Much as she loved the diminutive Professor Flitwick, Charms could be soooooo dull sometimes. Ginny sighed, staring longingly out of the window. It was a cold, clear day outside – a welcome change from the rain that had never seemed to stop. November was a strange month she decided. Silencing charms for the third time this week, first on bullfrogs and finally on eachother. They would be doing amplification charms next lesson. Her partner nudged her, "Wake up, Gin'!"
She glanced up immediately, flicking her wand out as Flitwick sailed past on a floating cushion, "Silencio!"
Creusa clutched her throat as her voice cut off and Flitwick smiled encouragingly,
"All right, miss Blomfield. Vox!" Creusa's laughter burst out as if a switch had animated a silent radio. "Good work, miss Weasley." Flitwick moved on.
The two partners breathed a silent sigh of relief and the prefect regarded Ginny reprovingly, "That was close. What's up with you? You're all away with the fairies."
With a slightly embarrassed grin, Ginny ran a hand through her feathered auburn hair, "Sorry Cruz. 'M just a bit preoccupied I suppose."
"Ah well…you'll pass Charms easily. It's not as if this is the hardest O.W.L's subject. Potions and Defence Against Dark Arts though…they're going to be hellish."
Ginny waved a hand dismissively, "Nah…you worry too much. You looking forward to today's Kittson lesson? Nice, juicy demonology after our test I hear."
Creusa's face fell, "Her tests are evil. Demonology from a demon's perspective should be very interesting though – she always says that all the current lore on it is utter rubbish."
"She says a lot of human knowledge is rubbish though. She says we're so inhibited by our minds by our ideas about magic." Ginny started to rummage in her bag, finally fed up with Charms and pulled out a brightly coloured confection. Pretending to drop her wand, she ducked under the desk and popped it in her mouth.
"What's that?" Creusa hissed.
"Fainting fancy." Getting to her feet, Ginny was already starting to turn pale and sway unsteadily on her feet. She raised her hand feebly, "Professor…?"
As the rushing blackness took her, Ginny remembered why she hated and avoided using Fainting fancies. She could almost hear his voice in her head. If only she'd had Nosebleed nougat instead…
Luckily Creusa had managed to catch her before she hit the floor, as the junior prefect had informed her a few minutes later in the corridors, somewhat crossly.
"Don't you think that was a bit extreme? You were only bored, after all…"
"I'm sorry Cruz…don't mind me. You can go back if you like."
Creusa shrugged, "Whatever. Just don't make a habit of it." She tapped her prefect's badge, "Or you'll be making my job pretty difficult for me." She smiled briefly before heading back towards the Charms classroom.
Ginny stretched her hands over her head, arching backwards until her shoulders clicked. She sighed and glanced to the window set high in the wall of the cloistered corridor. The sky was clouded with clouds that were the colour of pewter. Shards of sunlight poured through the gaps in pale, picturesque rays. Since Fred and George had bought her a broom she relished every opportunity to ride it.
The corridor was silent, deserted. Ginny's footsteps echoed off the walls despite her efforts to walk as quietly as possible. The only sounds came every now and again as she passed classrooms, the low, monotonous tones of Professor Binns, MacGonagall's brisk instructions. She didn't know why she had wanted to get out of Charms so desperately. It was as if she had to. Slipping out of the door into a high-walled courtyard, thankfully one that few classrooms overlooked, she increased her pace. Maybe she would sit by the lake, on the far side. It would be cold; a wind was beginning to whip up the ends of her hair, blowing it into her face with stinging force. The days seemed to be dragging inexorably. She had no idea how she had been able to make herself stay awake all morning, or keep the madness that was threatening at the edge of her mind from taking over completely. Everything was trying to pretend that it was just business as usual at Hogwarts – that everyone could keep skipping along merrily as Voldemort gathered his powers and forces together. There had been disappearances. There had been murders. There had been attacks in broad daylight. It was not business as usual. No one knew what was going to happen next, there were no clues, no way of guessing. Last year there had been – Harry's visions. Now there was nothing. Nothing. Even Snape was confused, he and Draco. Despite the spears of light that pierced the overcast sky, it was beginning to rain again. Shivering at the prickle of the fine drops against her skin, Ginny pulled her robes up and around her against the chill and the drizzle. The weather seemed very appropriate to her mood.
