Title: Involved
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's hearing concludes, Ginny further deals with her issues, and meanwhile, back at the Hellmouth . . .
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?
And if anyone cares, I have a Livejournal - It occassionally contains fic-related ramblings. I also have a website, at
Okay, shameless self-promotion over. On to the story.
***
Her feet pounded on stone; her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing was a pounding in her chest, thick gulps of air that tasted of blood more than six decades old. She didn't know where she was going, she was just running, running - then it stopped. Her hands grasped something cool, smooth. She blinked at the image in front of her, carved into dull copper.
A snake.
It doesn't even look real.
There was a small noise to her right, soft and echoing. The faucet at the next sink dripped; fat drops trickled down the mineral-stained bowl of the sink, disappeared into the rusting drain.
But not this one. This one's never worked. These pipes don't carry water. Another kind .. he thought, another kind of cleansing, he thought it was perfect, poetic -
Something touched her shoulder like a drop of icy water, shockingly cold.
"Get away, you filthy mudblood!" Ginny shrieked, spinning around.
Myrtle flinched back, rising up to the ceiling, staring wide-eyed behind her glasses.
"Myrtle -" Ginny whispered, horrified. She sank downward, curling in on herself, huddling beneath the sink. The faucet to the right kept on dripping, plink, plink, plink, like the ticking of a clock.
"Who's - who's there?" Myrtle asked in a shaky, accusatory voice. "Is that - is that - you better not have hurt her! I'll tell! I'll get you exorcised!"
"It's just -" Ginny started, but the words caught. It's not just me. It can't be just me. "I didn't mean to call you that."
Myrtle floated downward, hands clenched in her robes. The little ghostly rat Ginny had given her for Christmas peaked out from behind her hair, perched on her shoulder.
"You're sure he's not still here?" Myrtle whispered.
"He's dead," Ginny said harshly. "He's not here. He's not real at all. He said so himself." She laughed, and it turned to choking and crying. "There was blood - there was blood all over and in my mouth and they were so awful to him - it was so awful, I'd have died, I'd have killed myself and now I can't because it's over and he lived it and he survived it and I don't want to!" Ginny sobbed out. "I can't - I don't know why this is happening now - it was never this bad, I can't do this, I can't deal with his life -"
"What did you remember?" Myrtle asked apprehensively. That's not like her. She always wants to know. All the gory details.
I'm scaring her. I'm scaring someone who's dead.
"There - there was a dog," Ginny hiccoughed, choked down fat gulps of air. "He killed it. It was going to kill him. I don't remember what - what happened next - unless that was the time -" she broke off, breathing going even harsher, more panicked.
"The time?" Myrtle prompted warily.
"They broke his fingers," Ginny hissed out, almost inaudibly, muttering as if the words themselves were somehow dirty and should be hidden away. "The headmaster there did. At the orphanage. It was - that's what it was, I remembered that before but I didn't know when - they thought he must have had a gun hidden because there was no other way he could have - how he killed the dog - there was blood everywhere and they thought he shot him and they beat him and I think they broke his ribs because I remember I couldn't breathe and I couldn't tell them where I'd put it because there wasn't any pistol, I don't have a pistol, I was telling the truth but he said the only way he could make sure I wasn't dangerous was - they didn't know. The other grown-ups, they didn't - they didn't want to know what he did. He thought I was the devil. He didn't even really think I had a pistol, it was just an excuse, just what gave him the idea - he thought I was the devil and he just needed a reason - any reason -"
She glanced up at Myrtle. The ghost had pulled the rat down off her shoulder and was cradling it protectively in her hands, stroking in anxiously. The translucent little creature was trying to burrow into her incorporeal sleeve.
I. I was saying . . I. Me. I was talking like it was me.
"That didn't happen to me!" Ginny shrieked at the visibly terrified ghost, banging her head back against the bottom of the sink and screwing her eyes closed. "Not me! I -" bang "- wasn't -" bang "-there!" Something cold brushed her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see Myrtle reaching out towards her, trying to put a hand that no longer existed between Ginny's skull and the unforgiving porcelain.
"I hate them," Ginny confessed in a harsh whisper. "I know - I know it wasn't me but - but I still feel it. I hate them. I hate them all. I can't - I don't want to but I understand it."
