September 1, 1998
Ginny Weasley's dull brown eyes followed the trickling droplets of rain on the train window absently. Reflected in them was a blurry emerald landscape, as if the sky was lamenting the fields sprawled beneath it in grey-green patchwork. Her fingers itched to trace the drips. At first, they snaked their way down the window in an agonizing crawl, until suddenly, all at once, they sped like lightning into the crevice where metal clenched glass. Ginny had always hated the poetic symbolism rubbish that Hermione adored, but she couldn't help relating to those stupid beads of water.
"Gin, it's not you. It's… us."
"It takes both of us to make an us, idiot."
"That's not what I mean."
"Then what do you mean, Harry? Please, enlighten me."
"What I mean is that this isn't your fault."
She felt like a hollow shell dressed in rags as she mournfully picked at the lint on her stitched up, taken in, hemmed, stitched again, fraying old robes (they'd been Percy's originally. Or George's? She couldn't remember). Her mother said she should be proud, wearing years of rip and wear and tear on the adolescent bodies of her brothers. It was a sluggish start to success, Molly Weasley preached. Ginny didn't believe her.
Her and Harry had started sluggish, too.
A lisping little redhead and The Boy Who Lived, inching their way toward each other, not quite sure where they were headed. It had all been so slow. Many times Ginny thought it futile - the lingering looks, the secret notes, the blushing hello's, and then the other boys; their hands and kisses and smiling whispers, all for Harry, all for one glance, one word from him. Something. Anything. A single spark of jealousy that she could fan into flame. Till they collided.
"I can't be with you, Ginny."
"Why?! What could I have possibly done wrong?"
"Nothing- that's my point. You've done nothing wrong. It's not you- it's us, together. We don't work."
"Look. It made sense the first time. 'I have to slay the darkest wizard of all time and don't want to put you in danger.' I understood that. But this? This I don't understand."
"We've been together a month, Gin. Can't you see we're falling apart? How do you not understand that we're a train wreck waiting to happen?"
Ginny's lip curled. Train wreck. In a way, the train she was on right now was a wreck. Firsties nervously flitted around their carriages, jumping at every bang of a trunk and clatter of a cauldron. Ash-eyed returning students sat silent in their compartments, May still exploding and raging in their minds. One thing Ginny never doubted was that Hermione would join the gaggle of seventh years deciding to repeat their NEWTS in September. The pardoning A's that the Ministry had given all exam students was to Hermione, (and Ginny quoted), "insulting."
"'Mione could've done all her NEWTs in sixth year backwards," Fred had declared from an overstuffed violet sofa, a crooked grin hanging off his bandaged face. They'd gathered at Number 12 to 'celebrate' after the big victory... if the half-hearted Weasley/Potter/Granger roast dinner could suffice a celebration. The living room had felt painfully empty, with most of the Order dead, in St Mungo's or desperately trying to piece Wizarding life back together after the events of the past few weeks.
Hermione had blushed so ferociously Ginny had felt sorry for her. The brunette had gently punched Fred on his arm that wasn't in a sling. "How am I supposed to become your full time personal Healer without at least an O in herbology, hm?" she'd teased, tugging at the gauze on his forehead. "I'm not going to be able to save you every time."
"You already do," he'd whispered, and Ginny couldn't tell what went redder - Ron's ears or Hermione's cheeks.
"Excuse me while I go chuck up on Fred's pillow," Ron had spat, with a little more malice than somebody joking would use. He'd stormed out of the room and slammed the door with a loud crash.
The envelope in Ginny's pocket poked sharply at her ribcage, snapping her out of her memory. She imagined it slicing through her skin, curling around her bones and spearing her heart; Harry's boxy, inky scrawl wrapping itself in her pumping flesh and squeezing it.
"We've just jumped into this way too fast. We're both healing from the War… we're not ready for this. I'm not ready for this."
"Don't you dare pull your Chosen One crap on me, Potter."
"I'm not! Ginny, we're broken. It's too soon for us to do anything serious. We're not ready."
"When will we be ready then?"
"I…"
"Harry. When will we be ready?"
"Gin…"
"When you've finished your four years in that bloody South Korean auror Academy? When you're Minister for Magic? When you've had enough of your wife? When? When will you be ready to love me?"
Silence.
"I have to get out of here."
"Ginny, wait…"
"I have to get out of here."
This was the third letter she'd gotten from him since his move to Seoul. Ginny had burned his first one, Hedwig protesting with a disgruntled hoot as she watched the flames lick the paper into a smoking pile of ash. Tears dripped down her cheeks without a sound. Her rage, ignited by the wordless incendio she'd cast on the parchment, burned white hot in her chest.