Draco glowered out of the window as the rain began to beat against the leaded panes once again. The sky was leaden and it seemed unusually dark for the time of day even though the days were growing shorter. The lake mirrored the brooding gloom except for the marring swell of water where the giant squid lashed its tentacles either cursing or revelling in the weather. Who knew what went through the minds of fifty-foot, ten-tentacled, aquatic molluscs? Probably not a great deal, Draco thought. He stifled a yawn, clenching his jaw. Yawns of tiredness or even of boredom were inelegant unless timed perfectly for the occasion. He somehow doubted Professor Kittson would toast him for being bored in her lessons, but still, she might give him detention for advertising the fact. He noted a solitary figure rounding the curved shore, hunched against the downpour. The diminutive form appeared to glance back towards the castle. The brief flash of copper as the figure's hood was blown back caught his eye. It could have been Ginny, but it was hard to tell at this distance, and besides, there was more that one redhead at Hogwarts. Who was to say it wasn't her brother? – his hair was getting long enough…at least Draco didn't have a sister that his hair could be compared to hers. It wasn't as if he was going to grow it to the extravagant length his father wore his hair. Draco fingered the platinum strands that were now almost below his chin. Everyone thought him to be obscenely vain – and why not when Lucius Malfoy had been unofficially voted 'Best-dressed Deatheater' by Voldemort's sympathisers for every year he had been in Voldemort's service? Let them think he walked in his father's shadow, that he was nothing more than a sneering clone, fawning for favour with the Dark Lord.
He let Kittson's voice wash over him, his overactive mind plucking information selectively from her speech. She was now moving into a territory of high-level magic of dubious reputation due to its association with so called 'dark magic'. Draco was well familiar with it, as would anyone else be if they had grown up in a family that was proud to uphold the ancient tradition of hating anyone who wasn't pureblood and didn't have a castle or manor stacked to the rafters with the artefacts of evil. Malfoy manor was famously the manor that was home to the longest and most pure line of Muggle haters and the manor that was the grandest and most full with the most ancient and potent relics of dark intent. Of course, the raids on the manor had been unsuccessful to the point of embarrassment; so effective were the Malfoys at guarding their wealth and power. Mind you, Draco mused, Dad always was a bit overenthusiastic in his education of me with regards to the dark arts, I wonder if he ever realised I managed to break the wards on his study yet? He'd told Severus that and the grim old sourpuss had only frowned and made his usual jibe about being trying to be too clever for one's own good. Draco half concealed a smirk by laying an elegant finger across his mouth as if considering Kittson's last statement with the deepest concentration.
"And what was my last statement, Mister Malfoy? You have been staring out of that window for twenty minutes, don't imagine that I can't see who you're gawping at."
Draco's eyes flicked to the front to meet the lightning strike of the demon's gaze. It reminded him of something – an epithet – ah yes! Athene of the flashing eyes. No one human could have eyes that struck sparks or that swirled like molten gold. He repeated the sentence back to her, the words rising from his subconscious with ease. It was a useful talent, listening when not listening, if a little odd. If she could ever be surprised, she was not now, and that was not surprising. The human face of the demon within curled, "Such smugness, a trait inherited from your father no doubt to spoil physical beauty with an ugly mind."
