It has come to my attention that Colin Creevey is only spelt with one L in stead of two, which I have been using. Sooooo, in light of my recent discovery (ha! doesn't that sound so professional?) I have decided to ignore my earlier spelling of his name, which was Collin. Now I will be using Colin. And if I'm super bored one day, I may just go back and change his name in the previous chapters.
Also, I had a problem with the computer where I couldn't upload it on that one, so I had to email it to another computer to do it. Well emailing it messed up the formatting and all so I had to go through it and redo it when I was all tired and I still am so I probably didn't catch all the errors. So if something is seriously messed up, then ignore it.
Disclaimer: I don't own this.
Chapter 17: A Most Disturbing Letter
Ginny's teeth chattered nervously as she, Ron, Harry, Dean, Seamus, Colin, and Dennis all walked out of the Great Hall. As they walked by the tables, heads turned and eyes stared. Ginny could only imagine what they were thinking; Ginny herself feared that the team would be expelled. She mentally slapped herself, along with the rest of the team, for ever accepting Draco's invitation.
The young Gryffindor girl glanced back once at the Slytherin table and saw each member of the Slytherin Quidditch team had yet to move. In fact, they looked just as calm and cool as they usually did, as if nothing could faze them. They were infuriating! Even Draco, despite his earlier unusual show of feeling, (or what Ginny assumed was feeling), seemed calm. They all appeared to have forgotten Dumbledore's ordering them to the Transfiguration room after dinner. It seemed as if everybody else in the hall was wondering the same thing too; even though most everybody was finished eating, they were all watching the Slytherin Quidditch players, who were scattered throughout the Slytherin table, and waiting for them to leave first.
Trying to ignore the catcalls and jeers sent their way, especially from the few Slytherins who were paying attention to them, Ginny looked straight at the floor. Her mind reeled with the thought that she might possibly be expelled, but some small voice deep within her told her that Dumbledore wouldn't be that harsh. If he was and had no sense of either humor or tolerance, then Fred and George would've been expelled years ago. That is,
before they decided to leave themselves.
The seven Gryffindor Quidditch players were deathly silent by the time they entered the cool corridor and turned towards the Transfiguration classroom. Ginny wondered what the others were thinking. Well, Harry and Ron were used to getting in trouble so this shouldn't upset them too much, and Ginny herself had gotten in trouble a few times, but it had never been too bad. Dean and Seamus were best friends and though Ginny suspected that they had been given a detention on occasion, she doubted that they'd ever been seriously punished. As for Colin and Dennis, Ginny didn't think they'd even had house points taken away. The two brothers were on all the teachers' good sides, with the possible exception of Snape; but even the Potions master had a hard time finding fault with the Creeveys. He tried though, goodness knows he did, yet the brothers were particularly skilled at potions; so punishing them was out of the question.
The students entered the empty classroom and Ginny sighed as she flopped into an empty seat. Resting her head on her crossed arms, she closed her eyes and wished the night would just end. She had already owled her parents and told her of the accident, because they would've found out eventually and would've killed her had she not told them herself. However, she had refrained from mentioning the nature of the game; now they were going to hear about her being in trouble and she'd be punished even further from them...probably end up with a Howler or two. Now how was she ever going to ask for a new broom?
Ginny groaned at the memory of her broom, now broken beyond repair. Hermione had suggested fixing it and had even tried a few charms herself but the fact remained that nothing could be done about it. According to Professor Flitwick, whom they'd gone to for help when much to her disgrace, Hermione had been unsuccessful in her attempts, they needed all pieces of the broom. So then Hermione had gone down to the Quidditch pitch and searched for the few splinters of wood they were missing, but had been unable to find them. Ginny was very much thankful for Hermione's helping, but she had resigned herself to the truth: her broom was broken. Now if she wanted to stay on the Quidditch team, she'd have to borrow one of the school's brooms; everybody knew that those were old and slower than a three-legged cat. There was no way she'd be caught dead on one of those. No, somehow she'd have to get a broom another way…somehow.
The sound of footsteps approaching beckoned Ginny out of her reverie and she turned in her seat to see the Slytherins entering the room. Instead of seeing Draco in the front and leading the way, as Ginny had expected to see, he was the last one to come into the room. Surprisingly, Draco didn't bother sneering or sending a snide comment even at Harry or Ron; instead he stared straight at the ground as he chose a seat in the very back of the room.