Myrtle pulled back her hand.
"Did he - did he mean to kill me?" Myrtle asked after a moment in which nothing moved but the drop of water that fell from the tip of the faucet. "It was just an accident, wasn't it? He didn't - he didn't even really murder me. He hadn't even noticed me that much."
"He didn't know you were there until you came out of the stall, and then it looked at you," Ginny answered. "He hadn't really meant to kill anyone just yet. Not that he didn't want to, he was just - he was afraid. After you - you were another moment - a moment when things changed. He killed you and he got away with it."
And it felt so good - she was laying there on the floor, limp, eyes staring, glasses all skewed to the side, and she didn't look real. She looked like a doll, a broken doll, she looked like *nothing*, and it was wonderful, so wonderful, this rush of power like nothing else - this was the truth, this is what they really all are, just so much meat, just rubbish, worthless -
"That is NOT ME!" Ginny screamed, crashing her head backwards against the sink so hard she saw stars. Myrtle flinched away.
"I don't want you to die," Myrtle burst out suddenly, sounding as if the words had been as much a surprise to her as they were to Ginny.
"I should have died," Ginny answered tonelessly. "It would have been better."
"No it's not better!" Myrtle exclaimed. "That's the stupidest thing you've ever said! You think this is better? You think I wanted to be thirteen and pimply for ever and ever and ever? You think I wanted to be stuck in a stinking toilet forever? Oh, poor Tom, he lived! Poor him!"
"You don't know anything about it!" Ginny shouted. "You don't understand -"
"I understand I'd give anything for it!" Myrtle shouted back, cutting Ginny off. "What is this now, four? Five? Is this his half-dozenth chance at a real life, yet?"
"This isn't a real life!" Ginny shot back. "And it isn't *his*, anyway! He's dead! This is just me, with his life in my head!"
"And I don't want you to die!" Myrtle shrieked at her. "So stop hitting your stupid bloody head on the sink! You're not likely to knock him out of your ear!"
"I am not trying to kill myself!" Ginny retorted.
"Good!" Myrtle shouted.
"Okay then!" Ginny shouted back.
Both girls paused and stared; Myrtle still looked rather scared, and a bit shocked - mostly at herself, Ginny thought.
The little rat put a tentative paw out, testing the air just off Myrtle's arm. It took a hesitant step, and having been satisfied that gravity was no longer paying it any attention, it floated awkwardly towards Ginny, paddling its little paws in the air as if it were swimming. It ended up on her knee, a soft cool presence that didn't quite have weight, but was felt none the less. It licked her hand.
"It's a girl," Myrtle offered hesitantly. "I named her Calliope."
"Why?" Ginny asked, trying to pet the rat. Her fingers passed right thought it, which apparently unnerved Calliope, who retreated a few steps and then washed her translucent whiskers furiously.
"It was the happiest sounding thing I could think of," Myrtle said with a shrug. "Did you know - did you notice you have splinters all over? You're bleeding."
"I'm -" Ginny held a hand up for inspection. Myrtle was right; it was peppered with tiny shards of wood, and now that she noticed them, they hurt. " - I'm bleeding. I didn't notice." She felt her own cheek and winced; she didn't want to pry at it too much, but it felt like there was something about the size of a pencil stub sticking out of her skin. "I don't want to go to the hospital wing." I don't want to explain.
Oh God, I blew up the Charms classroom. In front of the Board of Governors. I'm going to be expelled.
Just like Draco.
Maybe we could run away together . . run away and hide . .
. . oh, don't be stupid.
"Should I go get someone?" Myrtle asked.
"There's no one to go get," Ginny answered bitterly, examining her right arm. There's no one I want to see me right now, no one who could understand. There was another largish piece of wood stuck just below her shoulder, and she couldn't understand how she hadn't felt it before - it now throbbed and screamed agonized protest every time she moved.
"What about that boy?" Myrtle suggested.
"What boy?" Ginny frowned, then winced; frowning made the shard in her cheek scrape against something under her skin.
"You said there was a boy," Myrtle insisted. "After the attack with the snakes, you said there was a boy, who might understand you."
