[A/N: I own nothing except the plot of this fan fiction. Sorry, no ball in this chapter; next one, I promise. And thank you so much for the wonderful reviews!]
.:X:. The World Has Turned and Left Me Here
She wouldn't do it. She point blank refused it. After all this time she had followed him around like a lost Crup and she wouldn't go to the stupid Death Eaters' ball with him. It wasn't as if they were going to do anything. The only way in was through the front door, the Death Eaters would especially be on their guard that night so the only way to create the proper map of the dudgeons was to be in the Manor itself. It was the only way they could check the three rooms to make their next visit quick and clean so their would be no dawdling.
But no she wouldn't do it.
"What if they start torturing Muggles or something?" she asked desperately.
"Lucius Malfoy would never allow any Muggle onto his property," Draco snapped impatiently, growing quite annoyed with the headstrong redhead. "Besides, it's not even a real Death Eater ball; it's just Millicent Bulstrode's coming out party,"
"But didn't she turn seventeen in December?" Ginny inquired.
"That's what I thought, but they put it off," he said, pushing the offending blond strands away from his face. If he charmed it to stay short and slicked back, it would be quite obvious he was using magic. Plus, apparently he looked rugged.
"Well, I'm still not going," she shot. He hated this, it was the one thing he wanted her to do and she wouldn't comply. He kept his composure.
"Look, we only stay for an hour," he said, trying to be reasonable. "Then we wait until everyone else leaves and search the place."
"But if we're going to the ball just to get in," she said, hanging something on the wardrobe door. "Won't it be just as hard getting in the second time?"
"That's the thing," he replied, raising clouds of dust in his wake. "They're expecting some big attack on the night of the ball and when it's over it'll be as abandoned as it ever was,"
"I don't know," Ginny said reluctantly. "Why aren't the Bulstrodes throwing the ball at their Manor?" She really wanted to get out of this, he noted.
"It burned down, remember?" he said dully. "We'll be in and out, I promise," He tried to conjure an expression that would look genuine in her eyes. Easier said than done.
The youngest Weasley still looked uneasy. He could see it in her eyes she didn't want to step into the realm of the Death Eaters.
"Just let me know in the morning, all right?" he said to her. He knew he was being uncharacteristically reasonable, but it was another set of eyes an ears he needed to achieve this, not to mention she could curse you before you can say "Ouch", not that he had any intention of admitting that. It just made him angry because he was used to getting whatever he wanted, but that was beside the point. "And if not, I'll see if I can get someone else." That was all that needed to be said as he entered the undersized bathroom. He could almost feel the anger radiating from her.
$
Those damn cobwebs kept getting in his way and obscuring his vision. He needed to see which corridor to take next. There. Under one big, ripped cobweb. The creature who crafted it wouldn't be too happy. He stepped into the corridor and felt something wet invade his shoe, except it wasn't cold like the water in most dungeons but frightfully warm. It was only a few more corridors to go, he'd worry about his shoes later.
Now there were no more torches to light his way. He waved is wand and a beam of light emitted from it, illuminating the mucky, wet set of stairs leading down to a shadowy landing. He took the steps three at a time, and almost reached the bottom when his slipped and fell on his rear end.
Painfully resuming his stance, he whipped his hand on his robes and noticed that it wasn't water, it was blood. He directed the beam of light closer to one of the puddles on the stone ground, and was quite taken aback to see it was a puddle of glistening blood. He could smell it now; the coppery scent stung his nostrils.
He broke into a run now, turning this way and that, knowing which corridors to take. Almost down the last corridor was a wooden door. The knocker lined with moss and blood. The wood itself looked as if one good push and it would crumble. His hand hovered inches above the knocker when he heard the painfully familiar scream and knew he was too late.
$
The walls and ceiling were soaked with blood as Draco sat up and rubbed his eyes. Upon opening them once more he almost sighed it relief at the colored moonlight pouring into the room.
His breathing steadied and he lay back. He'd been having that dream ever since he started at Hogwarts. He couldn't explain it. It was just one of those reoccurring dreams. Except there never was any blood in it, no that was new. They stopped just after the train crashed. Weird.
Quite aware of the cold sweat that had resided between his shoulder blades; he removed his robes that he wore every night so Weasley wouldn't goggle at his burns. She was down for the count so it didn't really matter if he took off his robes or hit a metal cooking pot over her head with a spoon. Which sounded like a good idea if you thought about it.
Draco was glad he only chose to wear his trousers; it was too hot to bother with a shirt. He turned on his side facing Weasley with her redhead resting peacefully on the side of the mattress. He had been compelled to touch the mane of hair the first few nights but brushed away the urge. Sometimes he woke up in the night to find his fingers entwined in the fiery tendrils, like this night for instance. After removing his robes, his hand routinely went to the mane of red hair.
