Chapter Four: A Good Samaritan and A True Friend

As usual, no one noticed Ginevra's strange behavior. Well, no one except Neville, and since he would never say anything it might as well have been no one. No one seem to notice that she lost concentration and stared off into space more frequently. No one noticed that she barely ate anything. No one noticed that she had become almost silent. No one noticed because no one cared. At least, that was how she felt. But she didn't really want anyone to notice. If they noticed they would ask question and she couldn't possibly explain. She felt horrible for wanting it both ways, and when she realized she had it both ways with Neville she felt even worse.

How had the darkness come back? She had beaten. She had dealt with it and come out stronger. But here she was, worse than ever, and all over a Malfoy. No! It was not over him, it was not because of him, it had nothing to do with him, it was all about her. Now that sounded ego-centric. But wasn't it about her? Wasn't it an issue of how she looked at him and treated him and not about how he treated her? Yes, it was. And she hated him. The apology had only made her hate him more. She couldn't even figure out why. Yes, she had swallowed her pride before a Malfoy, but that couldn't be it. No, he hadn't told all of Slytherin as she had expected him to, but that didn't mean anything. It certainly didn't mean her apology had had any effect on him. An she most certainly was not angry at him for not justifying her hatred yet again. Was she? What if she really was no better than him, hating for no reason, full of prejudice and spite? And that was where the darkness crept in.

She didn't deserve to be where she was. She should've died in the Chamber. She had no right to be a Gryffindor. No one cared about her anyway. Even if she did manage to stop hating Malfoy no one else would. She couldn't discuss any of this with anyone, they would all laugh at her, lock up in St. Mungo's psychiatric ward, she wanted to give Malfoy a chance after all. Even if she did manage to stop hating Malfoy no one else would. She would be the only one who lived up to what they claimed. She would, once again, be all alone. They were all a bunch of hypocrites, everyone one the side of Light, even her. They all claimed to believe in justice but no one believed in forgiveness. They all claimed to believe in equality but they all hated based on name alone. What was the point?

It had been two weeks since her apology and two years since she had felt like this. What did it matter really? It was the only way she would be able to think straight. She got up from her place by the fire and left the common room. As usual, Dare was the only one who saw her leave. What would he do if he knew where she was going? She grabbed her forearms as she walked. Would he try to stop her? Did she want to be stopped? It was the only release she had, what would she do if it was taken from her? Two years. She was almost crying, but she would wait until she got there. Dare would be hurt if he found out. She couldn't hurt the only person that cared about her. What if he already knew? She tugged at her gloves in near panic. He couldn't know, he just couldn't, she would know if he knew, wouldn't she? She sighed. She was there. She walked back and forth, thinking of a place to be alone and safe. The door did not appear. Someone was using the room when she needed it! Didn't they know how badly she needed it?

She put her back to the wall and slid down behind her knees. Her arms wrapped around her legs and her face buried itself. The angle hurt her neck but she didn't care. She just sat there and cried. She sat there and cried like world had ended without a thought to where she was, without a thought about the fact anyone could walk by and find her. She just cried. She didn't hear the door open. She didn't hear feet come to stop in front of her. She barely felt herself be pulled to her feet and led into the room. She didn't respond as she was laid down on a couch that had appeared. She didn't look up at the sound of feet walking out of the room or the of the door closing. She just continued to cry.

She made her way back to the tower eventually. She couldn't remember how she had gotten into the room. Well, she didn't know who had helped her. She knew it was a boy, they way he held her couldn't be mistaken, those arms had definitely been masculine. Besides, what girl smells like that? She couldn't figure out how she had managed to smell him through her tears, but she had. He smelled like the wind. She didn't know how else to describe it. But that was all she knew. She hadn't done what she had intended to. She was a bit relieved at that. The stormy crying had weakened her too much to care about anything. She just went to bed.

Draco stared at the ceiling above his bed. What on earth had the little weasel so upset? No one had died. That was the only thing he could think of that would have anyone crying the way she had been where she was, especially her. He had seen almost every girl in the school cry publicly, even the mudblood Granger, but never that hard, and oddly enough, never the weasel, not at all. She hadn't even looked up when moved her, not once. She hadn't made a sound. He seriously questioned whether or not she even noticed she was being moved.

And where was the dream team? Why wasn't one of them with her? Why weren't they looking for her at least? If she was that upset surely they would have noticed something, even if she hadn't been crying when she left them. Wouldn't they? Neville, what did she call him? Oh yeah, Dare. Wait, why did he care what she called him? Anyway, he would have noticed. But then, their relationship seemed to be a silent one, don't ask don't tell comfort. Dare? Why Dare? It didn't matter.