"He's being expelled," Ginny said harshly. She heard Myrtle gasp.
"The boy is *Draco Malfoy*?" Myrtle exclaimed.
Of course she'd know. What else is there to do, if you're stuck forever in a girls' bathroom, besides listen to gossip?
"Please don't tell," Ginny begged, but it lacked real feeling beyond sudden exhaustion. I'm too tired .. too tired to keep on feeling anything . .
I'm too tired to exist.
"Of course not!" Myrtle sounded affronted and a bit more like her usual self. "Cross my heart and hope to - well, you know." The ghost turned to float away, towards her usual stall.
"Where are you going?" Ginny asked, her voice catching a little desperately. Don't leave me, don't leave me alone here, I'm not really alone here I'm never alone please, please don't leave me alone -
"I'm going to get Draco Malfoy," Myrtle said. "If he's going to be expelled anyway, then I guess it won't matter if he gets caught in the girls' loo."
"Myrtle -!" Ginny exclaimed, but the ghost had already vanished into the pipes.
***
"WHAT IS GOING ON AT THIS SCHOOL?! THIS IS COMPLETELY -"
"Shut UP!" Willow snapped at the ranting Board member with the long braided beard. His eyes bugged. She ignored him, spinning rapidly, taking in the devastation. Someone was breathing audibly, rapid panicked hissing; her eyes fell on the young Board witch that had been sitting at the far end of the bench. She was huddled against the far wall now, hand to her throat, tense as a cornered animal. Willow frowned, and approached her. The pace of her breathing quickened; her complexion was turning an alarming pale purple.
"Let me see," Willow said, crouching. The other woman didn't respond. Gently, Willow reached up, and pulled her unresisting hand away from her neck. The hand dropped into the witch's lap when Willow released it, still curled in the same position. The palm was coated in blood.
A jagged shard of wood, about the size of a pencil, stuck out from the witch's neck. It had just caught the side of her throat, piercing the skin and emerging again out the other side. It bled freely, but Willow didn't think it had punctured anything vital. Except perhaps her sanity.
"Zabini has gone to fetch Poppy," Severus said from behind her. "There appear to be no life-threatening injuries."
"You're going to be okay," Willow told the shaken witch. She didn't respond, just stared, giving no sign that she'd understood the words at all. Willow sighed, and stood. The only piece of wooden furniture still whole in the room was the desk where Draco and Snape had sat. Draco had abandoned his seat regardless - smart boy - and was leaning against the blackboard with his arms crossed. He had been laughing at the hysterical antics of the Board, but behind his outward facade of unconcerned amusement, Willow saw something else - the way his eyes went dead and his laughter stopped when he thought no one was looking, and how he kept glancing toward the door and frowning.
Harry had run off after Ginny; Ron had tried to follow, but had been stopped by Blaise, who seemed more concerned by the multitude of splinters protruding from his back than Ron was himself. It had been several minutes now, and Harry hadn't returned - though she wasn't sure that bringing Ginny back just yet was the wisest course of action. Probably a good idea to let the Board of Dumbasses calm down a bit.
"Where's - ah," Willow saw Dumbledore sweep into the room. "How's he always do that?" Then she saw Harry trailing in behind Dumbledore, looking sullen.
"Years of practice," Severus answered dryly, and turned to stride purposefully across the room to the Headmaster's side. Nearly the entire Board of Governors swarmed Dumbledore at once; the brown-robed, nearly bald little wizard was gesturing quite emphatically, and nearly hit one of his fellows in the nose. Harry picked his way through the crush over to Willow, giving the bleeding witch propped up on the wall behind her only a cursory glance.
"I didn't catch her," Harry grumbled worriedly, eyes downcast and hands shoved into his pockets. "Then I ran into Dumbledore, and he made me come back." That Harry had wanted to argue with the Headmaster was clear, but Willow doubted he had; if there was one thing she'd picked up in the kids' conversations, it was that if Dumbledore told Harry to go jump off a cliff, he'd probably do it.
"Misplaced your girlfriend, Potter?" Draco called over to them, mockingly. Willow saw Harry's hands ball into fists under the cloth of his robes.
