Title: Take It Back
Author: Sonya
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Anything you recognize, I don't own. Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, UPN, etc. Harry Potter and all associated characters, setting, props, etc., belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Inc., etc. No copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue - all you'll get is a really bratty bird and some really spoiled rats.
Spoilers: Up to 'Wrecked' in the Buffyverse, up to "Goblet of Fire" in the Potterverse.
Pairings: Willow/Snape, Hermione/Viktor Krum, Draco/Ginny, Fred/Angelina. Other 'ships to be decided.
Summary: Draco has his hearing, Ginny has a breakdown.
Author's Note: Just a reminder that this story takes place following "Goblet of Fire" - as in, "Order of the Phoenix" never happened. There will be overlaps, but there will also be differences, and there are no intentional spoilers. So, if you've read the book, you'll see some things familiar and some things not. If you haven't read the book and don't want to be spoiled - use your own judgement. If I don't tell you what's my idea and what's from the book, then you're not really being spoiled, right?
***
I don't care. I just don't fucking care. They can do what they want.
Snape steered Draco to the front of the classroom, and the two chairs behind Flitwick's desk. The Board of Governors sat in the first row of seats; nine wizards and three witches, unilaterally ancient, with the exception of a rather twitchy-looking young witch who sat at the far end of the row and was already taking notes.
What the fuck is she taking notes on? How I walked in?
Snape's hand on his shoulder was pushing rather insistently downward; Draco locked his knees and set his shoulders, glaring at the twitchy Board witch. She couldn't seem to decide if she ought to be meeting his eyes or not, and alternated repeatedly between giving him a prim reproving glare and blushing and looking down at her parchment. Two wizards that sat to the center of the bench were conversing; one was so fat he looked almost perfectly round, with a nearly bald round head topped with just a few tufts of white hair. His cherubic face was not suited to the sober and disapproving expression he was sending Draco's way as his colleague muttered in his ear. His choice of light brown and white robes was unfortunate, and completed the overall impression of a very disturbed creampuff.
The one whispering was thin and wirey, in black robes that might as well have been student robes for their lack of adornment, and a braided beard the color of new steel, which hung down below the bench and - from what Draco could see when he moved - had to be at least to the man's waist.
"Sit down," Snape hissed, almost inaudibly. Others were filing in to the seats behind the Board; Professor Rosenberg gave Draco an encouraging little smile, then caught Snape's eye and frowned. She really is sickeningly adorable when she does that. And she and Snape - the universe is just fucked up. Really, officially fucked up.
"Be good!" she mouthed at him.
"I want to stand," Draco whispered back, giving Rosenberg a flat glare. Why the hell should I bother?
"You will sit down or I will hex your legs out from under you," Snape growled, expression still outwardly bland.
Fuck you, you miserable useless old bastard. Fuck you and your House and you guilt trip and your cutesy little girlfriend and just fuck all this shit, I don't even know why I'm here. Like it matters what I say. Like they haven't made up their minds already.
"I will petition the Ministry for permanent custody," Snape said flatly, "and bring you back here to scrub out cauldrons and babysit first-years. I may occasionally loan you out to Hagrid."
Draco gave his Head of House a look that might have caused a more thin-skinned individual to scream and run; Snape stared back, daring him.
I hate you, you miserable piece of shit.
He sat, picking disconsolately at a loose thread on his new mass-produced, ill-fitting robe. The thread came loose too easily; he glanced up into the rows of benches, ignoring the Board's mutters and glares, and saw Ron Weasley approaching the board, carrying a thick roll of parchment. Potter was taking a seat next to Rosenberg, followed by Zabini; they left a seat empty between them.
Probably for Weasel. Zabini and Weasel. Yep, the world is officially fucked in the head.
Draco watched as Ginny Weasley paused halfway down the row of seats, staring down at the spidery-haired Board witch.
I don't see Granger . . couldn't hack it, I guess . . that parchment was probably from her. Thinking of Hermione Granger made something unpleasant slide down his spine.
She lost her parents too. Both of them. Because of my father, too.