The arrival of the Slytherins was soon followed by the approach of Professors Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall. Great, thought Ginny. Head of Hogwarts and heads of our houses…this ought to be fun.
"I'm sure you all know what you're here for," mused Dumbledore, shuffling his feet to the front of the room. He took a seat at McGonagall's desk and folded his hands in his lap. As a few of the students nodded mutely, Minerva McGonagall rested against her desk and stared at the class with a stern look on her face, particularly when she looked at her Gryffindors. Snape merely stood in the corner with his arms folded and a scowl on his face.
"After some deliberation amongst ourselves," began Professor McGonagall, "we have decided on your punishment."
Ginny glanced nervously at Ron, who was sitting at the desk next to her, before returning her gaze to Professor McGonagall. Their Transfiguration teacher was staring straight in front of her with a stern look on her face; apparently she was finished talking. McGonagall blinked a few times and her head jerkily turned to look at Dumbledore, who was still sitting just as still as ever, a peaceful look on his face.
"Albus," McGonagall hissed, glancing back and forth between the headmaster and the students. "Albus," she hissed again. She sighed and shouted "Albus!" Dumbledore looked up at her slowly, and he smiled.
"Yes?" he asked calmly?
"Aren't you going to tell them of their punishment?" McGonagall asked tersely.
"Oh, yes...yes," Dumbledore mused, appearing to give thought to the matter. "You are quite right, Minerva my dear. Right you are," he said, his eyes twinkling at the Transfiguration teacher. Snape remained as stoic as ever.
Ginny didn't know whether to laugh or not. Albus Dumbledore was a strange man, but definitely a wise one. Sometimes the reason in his moods, demeanor, and actions was obscure, but it was always there. That, Ginny reasoned, was one reason why Voldemort feared Dumbledore so; the man was hard to
understand yet the wisest one around.
"Yes, your punishment," continued Dumbledore. "We have decided that the animosity between Slytherin and Gryffindor has been going on for far too long. We have hoped that over time, Slytherins and Gryffindors would learn to embrace their fellow students and put aside old differences, but it seems that hasn't been working well," he sighed.
Ginny's heart dropped as she listened to Professor Dumbledore's little speech. Wherever this was heading didn't sound good. Perhaps they had pushed Dumbledore's temper over the edge with that game. But then again, the rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins was like a tradition. Ginny didn't see how it would ever go away; some roots went too deep to excavate...some things never changed.
"We will be partnering you off with each other, starting tomorrow," Professor Dumbledore stated matter-of-factly, and Ginny groaned silently. Partnering? Seemed like there'd been too much of that going on lately.
Oh no, Ginny thought, horror weighing down upon her like slate as a thought came to her mind. Oh no, not Draco…please. I'm already spending enough time with him...whatever you do don't "partner" me with him.
"There are fourteen of you…seven Gryffindors and seven Slytherins," Dumbledore said, motioning with his hands at the students. "For one week, a Slytherin will be paired with a Gryffindor and they will perform all of their normal activities together. We have tried to pair you up according to age so that you can attend classes together; however not all of you are the same ages," Dumbledore paused and seemed to consider something. "Since there is that problem, you will be exempt of going to class with each other except," Dumbledore paused and a tiny smile formed on his lips, "for those of you who already have classes together.
"However," he continued, "you will share meals together, study together, do homework together, spend your free time together, and most importantly, get along together." Professor Dumbledore placed heavy emphasis on the last three words and his eyes came to rest on Draco. The Slytherin's face had an expression on it that seemed to ask 'What did I do?'
Ginny tentatively raised her hand in the air, and when Dumbledore nodded at her, she asked, "Sir, we don't.I mean, we don't have to, like, share a room together, do we?" Her face blushed deeply at what she was implying, and a few of the Slytherins started laughing with what Ginny could only assume was pleasure at her embarrassment. She was, after all, the only girl.
"No, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said, and his eyes seemed to smile at her, "you don't. But you will be spending much time together."
