A/N- You mean to tell me you've read this far and still haven't reviewed?! C'mon honey, give me some sugar. I am your neighbor.
Chapter Five
A Woman Scorned
When Draco opened the door to his room he almost turned back around. Surely he'd made a mistake. Sparkling cleanliness and clean-cut edges like those of a sword poised for battle defined the room he knew. The room of a conqueror, boasting a place for every thing. Not a thing for every place.
Disarray assaulted him like a tornado spell ravaging perfection three times over. Draco gaped at his room, despoiled by a force that had unmade his bed, scattered his Wizard cards, opened all his drawers, pulled the books from his shelves, and made a fort out of them tented by the rumpled bed clothes. And as if that weren't enough, someone had conjured a hoard of warthogs to root through his drawers and eat his underwear.
The color drained from Draco's already pale face until he was nearly see-through, the tone of incensed wax paper perhaps. It hardly helped when he stepped in the plate of prawns placed strategically under his foot.
Naturally, Draco screamed.
It was not at all a girlish scream.
In the middle of it all sat Ginny Weasley, a beatific look gracing her face and a warthog under her arm.
"Hello stranger." She grinned, "It's about time."
"What the HELL did you do to my ROOM?"
Ginny looked startled.
"Draco! Will you hush? Norman dislikes loud noises."
"Norman?"
"The warthog." The animal Ginny was patting on the head made a gurgling noise and began to munch on Draco's Quidditch broom.
"Drop that!" Draco made a dive for the broom, managing to wrest it from the slobbering snout of Norman. "You vile beast, you filth covered pig, and you," he pointed the handle of the broom at Ginny with menace, "roomwreaker."
"Not so cool and collected as usual, Malfoy," Ginny observed. "Something the matter?"
Ginny managed to furrow her brow a bit, barely concealing her glee at the pained expression on Malfoy's face.
"Yes, something's the matter!"
"Someone steal your shampoo perhaps?"
"Gryffindor, you are surely the spawn of Satan. Or at the very least, the spawn of one of Hagrid's flobberworms."
"Just trying to fit in. Be more Slytherin now that I'm living here."
Draco did not deign to reply. Instead, he raised his wand and pointed it at the warthog. "Clean this mess up right now or else Norman will be very purple, very soon."
"Just try." Ginny stood up and placed herself in front of quivering Norman. "I transfigured him myself from one of your many pairs of silk boxers. And then, I put a locking spell on him. In fact, I've locked every single spell I used to achieve this truly paramount mess." Ginny gestured to the chaos around her. "I'm quite proud of it actually. And you can not do anything to reverse it without my permission."
Draco lowered his wand.
Usually, Draco was not the kind of guy who gives in to threats and demands. Especially those of a terrorizing redheaded sixth year. However, he was also was not the kind of guys who sleeps in the same room with a warthog called Norman.
"Fine. What do you want?"
"I want out of this room, a meal that is neither pink nor slimy, and as many barrels of chocolate ice cream as you can find to make up for my troubles." It had taken her an entire day of destruction to perfect this plan, and she was nearly positive she'd get her way. You do not grow up as the youngest girl in a house full of brothers without learning how to fight dirty. Very dirty, in fact. "Also I would appreciate it if you stopped being such an arrogant prat, but I suppose one can't have everything.'
"I am not going to-"
"And," Ginny continued, "If you fail to comply I will continue to hold all your earthly possessions hostage. Also, I'm curious how that armoire will look as a pile of rosewood splinters…"
"Alright, Alright!" Draco extended his hands in supplication. " Just stop tormenting my room you sadistic harpy."
"Thank you. You did all you could."
With a flick of her wand, Ginny made the bed, shut the drawers, ripped the broom from Draco's hand, flew it straight into its handy carrying case, lifted every one of the knick-knacks from the floor, sent them whizzing to their proper places, and caused Norbert to grunt once, then crumple into a pair of black silk boxers.
Ginny headed toward the door, but stopped a few inches from Draco when she realized he wasn't moving out of her way.
"Will you let me by?"
Draco drew his shoulders back and smirked down at her upturned face.
"As I recall, that was not one of your demands."
"Fine." Ginny walk forward until she stood pressed between Draco and the doorframe. She expected him to move, but his shoulder remained firm. With a huff, Ginny finally managed to push past him and out the door.
Draco did not bother to watch her go. Instead, he knelt beside his underwear with a suspicious look.
"I'm going to have to burn these, aren't I?"
"'"
Not Dean, not Colin, not Alicia, not even that statue of a hobgoblin on the third floor, NO ONE had seen Ginny the disappearing Weasley for an entire day.