He lay there for some minutes before removing it, for she was shifting to the other side. He could see her face now. Unusually fixed in anguish and her eyes under their lids twitching, Draco didn't notice before but her lips were moving mutely. She was having a bad dream, he realized. He wondered if he murmured in his sleep as well, as he shook her awake.
She was shivering when she muttered for him to bugger off, though he barely heard her. Ginny roughly brushed his hand off her shoulder and curled up inside the thin bedclothes.
"Go away,"
"What's the matter with you?" he asked, thoroughly annoyed. Really, he was only trying to help.
"It was just a nightmare," she said, her voice muffled by the blanket wrapped about her.
He had had enough. Draco pulled her on to the mattress and pulled away the blanket.
"I've had enough," he said tiredly. "Are you going to tell me what's going on?"
Her hair was disheveled and she only wore one of his white shirts, and he was sure if the moonlight hit her just right, he could see right through it; though that wasn't the matter at hand.
"Nothing's the matter," she snapped. "It was only a nightmare,"
"No, I don't think it was," he snarled. "If you want to be my ally, you can't keep secrets from me. You having dreams about snakes and riddles?" That hit a nerve; her eyes narrowed so much she looked like Professor McGonagall about to take away about one hundred points from the house of the offending student.
"You always have to know everything about everyone, don't you Malfoy?" she retorted.
He didn't like where this was going. "What are you talking about?"
"That's the way you get what you want, isn't it?" she seethed. "You find out things about people, and you use it against them. So like your father—"
"I am not my father!" he thundered, anger building inside him. He saw her just as angry as he felt. He was almost shaking. So that's what he gets for trying to help?
"Get off," he snarled, shoving her off the mattress.
Weasley pulled gathered up the blankets and crossed the room to the other wall and curled up there.
Draco rolled over and resumed his sleeping position facing the wall, quite unaware he was revealing one of his most highly shadowed secrets, forgetting you never turn your back on a Weasley.
$
Even if Draco was terribly cross with her from the other night, he still made sure she was unrecognizable as a Weasley for her trip to Diagon Alley. He mutely handed her a steaming mug of the Transpearence Potion like he did every other week and watched the fire in her hair die to a brunette wave and the brown in her eyes to alluring amber. The color in her lips turned so pale her mouth was but just a thin line, he could still see her lips even if they were the color of her pale skin. Ginny was undeniably beautiful, but he didn't like it. He handed her a mirror and watched the amber eyes widen noting the loss of her freckles.
"How did you...?"
"It's just a simple potion," He shrugged. "Different ingredient combination affect different changes in appearance," He never had bothered with a potion before, but as she showed him the newspapers, it became more crucial to keep her disguised. This one didn't even take a day to make, Snape would be proud.
"Right, I'll meet them at the Leaky Cauldron."
She seemed a lot less miffed than the other night. Usually she would huff about an argument all day and forget about it by the time they sat down for tea. Quite strange indeed.
"Remember: in and out," he pressed. "No dawdling, the Transpearence Potion only lasts a couple of hours," He tried to sound like he wasn't too concerned.
"Right," she said. "I'll withdraw some gold from my account at—"
"Don't even do that," he interjected calmly. "If they find out you withdrew money they'll think something's up," Like he kidnapped her for her money or something idiotic like that. 'They' meant her family of course.
"OK," she said. It looked as if she was about to peck him on his cheek like a housewife. "I'll be in and out," She mimicked his tone. He would have cursed her right there if she was someone else.
He listened to the soft thump of her Mary Janes on the wooden floor, going down the creaky steps. He scowled. It wasn't the first time they had been separated by such a distance since the start of the whole debacle. He didn't know why but he still didn't like it. What if she ran off and all he had to do was sit and wait for the Ministry wizards to collect him? Not Draco Malfoy, no way.
He was half way to the door when he realized how foolish he was being. If they were going to be partners, they needed to trust each other. But he knew either of them wouldn't dare to give away any of each other's secrets in fear it might be used against them. There was that trust problem again.
It was then he decided he would tell her about the burns. There wasn't much to tell anyway. Perhaps she would tell him why she had nightmares almost every night. One secret for another. She'd like that deal.
In the three uneventful hours that passed, Draco looked and looked again at the maps of Malfoy Manor and wondered, vaguely, if they could pull it off. If they could actually pull it off and save the world from the wrath of a power-crazed blond man.
He had never really wondered what it would be like when it was all over. When Malfoy Senior was put away or, better yet, put to death. He imagined Ginny would go back to school and he – well perhaps he could take an apprenticeship if someone will have him. Everything would go back to normal, or as normal as any wizard life can be. If only it were that simple.