"And what about common rooms?" Seamus asked. "What if we want to go to our
house; what about the Slytherin? Can they get in?"
"Embracing each other's ideas and beliefs is essential if you are to get along," prompted McGonagall, "so you are all encouraged to visit each other's house, where we are hoping you will get a better understanding of your fellow students."
Ha, imagine Draco in Gryffindor House, Ginny thought with glee. He won't know what to do.
"Severus," Professor Dumbledore called to the corner where Snape was still standing, and remaining unusually silent. His eyes had been roaming the room the whole time though. "I will let you tell the students who their partner for the week will be."
Professor Snape came forward, distaste obvious on his face, and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment from his robes. Sighing, he unrolled it and started calling out names.
"Vincent Crabbe, Seamus Finnigan," Snape said in a bored voice. Seamus cringed without even turning around to look at Crabbe, who still looked as clueless as ever.
"Warren Quinn, Colin Creevey."
Please not Draco, Ginny thought fiercely.
"Aidan Tulson, Dean Thomas."
"Alan Howry, Dennis Creevey," Snape monotonously said, obviously reading the names from a pre-planned list.
"Gregory Goyle, Ron Weasley." Ginny had to suppress a snort of laughter at the look on Ron's face; he looked half stunned, half ready to murder Snape for suggesting such a thing. Ginny quickly became sober, however, as she remembered who was left to be partnered.
Please not Draco, please not Draco, please not Draco, please not Draco, Ginny desperately pleaded, her eyes shut tight. Please not Draco…
"Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter."
Yes! Ginny smiled triumphantly, her eyes snapping open; her smile quickly faded though. But that only leaves-
"Blaise Zabini, Ginny Weasley."
Why me? Ginny asked herself, sinking in her seat. Slowly she turned to look back at Blaise and saw a similar look of dread on his face.
Looks like Zabini's going to get a rematch in our glaring contest.
After the teachers had dismissed the students, Ginny followed her friends silently back to the Gryffindor common room. Everybody was silent as they traipsed through the corridors, depressed at the recent turn of events. The few students that remained in the hallways stared at them curiously; no doubt everyone was wondering what sort of punishment they had received. Well, they'll know by tomorrow, thought Ginny grimly. She started to wonder how eating breakfast with Blaise was going to work when Harry started speaking.
"Look, guys," he said, turning to face them, "I'm really sorry about what happened. I didn't expect for any of it to turn out like this and I certainly expect anyone to get hurt," he said, his eyes meeting Ginny's. Surprisingly, Ginny didn't receive the familiar fluttery feeling she usually did when their eyes met. "I was just caught up in the moment and wasn't thinking," he concluded. Remorse was visible not only on his face, but in
his voice as well.
"Don't worry about it, Harry," Ginny said, proffering a small smile.
"Yeah," Seamus chimed in, trying to cheer Harry up, "we've spent seven years with the Slytherins; I doubt a little extra will kill us."
Harry glanced back and forth between his teammates and friends, his eyes still containing worry at what had happened. As everybody else agreed with what Seamus said, Harry started to relax some.
When they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Ginny thought back again to what the next week was going to be like. Now that the initial moment of the teachers pairing them off was gone, Ginny almost regretted that she wasn't going to be with Draco. At least she had already been on speaking terms with that Slytherin and somewhat knew how to deal with him. All the others were a mystery to her and she didn't know how she, or Blaise Zabini for that matter, would handle the situation.
Draco and his teammates remained as surly as ever as they tramped into Slytherin House. Especially Draco. A whole week spent with Potter? And the chances of that turning out well were.? Zero.
Seething with anger, Draco stomped to his room and slammed the door shut behind him. Crabbe, Goyle, nor Zabini would dare come in when they knew Draco was this angry; they had learned from experience. One time in the fourth year Draco had shut himself in his room right after Potter had been chosen for the Triwizard Tournament, and when Goyle had come up to get a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Draco had sent him a look so threatening that Goyle had nearly wet himself. That had been the last time any of them dared to bother him.