And her arm. What had happened to her arm? Her glove had slid down a bit in the process of readjusting and he had seen little white scars. Was that why she wore the gloves? He had always thought it was merely a fashion statement. After all, she had gotten the whole school wearing them, at least on occasion. But she was never without hers, was she? The little weasel? Why would she? It was impossible, her life was perfect wasn't it? She had no reason to... but the scars were still there, and the way she had been crying, outside the Room of Requirement...

The crux of Draco's problem was this, if someone who seemed to have everything and lived in the "Light" suffered with that kind of darkness, maybe he wasn't alone after all. If the Gryffindor Princess was drowning, his own private war wouldn't be so, well, he had more reason to be drowning, didn't he? So if she was, his weakness wasn't so much weakness, was it? Not that he cared whether she lived or died, but it did help to know you weren't alone. His hand moved to his shoulder and he wondered if it worked any better for her than it did for him.

Neville was the only one in the common room when she returned. He had been sitting right where she left him the entire time. He had been thinking. He knew what he was about to do would jeopardize everything, but he had to do it, didn't he? He heard the portrait swing open and sighed. This was it.

"Hey Gin, we need to talk."

She looked at him a moment and decided she knew what was coming. "Yeah, I guess we do."

She sat down next to him on the couch but twisted so they were facing each other. "I want you to take off your gloves." He sounded really nervous.

She did as she was bid and held her arms out for inspection. There was an audible sigh of relief and he visibly relaxed. There weren't any new cuts. "I was afraid you had started again." He said in a whisper.

Her stomached turned. He had known all along and now she had to tell him the truth. "I was going to."

He looked at her with concern on every feature. "What stopped you?"

"The Room of Requirement was in use, I couldn't get in. So I just sat on the floor and cried. By the time I had finished crying I was too weak to do anything but come back here." There was no need to tell him about the mystery Samaritan, was there?

"Why? I mean, why start up again? You stopped so long ago, why now?"

"It's a long story. How did you know, anyway?"

He turned away, as though ashamed that he had known. He shrugged. "I was worried about you, your second year. You were so quiet and tried to hide from everyone. I guess you looked like I felt most of the time. So I started watching you. I noticed you started wearing those gloves all the time, and you almost freaked if anyone touched your arm. I just kinda figured. But your third year, when we started working together, you weren't so conscious of it all. I mean, you held your arms out across the table instead of keeping them as close to you as possible, you didn't care if someone tried to lead you somewhere by grabbing your arm. When you went off by yourself I could almost always find you, and when I couldn't I watched, and you didn't hold your arms any different. So I figured you had stopped. I had wanted to say something. Your second year I mean, but we didn't really know each other, and I was afraid I would just make it worse. So when I got the chance, in your third year, I did the only thing I could think of to become your friend, I asked for your help. Which I did need by the way." He looked up at the last statement.

She was watching him closely. She couldn't help but smile. He was even better a friend than she ever realized. Why couldn't her brothers care so much, or be so tender? "Thanks," she whispered.

He smiled. She wasn't mad at him. He turned so he was sitting facing her again. "We have all night, you know. For that long story."

She nodded. If anyone wasn't a hypocrite and had a chance of understanding, it was Dare. So she told him everything, including the mystery Samaritan from earlier. "And it's just, well, what's the point? If nothing works and everything is false and everyone has two faces, what's the point?" She ended with sigh, lying flat on her back and staring at the ceiling, waiting for him to reply.

"Ginny really doesn't suit you, does it?" When he finally spoke, that was what he said. She sat up, wondering if she had heard him right. "I mean, Ginny sounds so young, so innocent. Something you never really got to be." Her gaze lowered. "Mind if I call you Nevra from now on? I mean, you call everyone else by some weird diminutive or play on their name no one else uses."

She looked up and smiled. "Yeah, 'Nevra would be fine."

"Well, 'Nevra, I see what you mean, with all of that. But we'll get through this. I'm here, whenever you get frustrated or start to feel lost, just find me. We'll forgive the jerk together, if it's the last thing we do. I don't want to be a hypocrite anymore than you do, but you're right. We all do seem to be right now." He leaned over and gave her a hug. Finally, she had a brother that actually listened to her. She knew the thoughts wouldn't go away that easily, and she knew the darkness was harder to silence than that, but now she had someone to go to when she felt like she was drowning. She went to bed feeling safe for the first time since she was eleven. She wasn't alone.

She smiling the next morning at breakfast, really smiling. Not the fake smile she had been using for years, but the real deal. Draco watched her from his own table. A dark cloud seemed to settle over him. Everything he had thought the night before was untrue, obviously. She must have had a fight with her brother or something and the others were trying to calm him down, that was why she was crying and they weren't with her. The only reason he never saw her cry was because she always did so in private. She really was everything everyone believed her to be, perfect. He was alone and he had been foolish to think otherwise.