Had she been anyone but a professor and a demon, Draco may have made a cutting riposte. As it was, he said nothing, knowing somehow that the demon had nothing against such things other than a deep and bitter resentment on its host's behalf towards his father. Why should a demon condemn the concealment of corruption with unsurpassable beauty? He had no doubt Me Tis had stooped to levels far lower than that without a second thought. Potter and his crew would have enjoyed Kittson's insults last year maybe, perhaps seeing them as poetic justice for Snape's treatment of them and his favouritism of Draco. Now the trio seemed divided – the trinity torn asunder! Draco felt himself to be in a slightly poetic mood. Maybe it was the onset of hysteria – he could only hope. Within the next forty-eight hours, no – maybe within the next twelve – he would be receiving the Dark Mark. There were Thestrals flying over the Forbidden forest again, he observed. It seemed like a good time to contemplate whether there was any such thing as fate. Such a time was not at hand, as Kittson appeared to have decided; she ordered them to their feet, paired them off and set them about duelling practice to round off what had been predominantly a theory lesson. Draco had been paired against Gryffindor's Weasel, much to his chagrin. Kittson was definitely evil. The ginger lummox had obviously heard the rumours about him and Ginny…cracking his knuckles, Draco prepared to put his hard-earned cheating skills to good use. It had certainly been a long lesson.
She was soaked to the skin and shivering now. She hadn't expected it to start raining, although with hindsight she supposed she should have. Perhaps it was time to head back –at least she could charm her wet clothes dry once she got inside. Shielding spells didn't work well against rain, so she had discovered. Her cramped legs protested as she climbed off the boulder that had been her seat for the last forty minutes. A faint chiming sound carried across the lake from the castle – now she was going to be late for DADA. She considered summoning her broom to save some time, it would take her at least ten minutes to circumvent the lake and then make her way to the fourth floor classroom. With a broom she could cut that time to less than five minutes. She reached into her pocket for her wand and commanded: "Accio Cloudrunner!" About thirty seconds later she made out a brownish streak making its way towards her across the surface of the lake at a rapid pace. The giant squid swung a lazy tentacle at it but the broom swerved to avoid the batting limb. On catching her broom, Ginny ran a fond eye down its oak shaft. Fred and George had had it personalised for her birthday. It wasn't a top of the range broom, but it wasn't a bad one either. The Cloudrunner line was relatively new, set up by a young entrepreneur to make quality brooms at affordable prices. The customising service made it an attractive brand for broom riders looking for a bit of individuality – Ginny's had been made lighter for extra speed and more responsive handling. It also had her name carved into the shaft at the tail end and embellished with gilt. It wasn't flashy or as crazily fast as the Firebolt or even the new Nimbus 2050 but it was a broom made special for her. It was her broom. She hopped astride and kicked off, narrowing her eyes against the wind and rain. Her hood was blown backwards, allowing her hair to be tugged and bannered out by the rushing air. Visibility wasn't too good, but still, Quidditch players went out even in hurricanes. She didn't bother going too high, just high enough so that the giant squid wouldn't try to take a pot shot at her. Currently the mad old thing was slapping the water with its sucker-lined tentacles. She crouched low to her broom as it sent a spraying arc of water in her direction. There was a terrace on the fifth level of the castle that technically students weren't meant to use, but it would save time, so she steered her flight path around the castle's great flank in an upward spiral. She could send her broom back to the shed with a banishing charm and then run downstairs to the DADA classroom. When she was over the balcony, she hurled herself off, grabbing her broom out of the air. Grabbing her wand, she sent it back at top speed to dry off in the broomshed. As for herself, she muttered, "Seccere" running quickly under cover and sneaking back inside as steam began to rise quickly off her hair and clothes. She leapt down the back staircase three steps at a time, almost breaking her ankle at the bottom – only to see that Professor Kittson was leading her class around the corner and towards where she stood, speechless at the foot of the stairs.
"Congratulations, miss Weasley – twenty points from Gryffindor and detention this evening. Now join your classmates and follow me."
Head bowed, Ginny avoided the eyes of the demonic professor, ablaze as they were with something that might have been amusement. Professor Kittson was leading her throng of fifth years up to the terrace Ginny had just come from. On flinging wide the double doors, the demon motioned for them to stay back a moment before proceeding to the centre of the massive balcony. She extended both arms and described a sweeping curve above her head, a strange blue crackle of energy appearing at her fingertips. Making a motion as if cracking a giant whip, the demon appeared to throw the arch of blue lightning outwards. Instantly the sky cleared over the castle and the rain evaporated with a hiss in midair. Smiling, she ushered her class out into the open air, "There, now we can have a lesson without the weather being a constant distraction. What I want you to do now is to pair off with your usual partners and take out the copies of the Gramarye extract I gave you at the beginning of the lesson."