Draco sat heavily on his bed, his face a hard mask of barely-controlled rage. In an outburst of energy, he reached over to the nightstand beside his bed and grabbed a small glass ball that rested in its holder; he fingered it in the palm of his hand momentarily before hurling it across the room where it smashed against the wall. Tiny shards of glass clinked to the floor and scattered across it; Draco stared at it, wishing it would disappear like he so longed to do. A fountain of emotions swelled within him, threatening to drown him under its waves of despair, and Draco fought hard to keep the tears from coming to his eyes.
Why…he thought desperately, staring at the garbled remains of glass.
Why is my life so difficult while others have it easy?
As he sighed, he dropped his head down, staring at his lap, his shoulders hunched over dejectedly.
Why do I have all this pain?
The tears welled within his silver eyes and he determinedly refrained from blinking so as to keep them from falling. Perhaps, if no tears fell, his life would miraculously get better. Draco knew it wasn't true, but it was something for him to hold on to, to believe in, to hope for.
What did I do to deserve this?
Angrily Draco thought of all the people who had wronged him over the years, of everybody who had inflicted so much suffering upon him. Voldemort, Harry Potter, his mother and father…
It's not fair…
A single tear slid from his eye and down his cheek, leaving a wet trail behind it. Blinking furiously, he wiped it away along with the rest of the unshed tears.
Draco stood and slowly walked across the room to where the broken glass lay; he stared at it, a blank look now on his face. His mother had given the glass ball to him for his thirteenth birthday. At the time, Draco hadn't known what to do with it; it had just been a perfectly round, clear, glass sphere about the size of a baseball. So he had set it in its holder on his nightstand where it had remained for four years; Draco had hardly ever thought about it. What was it his mother had told him when she'd given it to him? Draco frowned, remembering his thirteenth birthday.
It had been the summer before his third year at Hogwarts started. Usually he never looked forward to birthdays or Christmases, they were all the same. His parents would give him all the presents a kid could ever want, but there was something more Draco always longed for. Some kind of feeling. He had always overheard the young first years around the holidays...they would actually get excited. At first Draco had suspected it was from too much sugar and the anticipation of gifts, but over time, as he experienced his own sense of longing, he realized what it was that got them so excited. It was the feeling they got from being around their families during the holidays. They'd get a certain glow in their eyes that showed that they had family to go home to, that they were loved.
Suddenly Draco had known what he was missing.
Love.
Growing up at Malfoy Manor, he had never spent quality time with either of his parents; they always had had something better to do. So as Draco grew older, every time a holiday or event came around, he'd feel even angrier than before. At the time when he should be happiest and loved the most, it was the complete opposite. He would sink into such a depression that even the House Elves appeared concerned. Yet his parents never noticed. His father was always busy at work or with his fellow Death Eaters, anticipating the return of the Dark Lord. His mother was usually shut away in her room; Draco never knew what she was doing up there, but she'd spend quite a bit of her day in her room. Draco suspected she was doing something that had to do with shopping...or just staying out of his father's way. Another thing that always puzzled Draco was why his parents slept in different bedrooms. He never questioned them about it though.
So when his thirteenth birthday had come about, Draco hadn't felt the usual excitement that comes with the occasion. He still expected the presents, but nothing got his heart racing, his mind whirling. After the House Elves had removed the dinner dishes from their table in the dinning area that night, his father had summoned Dobby into the room with a snap of his fingers. The bumbling elf had appeared pushing a cart stacked high with gifts wrapped in forest green, silver, and dark blue. Draco had ripped off the crinkling paper and opened the boxes without too much enthusiasm.
The night seemed to be coming to an end as it usually did; Draco up in his room doing one thing or another. Just as he had been about to turn out the lights and go to bed, there had been a knock at his door. Confused, Draco had gotten up and walked over to the door; usually nobody came to him this late at night.
To his surprise, his mother had been standing there, looking anxious. Her clothes were ruffled and her normally straight blonde hair disheveled and frizzy, sticking out in different places. Her breathing was slightly heavy and tiny droplets of sweat stuck to her forehead and around her nose. Eyes shining brightly, she pushed past Draco and sat on his bed, resting her head in one hand. The other hand contained a small, square black box. No strings or bows, no fancy wrapping paper, no nothing. The box was simple and plain
yet for an unknown reason, it appealed to Draco.
"Draco," she had panted, laboring with her breathing, now staring into her lap. Watching her, Draco frowned. He had never seen her like this before; she was always cool and collected, just like his father.