But she's a stupid mudblood. A stupid know-it-all uppity mudblood. I don't know why I should give a rat's ass that her stupid muggle parents are dead now.
Muggles are trash, wastes of space, they don't have souls, it's no loss . .
. . but it's her loss, and it's not like Granger to back down from anything. She should be here. She should be here ready to spit in my face, damn it, not hiding back in Gryffindor tower.
My mother wasn't trash, she wasn't something to be used, something to be fetched, she had a soul.
A soul has to go somewhere. Father was always calling her a whore. And a crank. Where do the souls of cranks and whores go? Does it matter if they died for their sons? Does it matter if they died for a bunch of worthless ungrateful bastards who couldn't do what they should have, who couldn't be the ones to die like they should have been, not her, not my mother -
- I don't care what else she was, she was my mother. She didn't belong here. She didn't belong in this stupid fucked-up world and -
- and maybe they weren't Muggles, they were just her parents. She has a soul, I suppose. She's a witch. Like my mother was.
Father'd kill me for thinking that. You don't think about your mother, his wife, that way. You can lock her in a closet and push her down the stairs and Imperio her and use Cruciatus on her but you don't think of her in the same thought as some mudblood.
I don't care. I don't fucking care.
You hear that Father? Can you hear me, are you dead too? Are you in hell now, Father?
I hope you're in hell. I hope you're fucking screaming right now, do you hear me? I don't fucking care! I don't care about Voldemort and I don't care about Muggles and mudbloods and I don't care about ruling the fucking world and being better than anybody else because you're not! You're not at the end. You're a corpse like everyone else and they put you in the ground and I want to just crawl right into the ground and die and I DO NOT FUCKING CARE, do you hear me?!
It wasn't enough. Whatever the hell it was worth, being a pureblood, being a Malfoy, it wasn't enough, it wasn't fucking worth it, and whatever it was about that I never understood, I DON'T CARE!
It wasn't worth my mother. It wasn't even worth a fucking pair of Muggle dentists. It wasn't worth anything and if you're not already in the ground, then by God I'm going to put you there.
***
She had pale gray hair down to her waist; the hands that lay folded on the bench in front of her were so thin as to be almost skeletal, though she didn't look particularly unhealthy, only as if time had stripped away all excess and left her with only the bare essentials of muscle and bone needed for movement. Her robes hung in elegant folds from sharps peaks of shoulders. There were lines around her eyes - not unpleasant ones, but the sort left by laughter. Ginny couldn't stop staring.
She was . . she was young . . she had black hair, and . .
Igraine Elspeth Cornwallis, member of the Hogwarts School Board of Governors for the past sixty-three years, saw Ginny staring and frowned. Ginny hastily averted her eyes, stumbling forward down the row of seats.
"Everything alright?" Blaise turned and asked her. Harry took a seat a little ways down, leaving a place between himself and Blaise, for Ron, who was making his way towards the Board of Governors with a lengthy parchment in hand.
Everyone keeps asking me that.
No, I'm not alright. I've seen that woman before, when she was young, years and years and years ago, more years than I've actually been alive. I remember her.
I remember thinking she was a little bit pretty, and not quite as gullible as the rest, oh yes, it was amusing, watching her eyes flash, knowing she saw just a little bit through me but couldn't tell what exactly she was seeing, and couldn't do anything about it besides . . it was just a little bit delicious . . she was powerless . .
"Fine," Ginny answered Blaise, slipping into a seat beside her. "It's fine, I just want this over with."
Why, though? It's a great show . . these prim and proper bastions of authority and social order and fundraising dinners and properly ironed pleats in school robes . . they don't know what they're doing here, they haven't the faintest idea what to do with things like this. They don't understand. Things like this don't happen in their little world.
Don't you think it's just a little bit funny, watching them scurry to pick up the pieces, yes, must expel him, must hide him away in a drawer and throw away the key like a vaguely naughty letter that you're too afraid to burn . .
He's not a thing to be tossed away. It's not his fault.
It's never anyone's fault, really, is it? Most people don't control their own lives at all, do they? Why should you bother thinking of them like people when they can't act like people . .