He was a git. A heartless, horrible, cruel, selfish bloody git who'd not only taken her brother to South Korea with him but broken her heart into two throbbing pieces and left them rotting on the kitchen floor the day before he left England. She knew she shouldn't blame Ron for leaving - after all, it was his dream to become an auror - but losing the love of her life and her closest friend over the span of twelve hours made her a little irrational.
"Can't you just train under Shacklebolt or something?" Ginny had mumbled into Ron's ear as they embraced before he and Harry took the portkey to the Academy.
"Ginny, the Ministry is a mess. The last thing they care about his training two eighteen year olds with no real NEWTs to become aurors," Ron had replied bitterly. "Besides." His eyes drifted off to where a certain bushy-haired Granger stood, arms laced around Fred's waist and head thrown back as George crowed a less than appropriate love ballad hopelessly off-key and made kissing noises at them. "There are other reasons I'd rather not be here."
Ginny couldn't prevent her glance travelling Harry's direction and forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat as he stupidly (adorably) hugged Mrs Weasley's frame, whose sobbing strongly resembled that of a tortured chicken.
"Me too," she'd thought to herself.
After the unfortunate incineration of Harry's first letter, Ron had owled Ginny to try and calm her down.
Ginny-
Don't be a twit.
Harry feels awful for the way things ended between you two. He's just trying to fix things. Make it more normal, you know? He still wants to be friends.
Also, owling back the remains of his disintegrated letter? Harsh.
-Ron
To Ron,
You're the twit.
From Ginny
Ginny-
So proud to see you now have the emotional maturity of a six year old. They really do grow up too fast!
Seriously, though. Owl Harry back. Or just don't set his letters on fire. And at least send him a howler, not a bag of the ashes of his guilt and apologies. Bloody hell, you're a piece of work.
-Ron
To Ron,
The temptation to give you a copy of Mum's second year howler was unreal. Watch your next few owls, Ronnykins.
And all right, I'll read Harry's letters. Maybe.
Mum and dad say hello and they're proud of you. You'll be pleased to know that I am no longer the family favourite. Our dear Freddy-Weddy has taken on the title. I suppose getting dumped by the Chosen One suspends me from Molly Weasley's hope for her children. You would've been next in line, but since Fred snagged your betrothed, he beat you to it.
Hermione says she misses you. Fred does too.
From Ginny
Molly Weasley had indeed not taken Ginny and Harry's breakup well. When it was clear that Hermione and Ron were never going to work out, she'd given up on her son's love life, too. Ginny wondered what her mother would think of her now, sitting alone on the Hogwarts Express for her last journey to the second home she'd fought and nearly died for a mere three months before.
Sitting alone, on purpose.
She'd seen Neville, Luna and Hermione board the other end of the engine but had waited before she'd clambered on herself. She didn't want them to see her. Or make her sit with the odd mix of students either starting or retaking their NEWTs. She especially didn't want to sit with them when Ron and him weren't there. Ron, Harry and Hermione - 'The golden trio,' as Ginny's year liked to call them - were tarnishing rapidly, and it was not a pretty sight to witness. The youngest Weasley knew it was immature and petty of her, but there was a smouldering resentment in her heart towards Hermione Granger that had developed when things first started going badly for the three friends. Granger had broken Ron into a million pieces after rejecting him. To make it worse, she had been dating Fred ever since she saved his life at the Battle of Hogwarts.
Ron claimed he moved to Korea to train as an auror, but Ginny knew that far too much of it was him trying to forget how his older brother stole the girl of his dreams right out of his arms. Harry went along with him, for... seperate reasons. Including train wrecks and other metaphors.
Ginny smiled sardonically at her foggy reflection in the window. 'Train wreck' didn't even begin to cover the mess her world had been for the past few months. The girl staring back at her truly was a ghost of who she had once been. Dark rings circled the bottom of her eyes like little bruises and the once-twinkling honey-coloured irises were dimmed by countless sleepless nights. Her skin was pasty, cheeks plumper than they had been the year before, sleek auburn hair lost of its sheen and now hanging limp and dishevelled at her shoulders. She'd lopped it off with her own wand after Harry left. He'd loved her long, glossy locks. "Ginger angel," he'd called her, threading a strand around his finger bashfully. "You're so beautiful."
"Not so beautiful now," she whispered to herself, a blank stare and cold sneer peering back almost rudely.
Sick of her appearance, Ginny wiped her hand over the glass till she was only a beige smear. Harry's letter poked her ribs once again and she reached into the torn pocket of her robes where the bright golden H for Head Girl glittered on the outside. The badge felt heavy, like it didn't belong. And, technically, it didn't - McGonagall only asked her because Hermione had refused the role out of humility.