"You just shut your -" Harry started to retort, as Draco pushed himself away from the blackboard, grinning maliciously; Willow hastily placed herself between the two boys, shoving Harry back.
"Don't you two even think it!" Willow exclaimed, exasperated. "Will you listen to yourselves? Don't you think there *might* be more serious issues here?"
"*He* wouldn't care," Harry snapped.
"We can't all be saints like you, scarhead," Draco sneered.
"Bet you've got some interesting new scars, Malfoy," Harry shot back. "Why don't you push up your sleeves and let the group see, hrmm?"
Oh, crap, Harry, that was *not* the thing to say - Willow braced herself, and sure enough, Draco tried to run right through her to get at Harry. She grunted with the effort of shoving him backwards. Draco didn't appear to even be aware of her, he just stumbled and came right back at her, all his attention focused on Harry, who stood gloating a few steps behind her.
"I do NOT have the fucking Dark Mark, you fucking little bastard!" Draco was screaming.
"Some help here!" Willow yelped, a little desperately; Draco had several inches on her and a good deal of sheer rage, and she didn't think she was going to be able to hold him off a third time. The muttering voices of the Board, Dumbledore, and Snape suddenly cut off. Draco's voice was the only sound in the room.
"I didn't ask for this, you little shit! I didn't ask to have this life and I didn't ask to have a fucking Death Eater for a father and I didn't ask for you to go and bring Voldemort back and I didn't fucking ask my mother to die and don't you fucking dare look at me like that, like you're so much fucking better, you fucking pathetic useless worthless little piece of shit! Where the hell were you, where was Saint Potter -" Snape grabbed Draco by the shoulders and shoved him roughly down into his chair. Draco's mouth snapped shut with an audible click of teeth; the chair teetered on two legs for a moment before it righted itself.
"Control yourself!" Snape hissed furiously at Draco, who just crossed his arms and glared.
Willow glanced back at Harry, wanting to make sure he wasn't going to say anything unfortunate. Harry was just standing there, eyes wide, looking utterly dumbfounded.
"I didn't mean to bring Voldemort back," Harry said after a silent moment. Several shocked gasps could be heard from the direction of the door at the name spoken aloud, and much awkward shuffling. "And I'm sorry about your Mum."
"Is it really -" the round-faced Board member began uncertainly, " - is it really necessary to say *that name*?"
"Yes it fucking is!" Draco snapped, at the same time Harry exclaimed, "Fear of a name increases fear of a thing itself!"
Both boys eyes' snapped back to the other's face in an understanding so instant and unexpected and completely unwelcome that Willow was amazed nothing caught spontaneously on fire between them.
Guess we've filled our wild magic quota for the day.
Someone should be looking for Ginny; someone should be giving a shit about the girl who had the breakdown, rather than dealing with all this pointless bureaucratic crap.
I don't think it'd be a good idea for me to leave now, though.
"As I attempted to say before," Snape's somber, resonant voice spoke into the brittle silence, "my student has suffered a great deal in the past weeks. His lack of self-control is, and was, only a reflection of his frustration at the dire circumstances in which he found himself, and from which he was unable to extricate himself unaided. He had no one to trust, no one who would have looked at him with other than mistrust and accusation." There was much uncomfortable shifting of feet and inaudible muttering among the Board members; Willow caught Dumbledore's eye over the throng, and had to bite her lip not to smile. Go Sevvie. Yep, that's my boyfriend, folks.
Uh, did I just think of Severus as my boyfriend?
Oh hell . .
"Is there anyone here who cannot understand his rage, his need to find someone to blame?" Severus went on. "Is there anyone here who has not felt the need to mete out vengeance, however inappropriate, against the only available symbol of those who have wronged him?"
Is there anyone here who wasn't trying to do that today? Willow added silently. Oh yeah, you tell 'em!
"If my student -" Willow noticed he was very carefully not saying *Malfoy*, and wondered if it was respect for Draco's wishes or just a fervent desire not to set off another outburst at this critical moment "- were to be expelled, his future would be dim indeed. He would have no possibility of employment in the wizarding world; without a Muggle education, his prospects would be slim there was well. His family fortune has been confiscated by the Ministry. I ask you, members of the Board, to consider whether this fate is justice; I ask you to consider whether you can be certain, completely certain, that you will never find yourselves in my students' shoes."