"Ron, eat your soup." Hermione looked at Ron who hadn't taken a bite all of dinner. He kept staring into space and dipping his spoon into the butter dish.
"What?"
"I said eat something will you please? And stop worrying about Ginny."
But as she said it, Hermione felt her own concern burrow deeper into the lining of her stomach, like a rat settling in on a cold winter night.
"Hermione, she wasn't in her bedroom last night," said Harry, who wasn't helping a bit. "You said it yourself."
"Yes well, there's a perfectly logical explanation for that."
"Yeah, she's been eaten by a Hungarian Horntail," said Ron.
"Or killed by Voldemort," added Harry.
Hermione scanned the room for signs of red hair, but she kept coming back to Ron.
"Ron, do I need to remind you again, Horntails are not indigenous to the area, and Harry, don't be ridiculous."
As much as Hermione denied it, deep down she had enjoyed searching for Ginny the day before, despite the worry. She and Harry and Ron stayed together the entire day. Through the worry she had managed to smile as the boys tripped over each other and forgot the proper etiquette of asking a 14th century suit of armor for advice. The three of them hadn't spent so much time together in months. But that didn't detract from Hermione's resolve to find Ginny, as much for the sake of Ron's sanity as her own.
After walking from the Astronomy Tower to the Forbidden Forest, she convinced Harry to look at the Marauder's Map.
The stiff parchment revealed few people left in school this close to Christmas. She recognized the three of them standing in the Gryffindor tower, Crookshanks perusing a corridor in the west wing, and Filch roaming the second floor girls bathroom. Then, in a far corner of the dungeons, a few halls away from the Potions classroom, the name "Ginny Weasley" materialized in thick, black, letters.
"She's alive." Harry gave Ron an encouraging pat on the back.
"See, I told you she was alright Mr. She's Been Eaten by a Hungarian Horntail"
"Let's just go," said Ron.
"'"
They followed Harry from the top of the Gryffindor tower, down the staircase, through a hidden shortcut wedged between McGonagall's classroom and Filch's thankfully empty office, and into the cold damp halls of the dungeons. Harry turned around corner after corner of grey stone wall. He pressed on despite a looming sense of deja vu. The only things reminding Harry that he had not gotten them hopelessly lost were the reassuring ink marks of their three names slowly approaching the words 'Ginny Weasley.' Closer and closer until he rounded yet another corner, checked the map, and saw they'd gone right past her.
Harry stopped abruptly and Ron walked into his back.
"Wotcher, Harry" he exclaimed. Then in confusion, "So are we here then?"
"Not exactly."
"Not exactly what?" said Hermione, bending her head over the map next to Harry.
"Well, we've somehow passed her."
"How the hell…" Ron swore, "Is your map broken?"
Hermione started to walk away from them, backtracking round the corner.
"I doubt it," she said. "Harry, tell me when I'm next to her."
"Right," Harry squinted his eyes in the dim underground light, tracing the path as the name 'Hermione' inched along the page.
"Stop."
Hermione came to a halt directly in front of a wall. A painfully door-less, solid stonewall.
Ron rushed up behind her, battered his fists against the stone and yelled.
"Ginny! Ginny you in there?"
His punches made a small sound, reverberating like the buzz of a dying fly in the corridor.
"Maybe we can break it down," said Harry.
Harry racked his brain for some demolition spell, wishing he could do it the Muggle way. Like with dynamite.
Hermione ran her hands along the stone, shooting sparks from her wand occasionally.
"This is a support wall. The tension on these buttresses is supported by these stones here and goes into the ground. If you were paying any attention to the map you'd see that destroying this wall would cause the whole west side of the building to collapse. You can't just go around breaking down anything you want. Honestly."
"Well do you have a better solution?" Ron was still yelling.
"Yeah, those sparks aren't going to explode anything."
"I'm looking for an enchanted stone. There must be a password locking it, obviously." Hermione continued tapping and sparking as Ron and Harry looked on.
"How long you think she'll do this for."
"Until she's right."
"Shall we place bets?"
"I've found it!" Hermione jumped up from where she was kneeling and grabbed the Marauder's Map from Harry.
The map showed Hermione, beaming with accomplishment, tapping the stone with her wand, mere parchment centimeters away from "Ginny Weasley".
Her three taps resounded eerily as the stone grinded out of its place and fell at her feet. The opening grew wider with a scraping noise, until it was cavernous enough to see through, exposing one of the most horrendous sights Harry had ever seen.
Shelve upon shelve of smiling Santa Clause miniatures, formed to look like shrunken house-elves.