Creusa caught Ginny's eye with a small frown and shoved the parchment towards her so that they could both read it: The Conjuration and Proper Handling of Fireballs. Kittson produced her wand with an eye-catching flourish and twirled it.
"Fireballs are hardly suitable things to be playing with in a confined environment, such as a classroom. We'll start with the basics once you've read the extract through."
Flicking her eyes over the writing and diagrams that occupied the page. Very little of it was dedicated to the theory of producing fireballs – it seemed to be predominantly committed to how you controlled the things. Kittson once again directed the attention of the class back to herself, "Since most of you have started talking, I assume you've all finished reading. I want concentration, full concentration from you all for this exercise. Unlike most magic, this skill requires conscious focus. All of you perform magic every day without much thought towards what you are doing, how you are harnessing the power of magical energy. Today I want you to feel what you are doing, to control it. Otherwise you may end up singing your eyebrows off. Now – watch me."
Drawing herself up, the strange professor extended her wand arm, her face wearing a look of complete confidence. Clearly she enunciated the word of power in ringing tones and a flower of golden fire burst into life at the end of her ebony wand. It was roughly the size of a Quaffle. Kittson motioned with her wand and the fireball mirrored its movement. After commanding the flaming orb to complete a few lazy figures of eights in the air, she made a throwing gesture, shooting the fireball over the edge of the terrace wall into the open air. For a while it seemed that it might carry on until it hit the forbidden forest, but Kittson needed to demonstrate something else; she banished it out of existence.
"Now, I expect your efforts to produce significantly smaller balls of flame." Professor Kittson turned back to face her class, "First of all, we'll practice silently. Hold out your wand in front of you, and, it would be easier if you all closed your eyes, feel what you are holding in your hand. Concentrate. It's not just a stick with a bit of magical creature inside it – it's amplifying your power, providing it with a focus. Can you feel that?" As she circled her students, Me Tis sent out a tendril of energy to give them a bit of a boost, clearly none of them were going to get there without help. If she caused a small power surge inside each of her pupils, they would certainly feel it, and if they held on to that feeling of their own power they would undoubtedly catch on to the exercise more quickly. This was a high level skill after all. It wasn't the casting of the fireballs that was important, it was being able to control and deflect them – and most significantly, to destroy them. Fireballs were a favourite of petty, low-level demons.
Even with her eyes shut, Ginny was sure she could feel Kittson prowling around, watching them. She clasped her wand tightly, the instructions running through her mind. Feel the power – what was there to feel? She felt like she always did – or…how could she be sure? Suddenly something lifted underneath her ribcage, a little jump that was almost imperceptible. Her fingers tingled slightly – was that what the demon meant? Her breath hitched as the feeling grew, it was building too fast – she was going to lose control…
"Breathe and concentrate, Miss Weasley." Ginny's eyes flew open as she felt the professor's hand on her shoulder. At the tip of her wand hung a blazing sphere, except it wasn't golden – hers was a yellowy green colour. "How the hell?"
"You don't need to say anything, technically anyway, to make spells happen. They help your subconscious activate the flow of magical energy and direct it as to what its task should be. Did you never perform wandless magic as a reaction to strong emotions as a child?"
Ginny nodded, "I set Ron on fire a couple of times."
"Ah then, this proves you have a well developed streak of pyromania. You've done well. Now, try to move it around and then extinguish it. Putting it out is much easier than forming the fireball initially."