Utter silence greeted the end of Severus speech; Willow fought down the urge to clap and cheer. And jump him. Wow, but righteous and somber is SO way hot . .
"That was very well-said, Severus," Dumbledore commented mildly.
"Yes, yes, very eloquent, certainly -" the spidery-haired board witch began, casting a nervous and slightly annoyed look in Dumbledore's direction.
"I suppose we have to consider -"
"There are extenuating -"
"Yes, well, I suppose -"
"Well, then, let's get on with it," the silver-bearded Board wizard announced over the general din of uneasily muttering voices. "I call a vote on the matter of the expulsion of Mr. Draco Malfoy." Willow saw Snape's hand clench on Draco's shoulder, fingers digging in so hard she was surprised he didn't draw blood. Come on Draco, it's just a name, just let it go, please, please just let it go - Draco frowned, but remained seated and silent.
"Seconded," called out a voice from somewhere towards the middle of the crush. Behind her, Willow saw the youngest Board witch scrabbling to her feet, still looking a little disoriented but very determined. The bleeding from her neck had slowed; Willow moved to help her to her feet, slinging the other woman's arm over her shoulder.
"Just tell me when to raise your hand," Willow suggested. The other witch gave her hand a squeeze that Willow assumed meant assent; nodding was not really a possibility for the other young woman at the present moment. And I will raise it even if she wants him expelled, however tempting it might be to do otherwise. Really. I will.
"A vote of 'aye' will be a vote in favor of Mr. Malfoy's expulsion," the silver-bearded wizard intoned formally. "All in favor, say 'aye'."
Two voices called out, "Aye!" from the middle of the group, sounding defiant; Willow couldn't see who. The witch draped half across her shoulders didn't so much as twitch; Willow glanced sideways at her, just to make sure she hadn't passed out. The other woman was wide awake, and quirked a faintly apologetic eyebrow at her. Willow smile back encouragingly.
"All opposed?" grey-beard called.
More than a half-dozen voices rang out; the cold and sweaty hand clutched in Willow's own tightened around her fingers. Willow grabbed the witch's wrist and waved her arm in the air. "We've got a 'nay' vote, here!" she announced, trying not to sound too triumphant.
"Well, that settles that," Dumbledore nodded with finality, sounding rather pleased. "I assume you will be satisfied to leave the meting out of a lesser punishment to Mr. . . Draco's Head of House?" There were murmurs and nods of assent.
Now how in the hell did he know not to call him Malfoy? He wasn't even here! How does he *do* that?!?
"What the devil have you all done now?" exclaimed an exasperated female voice from the doorway; Madam Pomphrey bustled into the room, shoving Board members out of her way without a second thought.
***
Myrtle perched on the sink in the Slytherin boys' bathroom; she thought, a little irritably, that it was much nicer than *her* bathroom. No drippy, mineral-stained sinks here; everything was polished steel and gleaming tile, in silver, green and black. Obviously, it saw a good deal more care than *her* bathroom ever did. Of course, what do you expect? No one cares about *your* bathroom. No one cares about *you*.
Calliope was jumping between the sinks; she missed the edge and slipped off, squeaking. She fell down halfway through the floor before she caught on to the fact that she didn't really have to fall if she didn't want to, and floated back up again.
Except Ginny, of course.
So in 70-odd years, you've made one friend. What an accomplishment.
The door opened with a soft swish - no creaking doors, here, either. Myrtle straightened up, but it was only some scrawny-looking first-year. He jumped and swore when he saw her, and he looked a little red and blotchy around the eyes.
"You're not the boy I'm looking for!" Myrtle said shortly. "Go away!"
He nodded hastily and turned to comply, but stopped half-way out the door and turned back around, cringing slightly. "But - but I need to use the loo," he said in a very plaintive little voice. Myrtle frowned. The boy sniffled.
What on earth is he *crying* about?
Does everybody cry in bathrooms? I thought that was just girls.
Oh! I'm in the *Slytherin's* bathroom! Well, I suppose they probably do have things to cry about, today.
"Is - is that okay?" the boy pleaded.