Ginny could've picked out Harry's writing from anywhere in a heartbeat. Anger bubbled in her chest like lava. She imagined him sitting at his desk, writing her the letters with that stupid half-smile on his face and those crooked glasses slipping off the end of his nose. The now creased and slightly damp envelope had a lopsided purple stamp with two yellow wands crossed over each other in the corner. She could tell he'd applied it himself. In the middle, an ink splodge had obviously leaked out of his quill when he was scribbling down her name and address. Ginevra Weas was all she could make out. Her fingers curled under the flap, hovering below the green wax seal.
She couldn't read it here. Not in the musty train compartment. Not here, not now. Not like this. The letters were all she had left of him. She wouldn't, couldn't waste such precious treasure.
Folding, unfolding, re-folding and clenching the letter in her fist for the umpteenth time, she shoved it back in her pocket and instead began to finger the edges of the shining badge on her front. She'd done her Head Girl duties an hour ago - settled all the firsties, instructed the prefects on her side of the train, made sure her schedule was up to date - and was passing time before she'd have to make the tour once again. The Head Boy had taken control of the Express's other half, which, thankfully, housed the rag-tag bunch Ginny called her friends. She'd struck lucky, managing to avoid them and the Head Boy all morning.
It wasn't that Ginny didn't like her friends. On the contrary, she adored them. She was just tired of their pitying looks, their forced laughs and mundane chatter about everything in the world except Harry Potter, the War, and generally, Things That Mattered. Their sympathy toward her was sickening. She knew she was doing a lot worse than everyone else, but she hated how they treated her like porcelain, the same as they had after everything with Tom Riddle in her first year. Even the way they looked at her was different. Like she was fragile to the eyes, a hazard to touch. Ginny was sick of it.
As for the Head Boy - well, hate hardly scratched the surface of what she felt for him.
Right on cue, her badge began to flash with bright orange light. 'Meet Head Boy,' were the words that flickered across it. Ginny scowled. The Head Boy could sodding well come and meet her if he was so desperate to. Ginny wasn't budging an inch.
There was a click and a shove and a quiet grunt as somebody wrenched the rusty door of her compartment open. She brandished an insult ready on her tongue for whoever it was that had the bright idea to invade her privacy - probably another firsty who'd gotten lost on their way back from the loo. But before she had time to snap at the intruder, her blank expression clouded into one of disgust.
It was him.
He slouched lazily against the doorframe, hands stuffed into tailored trouser pockets and a shock of white-blonde waves parted neatly to the side of his head. His grey eyes shone with chilling arrogance. The green of his slytherin tie hissed elegantly against his brand-new robes. Not a single blemish or patch of stubble coloured his complexion. But it was his face that made Ginny's stomach crawl. He was so ready, so poised to suddenly break his cool expression into that twisted, cruel smirk that plagued Weasley nightmares.
He was the bully.
The brute.
The sadist.
The snake.
The one who'd led death eaters into Hogwarts, the one who'd gotten Dumbledore killed, the one who'd ruthlessly attacked and shamed her family for years. He'd worked for the Dark Lord himself. He'd spied, tortured, killed.
And yet he still had the audacity to stand in front of her, completely relaxed. Dare her to break the silence first as slimy rage crawled its way up her throat at the putrid sight of him.
This was her Head Boy.
Draco bloody Malfoy.
xxx
Ginny Weasley hated Draco Malfoy before she even knew who he was.
"Oi," a scabby-kneed, gap-toothed, knobbly young Ron had once lisped at her as they'd trudged through Diagon Alley to find new second-hand robes for Percy. "Look at that man over there."
Little Ginny had stood on her tiptoes and craned her short neck to catch a glimpse of the platinum-haired wizard Ron pointed at. He was clad in full black, nose upturned haughtily at the golden cauldron he was inspecting in his right hand, the left clutching a silver-topped cane. Ginny shivered. His eyes seemed to freeze her to the bone even from the opposite side of the street.
"Who ith it?"
"That'th Luthius Malfoy," Ron sneered, or attempted to sneer - he was more concerned with making sure he didn't spit all over Ginny through the empty spaces in his teeth. They'd both had lisps till the age of eight - it was the little things that bonded the two siblings.
"Who'th that?" Ginny had whispered back, as if the man in question had inhuman hearing and was eavesdropping in on their conversation. It also felt like the right time to whisper, as most exciting moments do.
"A bad guy," Ron replied. He stared Mr Malfoy down with all the naïve disgust he could muster. "He'th one of the evil oneth."
Ginny had gasped, was violently shushed, and gasped again, more quietly. She hadn't the foggiest idea of who 'the evil oneth' were, but she didn't really care. He'd seemed so easy to dislike - those foul features, the arrogant way he assessed the object in his hand, the menacing black cane. Besides, hating him was what mattered, not knowing why.