"What do you want?" he had asked, not quite as harshly as he had intended to be, yet still not friendly. His mother's head jerked up at the sound of his voice and Draco stared into her light green eyes, so light they almost seemed gray…almost. There was a look in there that Draco couldn't identify; it was almost as if she was trying to communicate through their eyes.
"Draco, I have...I have something for you," she had said unsteadily, lifting the box towards him. With his brow furrowed, Draco had taken it. "Open it," she had said, sighing slightly with what Draco interpreted was exhaustion.
When he had opened the box, he was even more confused than before. He pulled out a small glass bulb, no bigger than his fist. In the bottom of the box was a triangular black stand that the ball fitted into.
"What is it?" he had asked, trying to hide the curiosity in his voice.
"For - for your birthday," she had said, her mouth twitch, trying to smile. Draco stared; rarely had his mother ever smiled. Something emotion seemed to pass over her face, and she grimaced as if she were in pain; she looked away.
"Well what does it do?" he asked, staring at the ball. It was made of glass yet when he tried to look through it he could never see the other side. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see through it.
"For when you...it's -" his mother stammered, a determined look on her face even though she was looking at the floor. There seemed to be a rumble of anger deep within her throat and a furious expression crossed her face.
Uncertainly, Draco stepped backwards, afraid that she might suddenly jump and attack him. When Draco moved, his mother jerked her head back to him and the angry look was gone. "Just keep it, will you?" she asked, grimacing once again. New beads of sweat appeared on her face and some of her hair stuck on her forehead. "It's important."
"How?" Draco asked, now thoroughly confused. And curious, an emotion he rarely felt.
"Trust me," she had said, almost pleadingly. "Someday…you'll - you'll unders-st-stand," she said, her speech becoming even more slurred and choppy. Draco frowned at her uncertainly.
"I have to go," she said, standing abruptly. She paused before heading towards the door and looked at Draco almost...was that longing he saw in her eyes? One of her hands slowly lifted in the air as if she was about to reach out towards Draco, but it came to a rest in the air about eye level. Her head shook slightly as she gazed at him and slowly her arm lowered.
Without another word, she hurried out of the room. Draco, slightly stunned, stared at the door that had been left ajar. The glass ball was still clutched in his hand which was hanging loosely at his side. Slowly he sat down on his bed and fingered the ball. He tossed it in the air a few times but he could see nothing significant about it. So he sat it in its holder next to his bed and readied for bed.
He had lain awake staring that "gift". It was a long while before he had finally, exhausted, fallen asleep.
In the morning, his mother had acted the same as always. At one of the rare breakfasts in which he and his parents ate together, she calmly sat at the table, silent as always. Draco said nothing about the night before and neither did she. Life continued on as normal.
For a few days, the ball perplexed Draco; when it came time to return to school, he had unconsciously packed it in his trunk and from then on, he left it at school. It had sat on his nightstand collecting dust for almost four years now.
Draco blinked at the shards of glass that lay on the floor of his dormitory room. Bending down, he fingered through the broken pieces, almost regretting what he had done. His face wrinkled as he stared at the broken remains of perhaps the only true gift he had ever received, even if he had absolutely no idea what it was.
A piece of something white stuck in the middle of the glass caught Draco's eye. Frowning, Draco leaned forward on his knees and brushed some of the glass away. Lying in it was a tiny slip of paper.
His frown deepening, Draco picked up the paper and unfolded it, his eyes quickly scanning its contents. After reading the first few lines, he dropped the paper in shock and fell back on his hands, staring with wide eyes at the heap of glass upon which rested a most disturbing letter.
It can't be…
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A/N: Woot! I got a chapter up super duper soon! And I worked hard on it so I hope all of you will review! (hint hint) Ummm, what else. Oh yes...I was inspired for this chapter while listenting to the enchanting Trans-Siberian Orchestra. Anybody ever heard of them? You should, they're awesome. Anyway, I'm not traditionally one for using songs in a story, like some people use the lyrics, but there are two songs that I can really picture going in here, but later. So maybe I'll do that. Idk. I'm rambling. It's late. Read. Review. Enjoy.
Lauren