"Congratulations. You kids've discovered the supply closet."
Argus Filch stooped behind them cackling a bit as Mrs. Norris wove between Hermione's legs, only to jump up on the shelves and perch next to a figurine with a striking resemblance.
Ron pounced on Filch.
"You've turned her into a bloody, hideous, house-elf figurine, haven't you? You evil worthless squib, I'll kill you! KILL you!"
"Getoffr! GETTROFF!" Below Filch, swing round the hall and backing into walls. Ron refused to shake off.
"Ron! Wingardium Leviosa," Hermione yelled, and Ron sailed away and landed with a light umph. "Honestly, I'm beginning to think you have a rage problem."
"'"
When Ginny slammed her way out of Draco's room, she found herself in a room crawling with Slytherins. Clearly she had not planned this through.
As she stepped into the room every conversation stuttered to a halt. There was nothing but the sound of sharply cut noise, that moment when you think you can hear the echo of a dropped sentence resounding in the silence. That and the frazzling of Ginny's nerves. From the frying pan into the fire indeed.
And then Pansy Parkinson broke the silence.
"Oh look, a Weasel."
As if enough of them weren't eying her already. Ginny was reminded of a pack of wolves before the kill. And she could almost see their mouths watering.
"A Common Pure Trash Pure Blood of the Ginger variety, exhibit A," added Malcolm Baddock with a sneer. "This is what your mothers warned you about."
Ginny willed the blood rushing to her face to go the hell away.
"Malcolm, don't you have somewhere better to be," said Blaise Zabini. "You know, painting your nails or something."
"Not that he could compete with your manicure, m'dear," added Adrian Pucy, winking at Blaise.
"Oh, then you can go too. Show him how its done."
Ginny wondered whether she could slink down the corridor without them noticing. She had very little interest in Adrian Pucy's abilities as a beautician.
She checked to see how far the Slytherins' attention had wandered. Malcolm Baddock, another fourth year, and a trio of second or third year girls were watching the spat between the calmly taunting Blaise Zabini and the increasingly red Adrienne. Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Knott sat on either side of Blaise, the three of them curved around a polished black mahogany table, upon which several decks of cards fanned out in piles and four long stemmed wine glasses stood in various states of emptiness. Pansy took a sip from her glass and noticed Ginny inching backwards out of the room.
"Oh, leaving so soon?" she announced, causing the others to jerk their heads in Ginny's direction. "And I was hoping you'd stay. It makes me feel so rich, you understand, having your obvious hand-me downs and incandescent poverty in such close proximity."
Ginny bit her tongue, far too preoccupied with her increasingly red face to notice Theodore Nott jab Pansy in the side.
"You're just jealous because she's in Draco's room and you're not, Pansy," he added with a warning glance.
"Hmm, yes that's it exactly," her voice reeked of sarcasm, the kind that made Ginny want to choke. Herself or Pansy, it hardly mattered.
"Terribly sorry, Miss Weasley," said Pansy, as she stepped on Theodore's foot in return. The Parkinsons have a highly developed sense of retribution. "Let me make it up to you. Care for some Shredded Hearts?"
"Excuse me?" the first words Ginny spoke and they suffered greatly in the wit department.
"Cards?" Malcolm Baddock drew the word out like a xylophone, or more accurately a condescending xylophone. He sighed. "And she's thick too."
"We've lost our fourth," explained Theodore Nott. "You know how to play?" He was already kicking out a chair for her.
"A bit. I was actually on my way out…"
"Nice try. Have a seat."
And so Ginny made her way across what must have been the common room. She checked the chair for thumbtacks and razorblades before sitting down.
"How kind of you to join us." mocked Blaise, sitting to Ginny's right. And then to the rest of the room, "I thought I told you to leave."
"When it's just getting good?" whined Malcolm.
"Exactly," said Pansy. "And if you don't, I'll feed your bits and pieces to Alfie one ball at a time." She smiled and finished brightly, "Prefects orders!"
The room cleared out in five seconds flat. Ginny could feel her stomach dropping to her toes.
"And now that we're alone…"
Pansy turned to Ginny, smiling with her canines bared and gleaming in the torchlight.
"Let the games begin."
"'"
A/N- oh no! What will the trio do now, stuck between a rock wall of malformed Chris Kringle miniatures and a hard faced Filch? Will Ginny play or get played? Who is this carnivorous 'Alfie' character? And most importantly, where, oh where, has Draco gotten off to? Surely the boy enjoys a round of Shredded Hearts? These questions and more answered in the glorious chapter six…