Well, hello there! It's been ridiculously long since I updated this, considering I've had the next few chapters written for awhile...sorry!! I'm simultaneously working on about a billion other fics, as well as attempting to do some homework, so...that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.
Here's a nice, long update to make up for my slacking off.
Ginny Weasley walked off very fast, and Draco was left feeling quite alone. She had looked at him as if he were crazy; quite frankly, he didn't care. At the moment, he very well may have been. All he knew was that she could help him or hurt him, significantly, one way or the other. It had been terrifying when he first realized it, but upon looking more closely at her brown eyes, the thought grew a little more pleasant. She wasn't bad-looking, at that. But what if she was the one to hurt him? It was too much to think about, and he couldn't figure it out himself. He headed swiftly back to his common room.
Blaise had gone on ahead, leaving him alone as he had asked. Upon leaving the clearing Draco hadn't felt capable of talking to anyone. That was partially why he had been so shocked upon bumping into the Weasley girl...but only partially. There was a much bigger reason...he thought back to when he and Blaise had first reached the clearing in the forest.
"It's right in there," Blaise urged, looking highly excited. "I can't go any further, you have to go in alone." Draco hesitated at that.
"You're my friend, right, Blaise?"
"Of course! Quit worrying and get your arse in there. I'm telling you, you won't be sorry." So Draco, in his hopeless mood of helplessness, obeyed his friend, pushed his way through a few bushes and leafy branches, and found himself in a small clearing. It was darker there than it had been anywhere else, and he began to regret this move. Especially when the clearing began to grow a little lighter, and he started feeling faint.
"Shit," he muttered, cursing Blaise with all his heart. Then again, if he died here, he would never have to face his father and the Dark Lord. Maybe death was a blessing in disguise.
But death did not come. He did not pass out at all, despite his dizziness. The clearing grew brighter and brighter, and then, suddenly, just as Blaise had promised, he saw his future self. He looked a lot like his father. Draco took a few steps forward and reached out his hand, but got no closer to the apparition. Clearly he was just here to watch. So watch he did.
He saw himself standing next to the Dark Lord, who was smiling at him. He saw himself bribing a man in Ministry clothing and patting him on the back, looking satisfied. He saw servants running to do his bidding. He saw himself frightening Muggles with explosions from his wand. He saw himself in Death Eater robes, looking powerful and smug. He controlled Dementors. He used Unforgivables without repercussions. He was untouchable, and the Dark Lord was proud of him. This was his future.
No voice spoke, but Draco gained an understanding of what he saw as if someone were explaining it to him. This was the path he had chosen for himself. He was to be one of the Dark Lord's greatest and most feared supporters. He would be the Dark Lord's favorite, besting all of his friends. The force explaining this inside of him felt satisfied, and pleased to be telling him this. He understood it was the voice of the clearing. But Draco was not pleased. He backed away from the vision in horror, ready to cry out in misery. This was what awaited him? A life just like his father's? One with no happiness but that which came from destroying others? One in which he was always second best to the Dark Lord? It was horrible, horrible, and Draco struggled not to cry.
The force, or the voice, or whatever it was that was in his head now, grew confused and let the vision dim. It was surprised that Draco was not happy to see this. It had never made anyone unhappy before. Many had come, Draco comprehended, and they had all walked away delighted and encouraged upon seeing their future. But Draco shook his head.
"No," he said aloud, "I don't want it. Is there any way to avoid it?" The voice left his mind, then, and showed him another vision. Was this an answer to his question? This one showed him a beautiful, redheaded young woman who was brushing her hair and singing soundlessly. He saw his future self—younger than in the first vision, but older than he was now—walk up behind her and place his hands on her shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled in a way that no one had ever smiled at Draco before. He leaned down and brushed a kiss on her temple, and her eyes fluttered closed in happiness. Then, with a thrill of shock, fear and excitement, Draco realized who the woman was.
"I don't understand!" he cried desperately as the vision faded, leaving him longing for it to return. "Must I avoid her, or is she the way to avoid the other future?" The voice of the clearing filled him again, but the only response he got was the feeling that he already knew the answer. Then he was propelled out of the clearing, and the voice left him forever. He could not get back in. "Please!" He pleaded. "I don't know! Tell me!" There was no response. The clearing could not hear him.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled around in terror. But it was only Blaise.
"How much did you hear?" Draco demanded immediately.
"Only your begging, just now. What did you see? What don't you know?"
"Get away from me," Draco moaned, turning away and falling against a nearby tree trunk. "Leave me, please." He got no response, but a moment later heard Blaise wading through the brush. Draco heaved a sigh of relief. What now? What did it mean? He knew who the girl had been. Ginny Weasley.
