's Harry's job, he's our Seeker. Just . . . Ron, I don't want confrontation with this guy. He's not worth my time. I don't want to talk to him, I don't want to listen to you complain about him, I don't even want to see his pointy little face. 'Kay?"
She swept off toward the girls' dormitory and left Ron behind her, slack-jawed. "Did you hear that girl?" he asked incredulously. "Not get even! What does she think she's playing at?"
If, however, Ginny wasn't going to talk to Malfoy or see his apparently angular, fine-boned face, she was going to be a very happy girl.
(Thursday morning. On her way to the bathrooms between third and fourth classes.)
Ginny hurried past the formerly Forbidden Corridor made a beeline for the end of the hallway, where it forked. She turned the corner and, surprise, surprise, nearly collided with the very person she had vowed to never set eyes upon again. He was, luckily, not followed by his usual fan club.
"Watch it, punk," he hissed, almost slamming into the wall to avoid her, before he realized who it was. "Oh, it's Weasley. How's your face today? Did 'ickle Harry Potter kiss your boo-boo gone?"
Not up to his usual standards. That was kind of lame. "My face is just fine. Thank you for your well-placed, sincere concern." That was kind of lame too. Ginny flushed at the sight of Malfoy's grin.
"Yes, it was well-placed, just like the hand that slapped you yesterday, wouldn't you agree?"
The corner of Ginny's mouth twitched upwards. "Yes, I would agree." She saw his eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch. "Too bad you don't have the same aim out on the Quidditch pitch." Touché! He'd never won a game against Harry.
As quickly as his eyebrows had risen, they descended near the vicinity of his nose. "You filthy little beggar," he growled, drawing stares from passing students. "How dare you insult me to my face-"
"Well, it was kind of hard, it was so ugly I nearly couldn't bring myself to-" She'd gone too far.
He drew out his wand, but Ginny was already halfway down the hallway, sprinting. At last she'd reached her senses. The infamous redhead temper had flared to life like a cobra being charmed by the music of the pointy-faced blonde boy. No one else could make her this angry. Or spark such intelligent comebacks, she congratulated herself.
She suddenly felt a piercing pain in her palms, and realized she'd been digging her nails into her skin as she clenched her fists. She unfurled her fingers and saw she had drawn blood.
Swearing, she veered off into her original destination, the bathroom, and washed her hands as best she could. She was about to leave when she heard a snuffling sound from one of the stalls, and realized it was a stifled sob. She frowned and double-checked to make sure this wasn't Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
"Er - are you okay in there?" she inquired, concerned.
Sniffff. "Ginny? Is that you?" someone blubbered thickly.
"Y-yes . . ." answered Ginny unsurely, not recognizing the voice. There was a click and a squeak, and the third stall's door swing open to reveal Hermione perched atop the toilet, eyes puffy and squinting. She rested her feet - which were in dainty Mary-Janes - on the toilet seat. Ginny gasped. "Hermione! What's wrong?"
Ginny had never been her best friend, but Hermione knew she was a friend nonetheless. "Oh, it's just your brother . . ." She ripped off a bit of toilet paper and honked her nose into it, then dropped it below her into the toilet bowl where several dozen were already piled. It looked like a horrible clogging just waiting to happen.
"Ron? Oh, what's he done now? Is this about last week?" Ginny asked gently, leaning on the doorframe to the stall.
"Yes. And no. He's just . . . He's not talking to me anymore, hardly, at least not the way he used to, and he won't forgive me. I've said I was sorry but he turned the other way, and I feel so horrible." Hermione wiped her eyes, frowning as she saw her light eyeliner had come off onto her fingers.
"You said you were sorry?" Ginny gasped before she could stop herself. Hermione Granger may have been a sensible person, but she never, ever apologized. Partly because she was always in the right and had nothing to apologize for, but mostly because she was so stubborn.
Hermione chuckled. "Yeah, I did. But he just gave me this weird look and took off in the other direction."
Ginny frowned. "Well - I hope you don't mind my asking - but what did you say that made him so mad?"
The older girl looked ashamed, and hid her eyes in her hands. The answer came out muffled. "Well, I told him to stop bugging Neville. And then we had the usual spat about S.P.E.W., which normally isn't so bad, but then I said something stupid about him being sad about being Harry's sidekick all the time. And then I told him off for always copying off me. And for complaining about being poor, but being too proud to really admit it or ask for help or something, and . . . And I think that wraps it up." Sniffffffff.
Ginny's eyes had widened. That sounded unusually mean for Hermione, who usually kept a civil tongue at all times. "Oh, Hermione . . ."
Snifffffffff. "He said some stuff back at me, about S.P.E.W., and my teeth, and being buried in books all the time. And the usual bossy show-off bit. But before he could say anything really mean, Snape came along and gave us detention." Sniffffffffffffffffffff.
"You'd better prepare a speech or something, because a simple 'I'm sorry' ain't gonna cut it," Ginny said softly. "I think you pushed all his buttons. No wonder he's so angry."
(Sixth year boys' dormitory. 7:30 Thursday evening.)