The last thought was just a whisper, a voice Ginny couldn't quite recognize as her own, but not wholly alien either. It made bile rise in the back of her throat at the uncertainty, would I think that, would I really think that, just me?
I don't know what I am. I don't know if I exist anymore.
That still puts you a step ahead of him, just for having thought of it, doesn't it? A step ahead of the muggles and the mudbloods and the -
Stop it, stop it, just stop it! That isn't me!
Isn't it really, though? Who's making you think it, if not you? There's no one else here . . just the things I've seen, just the scars, just the nightmares . . just who you might have been if life hadn't sheltered you and coddled you and made you soft and pathetic and safe.
You're not safe now, are you? Your thoughts aren't even safe. Is it wrong to hate? Is it wrong for you to hate me? To hate yourself?
Go away! Leave me alone!
You are alone. Haven't you figured that out? That's the big secret, the one that they tell all the lies to hide. We're equal, we're all worthwhile, we should all be loved and accepted and smothered down to their level but why? We're alone. We're always alone. They can't change that, so why should they matter?
"This can't take long," Blaise answered, giving Ginny's hand a reassuring squeeze. Ron hurried back up the steps at the side of the classroom, and then had to climb over Ginny's tucked-in knees to get to the seat on Blaise's other side, having delivered Hermione's written statement to the board. They were passing it back and forth now, several of them trying to lean in and read it at once, until someone had the presence of mind to cast a duplicating charm.
Igraine Cornwallis plucked up a duplicated parchment, and the movement of her hands was ever so slightly constrained, as if her joints pained her. Old. She's old, and I remember her.
Not me. Not my memory.
The Board sat behind the first bench in the auditorium-like Charms classroom; Draco sat at Flitwick's usual desk, pulling at loose threads in the sleeve of a rather cheap looking robe. Snape stood at his shoulder. Another desk had been brought in and sat to the right of Draco and Snape at the front of the classroom. A small folded sign had been placed atop the new desk, that said "witness" in stark black script.
Draco's hair was hanging down over his forehead, not smoothed back as usual. His face was hidden, but he looked thinner, and he had always been lean.
I don't want to be the reason he gets expelled.
Oh, you don't want to be the reason. You don't want power.
I do - I just -
- you're just afraid, afraid to be alone, afraid not to be the good little girl -
- I want power! I want power to hurt you!
Me? Not me. The other . . the other who was me.
He betrayed the other. His mother betrayed the other. And still they couldn't catch me - him - no, not me, I'm not him, I'm not - they couldn't catch him, the pathetic slobbering imbeciles. Silly little bitch thinking she could change things -
She died for her son! She died a hero -
Yes, well, she's still dead, isn't she? That wasn't very bright of her, was it?
Professor Rosenberg was seated at the other end of the row, next to Harry; he said something to her, and then darted a furtive glance in Ginny's direction. She was too distracted to remember to look away, so when Professor Rosenberg leaned forward to look around the others, Ginny met her eyes. The professor frowned at whatever she saw in the younger girl's face; Ginny thought she ought to be reacting, ought to be looking away or smiling or *something*, but what exactly eluded her.
Rosenberg gave her one of her decidedly un-professorly, rather childish-looking smiles. It was probably meant to be encouraging. It wasn't.
It was enough to kill you once before!
No, not me. Not me. The other. There must have been something . . some mistake, something must have happened, I'm sure I would have done better -
Than to be killed by a year-old baby?
That wasn't me!
"This meeting will now come to order!" announced a portly wizard, one of the Board of Governors, rapping his wand sharply on the bench in front of him. His voice, a deep booming baritone, echoed around the room.
"This can't take long," Blaise repeated in a hushed voice.
***
Do you hear me? I'm going to kill you, Father.
I'm going to kill you.
"This meeting will now come to order!" The round-faced Board wizard rapped his wand on the bench, a sharp cracking sound like a whip. He turned and looked into the benches above him; Draco followed his gaze. Ginny was staring at some spot in the air above Draco's head, but even from a distance her face looked flushed, strange.
She shouldn't have to be here. It's not her fault .. not her fault I used her to pick a fight with Potter . . used her . .