With this, Kittson moved on as a few more fireballs popped into existence to the surprise of some other students. Ginny regarded her own with a certain degree of suspicion. She moved her wand hand to the side a little, concentrating on keeping it under control. It moved slowly to follow the motion of the wand. She could feel the heat radiating from it, although only as big as a large apple, it was pretty hot. It was a real fireball, she told herself, what else would you expect? After she had convinced it to trace a hesitant circle, she decided to put it out, "Extinguo." It vanished, unsurprisingly. It seemed now that everyone had a fireball to play with, in various colours. Creusa's was bluish, although the prevailing trend was for the more conventional yellows, reds and oranges. Professor Kittson was making approving comments as she moved around the group. Eventually she raised a hand for attention, "Right, now that everyone has produced, manipulated and extinguished a fireball successfully I would like to congratulate you all on receiving a pass in this weeks test. This was of course a cunning ruse to make you all aware of the connection between mind, wand and magic as well as teaching you valuable skills that will help you to defend yourselves against the very weapons you have been conjuring. Well done – that was quite advanced magic. Now – I apologise but the remaining hour will be spent back in our habitual classroom for you to take notes on some basic Demonology."
Draco pondered whether the figure by the lake had been Ginny. The sky, having been at one moment heavy with rain clouds was now a bright, unnatural blue. He was in his element on his brand new Nimbus 2050 – his father's latest bribe. It was ridiculously fast, being made, not from ordinary wood, but from dragon bone. The 2050 was a truly exclusive broom – there were only about fifty in the world. Dragon bone was naturally very difficult to obtain. Dragons tended to be hard to kill, long lived to the extreme and also had a nasty habit of eating eachother when and if they were killed or died – bones and all. Dragon bone was however the strongest and lightest substance you could ever dream of to make brooms out of, it was hollow and flexible but stronger than any metal. It was a little repulsive to think you were riding a bit of dragon, Draco contemplated, taking the significance of his own name into consideration. Dragons were incredible creatures - beautiful, powerful, fierce. It did feel a little unethical to steal their bones to make toys for the rich. Still – what did a dead dragon need with bones?
He landed on the far side of the lake. There was a rock you could sit on that faced the castle. You could perch on it and stare up at the fortress like aspect of Hogwarts. The castle had moods, but at the moment its face was closed. He propped the silver-white shaft of his new broom up against the boulder. There were footprints on the muddy ground leading up to it. They were small, with a clear definition between sole and heel – girls' heeled shoes. Something else caught his eye, two sodden scraps of parchment. He picked them up. They appeared to be from a diary – this helpfully pointed out by the words, 'Dear Diary' scribbled on one of the tattered pieces. The rest of the writing was so scrawling and smeared it was unintelligible – but the 'Dear Diary' was familiar although the ink was starting to run. Definitely Ginny's. There was nothing on the reverse of either – maybe her first entry to a new diary had been unsuccessful, the tearing seemed to indicate they came from a left-hand page. He was surprised that she hadn't developed a slight phobia to diaries since his father had slipped her Riddle's in her first year, causing the infamous Chamber of Secrets incident in which she had nearly died. The bits must have fallen out of her pocket, he supposed.
He sat down on the boulder, loosening his silver-grey and green Slytherin tie. He did like her – she wasn't like most Slytherin girls or most Gryffindor girls. She always gave him a funny little smile when she passed him in the corridors, not simpering or scowling disdainfully like the rest. She was, perhaps hopefully the only person who could get through his shields and masks and leave him feeling relieved rather than betrayed and exposed. She had a spark, and a side that understood the darkness. She understood – and at least with what she didn't truly know, she wanted to try to recognise it. So she was a Gryffindor and a Weasley – what of it? Why play by the rules? A small voice in his mind reminded him that the game was getting dangerous enough without him dragging more people into play.
Crumpling the bits of Ginny's diary into little balls, he flicked them up in the air and set fire to them. Since Ginny had torn them up it seemed obvious they weren't important – but there was no point just leaving them lying around. He got to his feet, eager to take the 2050 for a last spin before it started getting too dark. He also had no idea when the summons was going to come, and he wanted to be prepared. Draco launched himself skywards, a sense of foreboding ruining the feeling of lightness his flight might have otherwise created.