"Be quick about it," Myrtle said imperiously, wondering why on earth he thought he had to ask her permission. Stupid first-years.
The boy dashed into a stall; he emerged a scant few moments later, evidently having taken her direction quite seriously. He approached the sink, saw Calliope amusing herself by sticking her nose up through the faucet and out the other side, and thought better of the idea, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"D-do y-you - I m-mean, d-d-do g-ghosts -" he started to ask, quite nervously.
"What?" Myrtle snapped.
"D-do you have to stay where you die?" he asked, all in a rush.
"Not usually," Myrtle said irritably. Unless the stupid Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures decides you're "disturbing the peace" and binds you to a stupid bathroom with drippy sinks.
"A-are you waiting for one of the b-boys who d-died?" asked the splotchy-faced first-year. Myrtle blinked.
"No," she said, and she'd meant to snap it, because really, this boy was being quite pathetic, but somehow her voice came out a little softer than she'd intended. "I'm waiting for Draco Malfoy."
"Oh!" the boy exclaimed, eyes going even rounder. She could practically see the gears turning in his little first-year brain; clearly the prospect of offending a friend of Draco Malfoy was much, much more frightening than a mere ghost. "D-do you want me to let him kn-know? H-he just got back."
"That *would* be helpful," she said, in a tone that suggested he really should have thought of it sooner. The boy scampered out the door. "Boys are really very useless," Myrtle commented to Calliope. Calliope was sticking her head into the mirror - the clean and shiny mirror, not all dingy and stained like in *your* bathroom - and pulling it back out again, watching her reflection collapse and expand with great fascination. Myrtle sighed.
" - don't know any - stupid bloody -" muttered a voice from just outside. The door whipped open and bounced off the far wall with an echoing clang. "What the hell do you want?" demanded a tall, pale-haired, rather good-looking boy, who very much matched the giggling, blushing descriptions she'd heard of Draco Malfoy.
***
Draco pushed the door to the third floor girls' bathroom open cautiously, darting a nervous glance down the hallway as he did so. It'd really be just fucking pathetic if I got out of getting expelled only to get caught in the girls' loo.
The room appeared empty on first glance, and he scrunched up his nose in distaste at its state of disrepair. The tiles were cracked and stained, the mirrors dingy, and he could hear a faucet dripping. Then another tiny sound intruded; just the faint rustling of cloth. He stepped further into the room; it was coming from the direction of the sinks. A few more steps and he saw a wash of deep copper on black, tinged here and there with deep red; Ginny.
She doesn't look like she wants company. I don't know why the hell she'd want *my* company if she did, either.
Don't know why she'd give my wand back. Tell me not to go home.
Blow up the bloody fucking charms classroom.
She has freckles on her lips - her soft, warm little lips.
I didn't mean to use her -
He must have made some sound, because she twisted around, raising her head warily. He hissed in a started breath when he saw the jagged piece of wood protruding from the side of her face; there was a slow trickle of blood making its way towards her chin.
"Did you get expelled?" she asked tonelessly; her voice almost could have been conversational if it hadn't been so completely devoid of feeling.
"No," he said uneasily, shrugging. "Snape made this big speech about how I've been wronged. It was all a lot of bullshit." She nodded just a little, and put her chin down on her knees. "So, ah - I've never seen someone do something like that," he offered. "Blow up a whole room like that. Impressive." What the fuck am I supposed to say? What the fuck am I *doing* here?
"I'm sorry Myrtle bothered you," Ginny responded. "You can leave if you want. I'm okay."
"Right," Draco retorted without thinking. "All that blood's just decorative. It's the latest fashion." It's unlikely the curse would have been powerful enough to kill either of them, if she hadn't already been physically depleted. The ritual required the donation of a great deal of blood.
"You don't care," Ginny said with flat finality. Draco didn't know what to say to that.
Do I care? What the hell does that mean, anyway, do I care? Do I want to be here? Would I make fancy speeches for her? Embroider pillows. Offer to teach her the Dark Arts. Bleed for her. Die for her.
I don't know what that means. I don't know if I care. I don't know if I care about anything.
I don't like seeing her bleeding . . the donation of a great deal of blood ..