. . like Father. Like he would have used Mother.
"Now, for the record, if each member of the Board would state "present" when I read off his or her name -"
Draco slouched down in his seat, deliberately tuning them out. Snape kicked him under the desk. He glared belligerently; Snape glared back, though there was something a touch desperate in the older wizard's expression, something a little bit pleading.
" - here today to discuss the potential expulsion of Mr. Draco Malfoy -"
"Don't call me that," Draco snapped out, turning his stare on the round-faced wizard.
"Excuse me?" the Board member asked, blinking in surprise.
"I said, don't call me that," Draco repeated. Snape was kicking him under the desk again, rather hard. He kicked back, digging his heal into his Head of House's shin. Snape sucked in an audible breath but made no further comment.
"Mr. Malfoy, if I were you I wouldn't presume -" the steely-bearded one began, with a voice that reminded Draco of water dripping in dark tunnels underground, soft and resonant and vaguely slimey.
"I *said* don't call me that!" Draco interrupted. Snape stood.
"My apologies, Gentleman, Ladies, Mr. Malfoy has been under -"
"You don't call me that either!" Draco stood too.
" - my *student* has been under a *great deal of stress*," Snape shot Draco a look that suggested he was currently causing the Potions Master a great deal of stress himself. "His recent trauma, and the events leading up to it -"
"Yes, yes, very unfortunate," said the spidery-haired witch, tone utterly lacking emotion.
"You fucking bitch!" Draco shouted. The nervous witch at the far end of the bench gave an indignant-sounding squeak; several Board members were standing, muttering amongst themselves in obvious outrage. I don't care. I don't care, I don't care, I DON'T CARE. "Unfortunate? It's fucking *unfortunate*? It's unfortunate no one's thought to curse you straight to -"
"Mr. Malfoy -!" the pudgy-faced wizard interrupted, round eyes bulging, looking nearly ready to explode.
"DON'T FUCKING CALL ME THAT!"
"MR. MALFOY, SIT DOWN!" bellowed the wizard with the long beard, both hands braced palms down on the bench, leaning forward to glower down at Draco. Draco dropped automatically into his seat, years of conditioning making him respond to the authority in that voice. He despised himself in the moment he realized he'd done it. "Now," the older wizard went on, in measured, furious tones, "there is a legal process involved in changing one's name, and as you have *not* undergone the proper procedure, we will continue to address you by your legal name, which is MALFOY, IS THAT CLEAR?"
"I won't answer," said Draco, hating the sullen note in his voice.
"Then we won't ask!" the wizard retorted neatly.
"Please, Sir, there are circumstances -" Snape tried again, and Draco thought he looked a little pale. Am I ruining your absolution trip, not letting you save me? Not letting you salve your conscience? Too fucking bad. I don't give a shit.
"Your student has had his legally required opportunity to speak on his own behalf," grey-beard spoke right over top of Snape, and Draco saw the Potions' Master's spine go rigid with stifled indignation.
"You cannot -"Snape objected.
"Yes," the grey-bearded wizard smiled in grim satisfaction, "I can. Now sit down, Professor Snape, or you will be out of order. Professor Rosenberg!"
"Yes?" Rosenberg squeaked out, standing.
"We will now hear your testimony."
***
It's not going to matter. What I say isn't going to matter at all.
"Thank you, Miss Zabini," the round-faced board member said; Blaise stood stiffly from her chair, and stalked back up the steps. Ginny stood to allow her past; the Board members were conferring, heads tucked together, except Igraine, who was watching Blaise climb the stairs, eyes narrowed.
"That was -" Ron started enthusiastically.
"Don't" Blaise snapped.
"What?" Ron asked. "You were great."
"This is a joke," Blaise said tightly.
"You want him to get expelled, don't you?" Ron asked. "You said he was -"
"I want him to get what's coming to him, and it's not this," Blaise explained in hushed fury, whispered forced out between clenched teeth. "This is - this is - how can you *stand* this?"
"He tried to kill Harry," Ron argued.