The soft thump of her Mary Janes brought him back to reality and he felt his pulse speed up in anticipation, for which he assumed to finally look upon what they needed to pull this off.
Ginny stepped across the threshold red hair radiating and freckles dancing. She offered him a brown shopping bag and a smile to which he returned. The two of them unloaded the various potion ingredients and at last, Ginny held up a steel thermos, a muggle item used to keep drinks warm.
"You got it then," he asked solemnly.
"Yeah, they were early," She held up two corked glass vials, each containing one hair, one maroon and one brown; the hair from Blaise Zabini and Pandora McFaradox, a Slytherin prefect a year behind Ginny. Both their parents had perished in the War. The two Slytherins had been on Hogwarts Express the same time Draco and Ginny were, and got off before it turned. Draco had owled them a few days ago for their assistance. They, like Draco, wanted no part in Lucius' plans.
"See anyone friendly?" he asked absent mindedly, trying to figure out how to somehow open the thermos.
She blushed. No Weasley blushed without a reason.
"Who?"
"Just Neville," she squeaked. Draco almost laughed; Longbottom wouldn't recognize her even if she didn't take the potion.
"Don't worry about it then," he said easily, sitting himself on the mattress. "So how was it in the wizarding world?" He lay down folding his arms under his head. It was a nice break from the wizarding world, not to mention his homework, but he still missed using his wand without getting yelled at.
Weasley looked uneasy at the question.
"What is it?" he asked, the dread building up inside him. This wasn't good news. She gently took the thermos from his hands and unscrewed the top just before he could curse it open. Upon setting it down on the counter her hand slowly traveled to the pocket of her cloak. He hoped she hadn't walked all over town with her cloak on.
It was like she was savoring every moment before she pulled out the crumpled piece of parchment out of her cloak. Her gloved hand slowly handed him the parchment like he was a rabid dog. He sat up and seized it from her grasp like one and unfolded the parchment of its contents.
He was surprised to see his own face sneering out of the worn parchment. The caption under it read:
DRACO MALFOY
WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
CONVICTED OF THE MURDERS OF:
GREGORY GOYLE
VINCENT CRABBE
GINEVRA WEASLEY
Please alert Ministry of Magic officials of any sightings or leads of this culprit.
He read the caption over and over again to make sure it wasn't a figment of his imagination. He blinked. The parchment was still there in his hands. He finally looked up."But I didn't... They didn't even add in Borgin."
"I know." she sighed, taking off her cloak. He vaguely wondered if she walked through the muggle streets like that. He found himself not caring.
"I didn't mean..."
"I know."
"Where did you find this?" he asked, finally stringing together a sentence.
"Oh, they're everywhere," she said grimly. Pouting became her, he noted. "Even in Muggle London; everywhere," She looked defeated. Concerned. If the circumstances had been better he would have been intrigued.
"What are we going to do?" she asked dejectedly.
"Same thing what we planned to do in the first place," he said, trying to make it obvious to her. "And when it's all over, you'll go to the Ministry and I'll be cleared of all charges..." Her eyes pleaded with him. It looked like she had no intention of ever going back to the Weasleys.
"If I went back," she said, red eyebrows arched in despair. "I'd be an insult to the family; it would break Harry's heart. I'm better off dead to them." Draco hated how the anguish in her voice could cut through him so easily. Slow and painfully. Much like the burns he had acquired. His hand went to her arm. He could feel her pain pulsing through him; he hated and loved it at the same time.
The blond boy almost laughed. Connected through pain. How ... fictitious.
"You're not like them, Ginny." he said solemnly. He held her freckled hand. Feeling the weight. The warmth.
"You're not like them either." She smiled. He knew what she meant. "Weasley, allow me to propose an – agreement – a deal, if you will..."
"Only," she imitated his formal tone. "If you cut that 'Weasley' rubbish and call me Ginny."
"Deal," he smirked. "Ginny, what's that?" A set of robes hanging on the wardrobe door caught his eye.
Weasley – Ginny smiled, her freckles danced in the candle light. She crossed the room and returned with the robes. It turned out to be dress robes; two sets of dress robes. She handed him the black ones with the green lining. It was just his size. Ginny held up a set of deep green, almost black for herself.
Draco didn't know whether to be amazed that she agreed to go or that she new his size.
$
Who could have brought up such matters to the Ministry that would result in Draco's conviction? How do our young heroes plan to avoid this bump in the road? Will it be safe for Ginny to return to Diagon Alley again, even with a disguise? Most doubtfully. Will this wavering bond between these two be broken from a lack of trust on both sides? Or will they break down each other's barriers before time runs out?
Tune in next time to The Wrath of Ginevra wherever Internet may be available.
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And here it is, your moment of Zen.
"I can smell colors." – Dewey, Malcolm in the Middle.