"Go away," Ginny muttered, tucking her face back down into her robes.
"Make me," Draco shot back, and her head snapped up, eyes blazing.
"You know I could," she threatened, but there was something frightened behind the threat.
"But you won't," Draco said with a shrug, throwing her own words back at her, settling down on the floor in front of her. He reached a hand out towards her face. "You've got -" she flinched away, and he drew his hand back. "I'm not gonna do anything, just telling you, you've got half a broomstick sticking out of your face."
"Gee, really, I didn't notice," Ginny answered scathingly.
"Think you might want to go to the hospital wing?" he suggested, tone mocking.
"No," she snapped.
"They're going to make you, sooner or later," Draco argued. "You can't have a bloody explosion of wild magic like that without them wanting to check you out."
"Wild magic?" she asked tentatively, glancing up at him.
"What you did at the hearing," Draco said. "Unless you meant to do that?"
"I didn't mean to do that," Ginny mumbled, flushing.
"So then you had a little wild magic incident," Draco said. "It happens. Not often to people who're older than about ten, but it happens." Ginny gave him a nasty look. Why is she looking at me like - oh. People older than ten. Well, hell, I didn't *mean* to insult her!
I really completely fucking suck at this.
"I'm going to be in so much trouble," she said softly, into her robe.
"No you're not," Draco contradicted, watching the blood drip off her chin and soak into her robe. How can she not know this? She's a pureblood. A Weasel, but still, a pureblood. Pure blood. Dirty blood. Blood, so much blood . . "It's just - like catching a flu." Her expression was blatantly incredulous. "Okay, a really violent flu. But you're not going to be in trouble." She didn't look particularly consoled.
"So will you go to the hospital wing now?" he pressed.
"No," she responded, as unequivocally as before.
"You've got to at least get that stake taken out of your face," he insisted. She reached a hand up and tried to yank on it, pulling it at an awkward angle that made her gasp and screw her tear-filled eyes shut. A fresh, bright gush of blood to ran down her cheek; the piece of wood didn't budge.
"Bloody - stop that!" Draco exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing her hand.
"Don't *touch* me, flithy Muggle-loving traitor!" Ginny shrieked, eyes snapping open, and the sibilance of her voice was odd and not Weasley-like at all. "Don't touch me, don't - I'll kill you, you filthy - don't, stop it -!" She jerked hard away from him, kicking out and catching him in the knee with one boot-encased foot, scrabbling backwards on the tile, eyes gone huge and wild. Draco clambered back away from her, swearing profusely; he caught the side of his head on the sink as he stumbled to his feet.
There was another large piece of wood in her shoulder; she winced and caught at it, and stopped. Her breath was jagged for a few moments, strange and disjointed, as if she were trying to remember how. Her breathing steadied, and the look she gave him was saner, but very, very frightened.
"What the hell was that?" Draco demanded, feeling his own pulse drumming a frantic beat in his throat. "What the bloody fucking hell was that?" Weasel-girl doesn't say Muggle-loving like it's an insult and she's not fucking crazy, I mean, there are rumors because of her first year but - oh, fuck -
"He's still in your head," Draco said, somewhere between shocked and petrified. Oh fuck am I so *over* my head here - oh fuck -
Oh fucking hell is there fucking *anything* my father didn't use and ruin and break and bleed - so much blood, so fucking much blood - he should bleed for this, he should bleed for *everything*.
"I don't know," Ginny confessed softly. "It's not - it's not like it was. I know what I'm doing. I just - I remember things - and - and I think things - I didn't mean to kick you. Please," her voice dropped. "Please don't tell." She pulled her legs in towards her body, curling back up, closing off again.
"Alright," Draco agreed, dazed. "I won't. Tell. I won't tell." She looked away from him, as if she couldn't stand the way he was looking at her.
Someone should bleed for this. Not her. Not my mother. Not fucking Pansy. Someone should pay for this.
Blood was running down her bare arm, where her cheek rested against it; the sleeve of her robe had ridden up when she'd been thrashing away from him.
"You've still - you've still got that piece of wood in your face," Draco commented. Ginny laughed, muffled against her arm. "Well, yeah, I know that's a sort of stupid thing to be worried about, considering, but - well, it looks like it hurts."