Malfoy (A/N: oh, all right, let's call him Draco) ahem DRACO sank down on his bed, his temples throbbing unpleasantly. He'd been in a bad mood all day from the moment that stupid little Weasley had nearly squashed him flat and then proceeded to lash out at him with her quick tongue.
Scarhead talking back to him was acceptable. It was expected. Tag-along Redhead, perhaps, could talk back, too, provided he didn't have slugs dribbling down his front. The Bucktooth had a nasty side, too - he cringed, remembering when she'd slapped him in third year. However, the smallest Weasley was a different matter. Well . . .
Girls slapping boys were one thing. But the other way around. . . Draco suddenly felt a small tightening in his stomach. He'd hit a girl. Never before had he lost it completely and laid a harmful finger on a female. Evil though he preferred to think himself to be, there were some things you just didn't do, and one of them was slapping girls.
He suddenly grinned at himself as he drew out his textbooks and began to read his Potions assignment. How many names did that little Weasley call me last week? I think I lost count after seventeen adjectives . . .
His grin disappeared the moment he realized he'd have to spend the evening polishing old Comet Two-Sixties with three Gryffindors, all of whom were probably feeling quite murderous toward him at the moment. Ah, well, he consoled himself, I'll take my wand with me just in case.
The moment this thought occurred to him, a light tapping at the window announced the arrival of a haughty-looking Hogwarts Owl. Draco removed the bit of parchment from its foot and it immediately flew off again, leaving him to read the note in silence. He groaned.
"All Students in Detention on Thursday, December 30th: I regret to inform you that, for your detention this evening, no wands will be allowed due to concerns about students' personal safety, so please leave your wands in your dormitory. Also, be sure to wear extra-warm robes, as it appears a light snowfall is to be expected. Mr. Filch will meet you all at the Front Door.
Signed, Professor McGonagall"
Draco cursed and peered out the window. It looked extremely dark. Inside the castle it was nice and warm, but when Draco touched the glass with his long, white fingers, he drew them back with a gasp. It was cold as ice.
He frowned in frustration. This rivaled his first year in the category of Worst Detentions, and he hadn't even set foot outside yet. At least they wouldn't be in the Forbidden Forest . . . Draco shuddered at the very thought. He hadn't admitted to anyone the existence of residual nightmares from that fateful detention.
He focused his eyes on the page of his Potions book in front of him. He tried to concentrate on curing boils, but Ginny's shocked face, reddened where his own hand had slapped her, kept interrupting his thoughts. Maybe he shouldn't have hit her. Food would make him feel better, he realized. Glancing at his watch, he discovered it was almost time for dinner.
Apologizing to her had occurred to him, but his pride struck down that option faster than he could say "I'm sorry, Ginny". Oh, well, he'd just have to deal with his guilt.
(Great Hall, Gryffindor table. 8:30 Thursday evening)
Ron leaned back in his seat, patting his stomach lazily in a satisfied sort of way. "Full - to - bursting," he informed his tablemates as he stretched and yawned.
Harry bit back a grin. "Good, you'll need the energy for that romantic date with Malfoy this evening."
Ron's lazy smile turned into a scowl. "Oh, don't remind me." He shot Harry a half-joking annoyed look. This was the first time in a long time that, when Ron had committed a crime worthy of punishment, Harry hadn't been involved (or even punished by accident).
Hermione heaved a sigh and set her fork and knife on her plate at perpendicular angles, remembering her manners school years before Hogwarts. She was feeling miserable again, and looked it. Bags drooped beneath her eyes, and she hadn't even bothered to pull her hair back. It framed her face in one big fuzzball, but she was more concerned with Ron and his unwillingness to forgive her.
Harry was in a state of denial and tried to ignore the friction between his two best friends. Instead, he indulged in a discussion about the Wronski Feint with Lavender Brown, who had suddenly taken a liking to Harry. He didn't mind; he was surprised at how much she knew about Quidditch.
Ginny, ignored again as usual, sat next to her semi-friend Nicole and stared at her food. The turkey looked a little undercooked. Like Malfoy's face. The cranberry sauce was a deep red. Like my own face probably was after he slapped me. The mashed potatoes were pushed to the side of her plate in a sad, deflated heap. Oh, no, it's going to snow tonight, I just know it. She tilted her head up to the Great Hall's ceiling and, judging from the lack of visible stars, heavy clouds crowded the sky. Perfect. Off to freeze my butt off with the Amazing Bouncing Ferret.
(Great Hall, Slytherin table. 8:32 Thursday evening)
Draco twiddled his thumbs and stared idly across the table at Pansy's necklace. It was shaped like a snowflake. Oh, lovely. Snowing tonight. Perfect, off to freeze my butt off with my favorite Gryffindors. He suddenly realized that the patch of pale skin beneath the pendant was growing longer and that Pansy thought he was staring at her chest. She was slowly opening the front of her robes -
"Aaauugh!" Draco blinked violently, possibly scarred for life. "I, uh, have Potions homework," he said vaguely to anybody who happened to be listening (nobody). He sped off through the doors and down various secret hallways to the Slytherin common room, where he bundled up in his expensive winter robes.
Well, he thought as he whirled around the corner and into the front room of the castle, this ought to be loads of fun.