It was only understandable that he had found himself at such a loss when he encountered her a few minutes later. Standing in front of him had been the key to his future, only he didn't know whether to go to her or avoid her like the plague. After seeing her he knew what he was inclined to do—go to her—but was that simply because she was an attractive girl? She was a Gryffindor, after all. But did that mean she was trustworthy, or dangerous to a Slytherin like him? He didn't know, damn it all, and why hadn't the clearing just told him? It seemed like a friendly entity. Why had it left him so confused?
He knew one thing. Two things, really. The first was that he had to avoid living the life of the first vision. He would not become his father; he refused. That life was not for him, even though it could be, even though he was already heading down that path. He was ready to fight now, all right, as hard as he could. The second thing he knew was that if Ginny Weasley ever did look at him the way she had in the vision, he wasn't sure he would be able to give that feeling up, even if it meant his own destruction.
For now he couldn't think about that. Before he got carried away he needed to come up with a plan of action. He woke up early the following morning, a Saturday, and snuck out of the dormitory to the third floor corridor before the rest of his house had woken. He shut and locked the door and sat down right behind the trapdoor, leaned against the wall, and thought.
The way to avoid his father and the Dark Lord seemed easy and impossible at the same time. It was easy in that it was clear what he would have to do: never go home again. Of course, it was impossible in that...where would he go? How would he live? With no money, no home, no family? He'd be worse off than Potter, because no one would be willing to take him in. And surely his father would come after him, and what would the Dark Lord do, when denied a Death Eater? What if he already had plans for Draco? Would Dumbledore take him in? How could he really go to Dumbledore, anyway, when he hated him and had scorned him for years?
None of that really mattered, for now. For now, what everything boiled down to was his relationship, or lack thereof, with Ginny Weasley. Somehow that would either solve all of those problems or throw him headlong into them. So what should he do? What did he know? What would the clearing have seen inside his mind that made it think he already knew whether or not he could trust Weasley?
There was the fact that she had told no one about their encounter, as far as he could tell. Of course, she might have told Longbottom, whom she was always with, but she had promised she would tell no one. He was inclined to believe her—ah, but why? If he could reason that out, maybe he would know for sure.
Because she was a Gryffindor, for one, but that wasn't all. He wouldn't trust someone like Finnigan or Patil with a secret like that. it be...because she was a Weasley? It fit, almost. The Weasleys were everything his father was not, and they represented everything the Dark Lord hated: they were Muggle-loving, poor, and emotional. That was a good sign, wasn't it? But of course, that meant that Draco himself must be everything that Weasleys hated: Muggle and Mudblood-hating, rich, and highly controlled. Would she turn on him because of that?
He would have to figure her out. Could he ever get her on his side? Might he convince her to turn against her family, and be loyal only to him, instead? The vision he had seen of her surely showed someone dedicated to him. Could he really, someday, get her to look at him like that? It seemed impossible, but of course, it wasn't. He had seen it. He would have to work for it, lure her in somehow...but he must tread carefully. He must never forget that she was a Weasley, and not trust her until he was sure he had control over her.
But first, again, he had to figure her out. Observe her, and work out how to get close to her. He prepared himself for a task of manipulation worthy of his father.
So it seemed comforting Draco Malfoy had been a very bad idea indeed. So far he had glared at her, bribed her, and scared her in response. Hopefully he was finished and would go back to being practically ignorant of her existence, as he had before. She sighed as she ate her dinner; no good deed goes unpunished, it seemed. Not that she had set out to be nice to him. It had been instinctive. Apparently that didn't make any sort of difference to the twisted Providence who ran the universe.
"Are you going to the DADA demonstration this evening, Neville?"
"Of course!"
"It'll be a really educational opportunity, to see Aurors at work. Much more realistic than what we do in class," Hermione put in excitedly, not noticing Harry's scowl behind her. Ginny shot him a small, sympathetic smile. The last time they had seen Aurors at work, Sirius had died. He shrugged but gave her a grateful look.
They all met up in the common room and headed out to the Great Hall again that evening, excited to see the Aurors. Tonks, Kingsley, and Dawlish were all there, along with a few other Aurors Ginny didn't know. She waved excitedly to Tonks, who surreptitiously waved back.
"Anyone been rubbing any lamps, lately?" someone said behind her, and she giggled. Kingsley did rather resemble the traditional genie, with his bald head and earring. She turned to look behind her to smile at whoever had said that, and jumped. It was Malfoy. She immediately frowned and moved forward, away from him. He was soon forgotten as the Aurors completed their presentation. Afterwards the students were taught some curses, and practiced on one another. Ginny paired up with Neville.
"What in Merlin's name is Malfoy doing here?" Neville whispered to her.
"How should I know?"
"I just mean...a Slytherin in an extra DADA class? It doesn't click." Ginny nodded. Neville was absolutely right, of course. She turned to observe her brother, then, who was paired off with Harry and goofing off. They were sending tickling hexes at each other. Ginny laughed, but that's not why she was watching. She had to speak to her brother, and, glancing next at Hermione, thought she knew a way to get what she wanted.