"It does hurt," Ginny mumbled.
"Could I -" he reached out, paused, hand an inch from her face. He didn't want to set her - Voldemort - off again, but he also didn't really want to touch the blood. He felt sick to his stomach just looking at it, so close. It'll be warm. Hot. Thick. The donation of a great deal of blood . . blood in her hair, blonde hair like mine, feet making great wet splats on the kitchen floor, help me, help me, please, blood in her blonde hair like my mother's . . like my mother's . . donation of a great deal of blood . .
Oh fuck it, I am not a fucking coward. I am not going to just stand here and watch her bleed. I can fucking DO something this time and I'm bloody well going to.
" - could I touch you? To take it out?" he asked. She shifted ever so slightly so that just her eyes peeked out over her arm. Those eyes weighed, judged; it made his skin crawl, thinking it might not be just Ginny looking out at him. You're going to bleed for this, Father. For once, you're going to be the one to bleed, I fucking promise you that.
"Okay," Ginny whispered. He braced one hand flat against her face; her skin was cold, her blood hot. She closed her eyes.
***
BANG BANG BANG
Dawn groaned, trying to burrow into her pillow, wriggling further under the covers. "S'not a school day," she muttered, frowning. "G'way."
"Dawn, open the door!" called her sister's voice. It paused, then the banging resumed. "Unlock the door, Dawn!"
"G'way, don't wanna -" BANG "-Buffy?" Dawn sat up in bed, coming fully awake, blinking. The banging stopped.
"Why is your door locked?" Buffy demanded from the other side of it, voice sounding like she was in full-on lecture mode. Dawn grimaced and rubbed her eyes. Huh? Why is my door locked? What time is it? She glanced at her bedside clock; it was almost four in the morning. Why is my door locked?
"I always lock my door when you go on patrol, since Willow left," Dawn retorted sullenly, as soon as she remembered the fact, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and reluctantly kicking back the warmth of the covers. "And what bug crawled up your butt?" she muttered under her breath.
"You need to unlock this door," Buffy ordered. Bite me, thought Dawn.
"I'm coming!" she said aloud. "Give me a minute to remember how my feet work, sheesh, we're not all nocturnal, you know," she grumbled, reaching for the knob.
"Remember Dracula?" Buffy blurted from the other side of the door, and her tone was completely different than it had been a moment before. She sounded .. strange.
"Huh?" Dawn frowned in exasperation, hand dropping to her side. "Can't we talk in the morning? I have a test tomorrow." That you're going to yell at me for flunking.
"Remember Dracula?" Buffy repeated, and she sounded a little frantic.
"What, is he back again?" Dawn asked. "So stake him or something. Cut off his head. Can I go back to bed now?"
"Open this door!" Buffy ordered imperiously, voice once again the Bitch-from-Hell big sister tone. Dawn flinched, reached for the knob - and paused.
Something seemed to slither down her spine. Something in the back of her head was yelling at her not to do that, and she felt herself coming a little bit more awake, trying to figure out just what was freaking her out.
She is acting just *weird*.
Do I actually know that's Buffy out there? It sounds like Buffy.
"What's my birthday?" Dawn asked warily.
"It's June 21st and you're 15 and - remember Dracula! - just OPEN THE DOOR!" The last was practically a snarl. Dawn backed up, looking frantically around the room for something that might be used as a weapon.
"You're really freaking me out here!" she shouted back, her voice trembling.
"You got a - Dracula, come on Dawn, Dracula - dress from Mom, with yellow flowers, last birthday that I was - Dracula! - OPEN THE DOOR!"
Dracula, why Dracula, what the hell is Dracula, he's a vamp, okay, I knew that, but what's so important about Dracula, what -
"DAWN, UNLOCK THIS DOOR!"
- thrall. Dracula put her in thrall.
"I don't think I should do that," Dawn said shakily, backing away around the bed. "And you know, if you're really just Buffy, you can ground me and all tomorrow, but I think I'm gonna call Tara now and -"
Something hit the door, hard, and a huge splintering crack appeared right down its center. Dawn scream, and bolted for the window.
***
TBC . .