"So put him on trial before the Wizengamot," Blaise shot back, voice raising ever so slightly. "Charge him with attempted murder."
"You want him to go to Azkaban?" Ron sounded a little taken aback.
"No, I don't! I just want - oh, never mind. You're in Gryffindor, you wouldn't understand."
"What's *that* mean?" Ron protested, sounding affronted.
"Miss Weasley?" called out the silver-bearded Board member. Ginny froze, staring down at the Boards' expectant faces.
It's not going to matter. He's going to be expelled no matter what I say, it's not going to matter, it's nothing, it doesn't matter -
- I can't do this. I can't.
"If you could please come down here, Miss Weasley?"
She stood on wooden legs, forced herself to move one foot forward, then the other. "Now if you would please take a seat - yes, thank you." She watched the word "witness" go by in her peripheral vision, the paper faintly crinkled from the heavy ink. The chair was too high for her, making her feet dangle an uncomfortable inch above the ground. The Board members loomed over her; Snape was a dark blur at the edge of her eye, standing ramrod straight. Draco was just a swatch of pale hair, lounging back in his chair, looking almost relaxed.
"Now, Miss Weasley, if you could please relate the events of the morning of December 12th, as you remember them, starting when you encountered Mr. Malfoy." Igraine Cornwallis was rubbing her knuckles with one hand, as if they pained her. It's cold in here. It must make her joints ache.
"We were walking to class, and Blaise wanted to stop back at her dorm for something -"
"A new parchment?" the round-faced Board member inquired, glancing at his notes from Blaise's testimony.
"I suppose, I don't remember. I was talking to Harry." I was watching him. Draco. Not Malfoy.
Don't call me that.
I was watching him, waiting for him to break, holding my breath . . waiting for it, waiting for it to all fall apart and it did . . and I couldn't do anything to stop it. I can never do anything to stop it.
"Mr. Potter."
"Yes, that's right."
So why try to stop it? Why try to stand in the breach, when there's so much to be gained in chaos?
Not now. Please, not now
"And Mr. Malfoy approached you outside the door to the Slytherin dormitories?"
"He walked up to Blaise, he said something insulting."
"What did he say, exactly?"
"What Blaise just said - something about doing people, it was a joke. He was making fun of her for being with Ron."
"I see. And how did your brother react to this?" He turned purple. It's what he's good at, turning purple, having tantrums, wanting to know why the world isn't all perfectly fair.
Because it's not. Because it's just bloody not, and you don't know the half of it, and it's not a reason . . it's not a reason to want to hurt someone . . to hate someone . . there aren't good enough reasons for things like this, there aren't reasons, so stop trying to make it make sense and put it all back in place because it's never back in place. It doesn't make sense. It's not alright.
"He told him to take it back," Ginny answered.
You can't take it back. You can't ever take anything back, it's all there, burnt into your brain.
"Or?" asked the wizard with the long braided beard.
"What?"
"Take it back or what?"
"Nothing, he just said for him to take it back."
"So Mr. Weasley hadn't threatened Mr. Malfoy."
"You know I could hex you into next week."
"But you won't."
Why did you think that?
He didn't, did he?
But he could have -
- but he didn't. It didn't fit into sixteen years of memories.
Not now, I can't figure this out now, I just have to get through this and then it'll be over and he'll be expelled and I'll just . .
. . I'll just go insane.
"Well, not exactly, but -"
"Yes or no, Miss Weasley."
"No, he didn't threaten him."
"And you were where, while this verbal exchange was occurring?"
"I was standing behind Ron and Blaise, next to Harry."
In the corner. In the shadow. Sitting up scratching ink into parchment, watching it fade . . fading, I was fading . . hiding . .
"So you were still talking to Mr. Potter. You weren't concerned?"
"Well, Harry was still talking, but -"
"And you were standing with him, you hadn't involved yourself in your brother's argument."
"No, I hadn't, but -"
"What happened next?"
"Draco was saying stuff to Ron, about standing up for his girl, things like that."
"You're going to have to be a little more specific than "stuff", Miss Weasley."
Chicken's blood. Feathers. Crunch of bones. Smell of stale water. Hiding.