After the meeting she pulled Ron aside from the tide of students and whispered to him, "I have to talk to you. Now."
"Um, okay. See you in a few," he called to Harry and Hermione, who nodded and went on without him. Ginny led him to a deserted hallway and turned to him as soon as she was sure they were alone.
"Look, I need to know something that I know you know. So, first off, you trust me, don't you Ron?"
"What's this about, Gin?"
"I need to know what you know about Malfoy and the Chittocks." There. She had done it. He froze up and she could tell he was about to deny her flat out. "Ron, if you tell me, I'll tell you something I know you want to know." He still didn't look inclined to open up, so she went on, "It's about Hermione." That got him. Her poor brother couldn't help but look interested, as much as he was trying to hide it from her. He did not want to tell her what he knew, but to get information about Hermione...
"But Ginny, it's not good for you to know these things. It's dangerous to know."
"Don't try to protect me, Ron, you should know better by now. I took care of myself in the Department of Mysteries, didn't I?"
"Yeah, but..."
"Look, Ron, it's not like I'm going to tell a single soul about this. I just need to know."
"Why do you need to know so badly?"
"I just do."
"Not good enough," he shook his head.
"Ugh! Because I might know something that has to do with it all."
"What? What do you know? You have to tell me, Ginny."
"No. If it doesn't have anything to do with the murder, then it would be a serious breach of morals for me to tell, alright? If it turns out I do know something, then of course I'll tell you or Dumbledore." He nodded.
"That sounds alright. And...and you'll tell me something about...Hermione?" Ginny had to smirk as his ears turned telltale red.
"Yup. And it's good." He took a deep breath, and looked around, then back at her.
"Alright. Here's what we know about Malfoy—we have witnesses, or, I mean, the Order has witnesses, who saw Lucius Malfoy leaving the Chittocks' house. Like, within ten minutes of when we think they were killed. So Dumbledore is pretty sure he's the one who did it."
"Do you know anything about Draco Malfoy?" He gave her an odd look, then.
"No. Why? Do you think he had anything to do with this? Do you know something?"
"No, Ron, relax. I was just curious. Now I'll tell you the thing about Hermione." He was sufficiently distracted. "Wait—if you tell me something else you know about the Chittock case, I'll tell you two things."
"Erm...er...I don' t think I know anything else. Erm..oh! How about this? The Chittocks ran in the same social circle as the Malfoys, as far as we could tell. The two families knew each other fairly well." Pushing aside her disgust at the thought that Lucius Malfoy had killed a family friend, Ginny nodded, satisfied.
"Thank you, Ron. Is there anything else?"
"That's all we know."
"Thanks. Since you were so nice about it, I'll tell you three things." She proceeded to enlighten him to the facts that Hermione slept in a short, white lace nightgown, and that she loved green toad-lilies.
"That's all?" Ron said, pretending not to care, but Ginny could see his eyes glazing over. Besides, he hadn't even noticed she had only told him two things.
"You forgot the third item, Ron."
"Oh! Yeah! What is it?"
"She mentioned something to me the other day about wanting to go into Hogsmeade next weekend with you alone. I can't really remember why. See you, then," she said with a grin, and walked off, leaving him standing dazedly still. So she had lied about the Hogsmeade thing. Hopefully, for Ron and Hermione's sakes, it wouldn't end up mattering.
But Ginny was left to think about things that certainly did matter. What did she really know, now? That Lucius Malfoy had probably killed the Chittocks, that Draco had known the family, and that he had been feeling quite guilty over something the morning the news came out...but he was in school when it happened, and Draco didn't seem the type to feel guilt over what his father had done. It didn't add up. So maybe she knew nothing; that would be a relief. But Draco had tried to bribe her, with quite a lot of money. He had threatened to Obliviate her—that must mean something. She sighed and went back to the dorm.
Ginny had an itch to fly. It was late in the afternoon and she would only have a couple of hours, if she was willing to miss dinner, but she had a Quidditch itch. Grabbing Bill's old broom from her trunk, she tied a scarf around her neck and scurried out of the dormitory. Thankfully the pitch was abandoned, and, without slowing down, she hopped onto her broom and soared into the air. Ahh...there was the release, the comfort offered by the wind in her hair, on her face. She looped around the field as the sun went down. But before she could head down to grab a Quaffle to chase, she realized someone was watching her—there, by the entrance to the stands. She didn't hesitate, but swung her broom around smoothly and headed straight at the person. Only once she had got within range to see the silver-blonde hair did she pause; it was Malfoy, and what did he want now?
A/N—What, indeed?? Please review, and I'll tell you! Every time you review a muse gets its wings!