Not now, not now, not now . .
"I don't remember exactly."
"I see. What then?"
"We were going to leave."
"Why was that?"
Why does it matter? It happened, it's over -
- nothing is ever over.
I was hiding, it was so cold there in the orphanage, and there was a boy who died last week of the influenza, there was ice on the faucets . . I tried to make myself follow the others out and I couldn't, I wasn't going to die like that -
Stop, stop, no, not now, please, not now!
"Because Blaise still needed her parchment, I guess, I don't remember."
"It wasn't because Miss Zabini thought that Mr. Malfoy was trying to provoke your brother into a confrontation? It wasn't because you suspected a trick?"
Headmaster was angry about the boy who died, he made us attend prayers twice as long as usual, he was losing control . . he knew he was losing control, I could hear him down the hall, he didn't even count them.
"Where's Riddle? Where is that devil-spawn little bastard!?"
Bad luck. I was bad luck, I was bringing it down on them . . two more boys were sick, everyone was sniffling, everyone was cold . . he wanted me to die. He wanted to kill me.
"Miss Weasley?" Ginny's head snapped up. Igraine Cornwallis was giving her a puzzled look. Her lips were pressed together, making them thinner, older.
"I wasn't -" I don't even remember the question, I can't stay here, my mind won't stay here " - I wasn't paying attention."
"You were listening to Mr. Potter."
"No. I mean, yes. I wasn't -"
"So you were, what, taking a nap in the middle of the hallway?" Up in the stands, Professor Rosenberg was glowering, leaning over every now and then to mutter something to Harry. Harry looked down at her, and he didn't bother to look encouraging. He was worried, brow creased. It puckered his scar. She started at it, transfixed.
I could hear him panting .. heavy feet hitting the floor, claws clicking . . Headmaster took the other boys away. He didn't wait. He wanted Jupiter to kill me. Because the other boys got the influenza, because the showers were freezing, because the stupid bloody Muggle imbicile didn't understand illness, didn't understand contageon, it was my fault, because I had the devil in me . . he left me to answer to the devil . . I hadn't had time to hide very well . .
"Miss Weasley!" the silver-bearded wizard called out sharply.
"I'm sorry!" Ginny exclaimed automatically, flinching. "I'm sorry, I'm just - I didn't hear the question - "
He knew where I was, I think . . I think he was just toying with me, prowling around the room . . he knew his master had given him free reign . .
I wasn't there, I wasn't there, I wasn't there!
The shelves at the back of the closet were pressing into my back . .
"What happened next, Miss Weasley?" the Board member pressed, tone impatient.
I don't know, I don't know, I wasn't there, please, I don't remember, I don't remember, I DON'T REMEMBER!
"Miss Weasley, please answer the question."
"I - I don't -" she faltered. Draco. He wanted to pick a fight with Ron. He -
"Mr. Malfoy kissed you, is that correct?" Yes .. yes, that happened. That happened to me.
"Yes."
He kissed me. Lips . . hot, dry, shocking, blood pounding in ears . . it was enough to drive back the memory of Jupiter.
My memory. My life. That happened. He kissed me.
"Had he ever kissed you before?"
"No." No one had.
"Never?"
What? Why are you asking that? Why do I have to *be* here? Nothing I say is going to matter.
"No!"
"So you and Mr. Malfoy are not romantically involved?"
Involved. Connected. Joined. Yes, we're involved. He knows. He knows what it's like, not to own your own life . . it wasn't his fault . .
It's not going to matter what I say. They're going to expel him anyway. He tried to kill Harry. It doesn't matter what he meant, it doesn't matter that it's pointless, it'll just happen anyway. Things just happen, there's no reason.
"No," she answered softly. No, we're not romantically involved.
"So he assaulted you, and then -"
"It wasn't *assaulting* me, it was just -" Ginny corrected indignantly.
Assaulted, what would this soft indolent fool know of "assaulted", what would he know of being beaten half to death for being strange -
No, no, no! NOT NOW!
"Kindly do not interrupt, Miss Weasley. Mr. Malfoy did not assault you? So you were expecting him to kiss you, even thought you are not romantically involved. Do you often kiss strange boys, Miss Weasley?"
"No, of course not! I wasn't expecting it, it just wasn't - he didn't *assault* me." It's not his fault. He just wanted - he just wanted it to stop. He just wanted to end it.
He wanted to kill Harry. Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry .. I'm so sorry, but you don't understand . .
"Then you did want him to kiss you, but it was just, what, a pleasant surprise?" Igraine gave the bearded wizard a sour, disapproving look; perhaps she was a bit of a feminist. The silver-bearded face was neutral, but the leer was implicit in his voice.
"I didn't *want* him to kiss me." I just want to be left alone. I just want this not to be my fault.
"So you didn't particularly want to be kissed, but you don't object to being pawed by strange boys in front of your brother, is that it?"
"No! You're making it sound like -"
"Lower your voice, Miss Weasley."
"I'm sorry, Sir, I just want to explain."
"You aren't here to explain, Miss Weasley, you are here to relate the events as they occurred. The Board of Governors will draw its own conclusions, without the help of 4th year students."
"Yes, Sir." You can't explain. You can't make it right, you're powerless here . . they don't care what you have to say, they don't care about you at all, don't care if you live or die . .
. . there was no one to hear if I screamed, I knew no one would come back . . no one would dare . . I could hear him inches away from the door, growling, this soft low sound like thunder . .
"So, as we have clarified that you did not want or expect Mr. Malfoy to kiss you, and that you do not enjoy putting on such public displays with random strangers, then are we clear on the fact that Mr. Malfoy *did*, in fact, *assault* you?"
I can't do this, I can't do this, please, you have to stop, stop this, please -
- the whole wall shook when he hit the door, I heard the wood start to splinter . . shelves pressed into my back, hot rush of urine down my leg, not enough air, claws coming at the door, can't get enough air, so scared, so scared, so scared oh god I'm going to die he's going to tear me apart he was tearing the door apart please somebody please I don't want to die please -
"Miss Weasley, you will answer the question!"
"Stop it!" Ginny shouted. Ron was standing, and so was Professor Rosenberg. It didn't seem real, a frail image superimposed over a darker reality. Her body felt foreign, like she wasn't there at all, she was hiding in a closet with her own piss running down her leg and oh god the door is cracking - splintered wood scratching skin - claws catching - lunge to the side jaws snapping hot breath hot stinking breath screaming can't stop screaming can't move too tight nowhere to go teeth - feel of teeth so close - just missing - something hot rushing up from the soles of my feet and teeth at my throat and I can't see, all white, white hot light, ready to explode -
Professor Rosenberg was shouting something, the round-faced Board member was arguing with her, and Snape, that was Snape's voice, Draco was standing, Blaise was standing, Blaise was trying to walk out of the room -
- and then it all went up in oblivion, one scream, one white hot rush.
A creaking noise filled the room. Rosenberg stopped, her eyes fixed on Ginny, going wide. Air filled her lungs in a shrill indrawn hiss.
Something wet hit his face. Hot, and wet, and full of heavier bits. It dribbled into his open, screaming mouth. Blood. Jupiter's blood. Something heavy dropped onto his lip. Heavy and smooth, like - a tooth. Jupiter's tooth.
Ginny screamed.
The desk in front of her exploded into sharp shards. Splinters hit her face, her arms, dug into her skin, and she stood frozen, shrieking, too much energy coursing uncontrolled through her. The Board members all stood, jumped back; it was good that they did, because their bench went next. The bench in front of Harry and Ron and Blaise was creaking and shuddering; Rosenberg was throwing herself over it, running towards the front of the room, towards Ginny, and she wanted to tell her no, get back, stay away from me -
Ron grabbed Blaise and curled his body around her, just as that bench flew apart. Spears of wood the size of small knives thunked into bookshelves at the back of the room.
Someone was grabbing her shoulders. Snape. She was spun around into Snape's face, he was shouting something at her, the words meaningless noise.
There's blood in my mouth. I'm choking on his blood.
She broke from his grip and ran.
***
TBC . .