"Weasley," said Malfoy blandly. It wasn't a greeting or even an acknowledgement of her presence - it was a power statement. 'You're a Weasley, I'm a Malfoy. I am above you, and there is nothing you can do about it.'
"What do you want?" Ginny spat, her voice dripping with venom. Malfoy arched an eyebrow. His gaze remained neutral. It was the look he always wore when he masked his emotions; a veil over the human inside of him that Ginny refused to believe existed. Probably how he he protected himself from himself. A defense mechanism.
He looked the same now as he had all that time ago in Malfoy Manor, impassive as she and the Order were casually tortured in his foyer. She could still feel the wand pressed into her quivering abdomen, his blank eyes watching her over Bellatrix's shoulder -
Bloodtraiterfilthybloodtraitorpigpatheticexcuseforawitchfouldirtypig-
She could still feel Bellatrix's knife carving the word into the soft flesh of her upper arm as blinding, burning, raw, scarlet pain sliced into her and warm screams gurgled in her throat -
Worthlessdirtytraitorshameonwizardsshameshametraitorfilthypig-
Ginny inhaled sharply and flexed her fingers to keep herself grounded. For a little while, Harry had been there to soothe her and caress her arm and whisper you're okay, I've got you, shh when her thoughts collapsed into spirals like that.
But she was on her own now.
"Is it a crime to keep my fellow prefect company?" Malfoy asked, a little perplexed. His silvery eyes raked over her face, and Ginny swallowed, feeling exposed, as if the disjointed shards of thought that made perspiration speckle her brow and neck were on display for him to see. She knew he could tell that she wasn't alright - the veiled concern in his tone was sickeningly obvious - but he didn't start prying. Yet.
"I don't want your company, Malfoy," Ginny sighed, rubbing her temples as if the sight of him gave her a headache. She wished it did, to have an excuse to get rid of him. She didn't want anyone's company at all. Not even Harry's.
(Especially Harry's.)
Malfoy's blond eyebrows rose. "Why ever not?"
Ginny shot him a look that could wither the Whomping Willow. His eyebrows merely rose higher in response, coupled with the ghost of a smirk on the creases of his mouth. He sat down elegantly in the seat opposite her and crossed his legs, making Ginny feel like a graceless blob on her bench.
"Potty and your brother too cool for school, then?" he asked, ignoring her very obvious hints of disgust towards his person. Ginny physically flinched at the mention of Harry and felt her heart throb with nauseating anger and longing. Which didn't go unnoticed, either.
"The A's were enough to get them into auror training," she said, keeping her voice monotonous and uninterested. She hoped that this would end before she'd have to suffer through a whole conversation with Draco Malfoy.
"Ah, yes," he drawled. "Off being men in - where was it - South Korea?"
"Please, do join them. You might learn a thing or two."
Malfoy scoffed and leaned backwards, crossing his arms over his broad chest and eyeing her with a mixture of contempt and amusement. He'd cleaned up quite well after the War, Ginny noted - he seemed to have dropped the awful gel situation since his hair fell in messy corn-silk waves over his forehead, not unattractively. His skin was less sallow than it was before, and he seemed healthy and fit. Ginny felt a twinge of jealousy in the pit of her stomach. Rehabilitation had not treated her as kindly.
"I, um." He cleared his throat and Ginny averted her eyes, clearly having made him uncomfortable with her scathing assessment of his person. He grappled for something decent to say. Ginny wondered what on earth had possessed him to think he could have a semi-normal chat with her.
"Nice haircut," he finally told her shoes after a pregnant pause. For a boy who'd apparently spied on the Dark Lord for two years, Ginny expected him to be a bit better at lying. She decided not to answer, watching the blur of the moors speed past instead.
He changed tack. "Weather matches the mood."
She shrugged, although grudgingly agreeing with him in her head. The weather mirrored how she was feeling perfectly. In her peripheral vision, Ginny noticed him run a hand through his hair and sigh. A thrill travelled down her spine at the fact that she was successfully irritating him.
"I heard we'll be organising a Christmas and Halloween ball."
Silence.
"You excited? New year and everything?"
More silence.
"I am trying to talk to you, you know," Malfoy said, now obviously disgruntled. "Hello? I exist."
"How unfortunate."
Malfoy scoffed again, collapsing backwards onto the wall and shaking his head.
"Do I repel you that much, Weasley?"
Ginny's eyes narrowed to slits. She finally turned to look him right in his stupid, haughty face. Why was he so bloody arrogant? What entitled him to that suffocating superiority? And what in Merlin's name was he doing in her train compartment?
"Yes. Yes, Malfoy you do repel me."
His face went dark for a second, like a thundercloud passed over, but it vanished as soon as it came. What replaced it was and distaste and… frustration? She noticed a clenched muscle in his jaw. He began to trace the large silver H on his green Head Boy badge, as if trying to calm himself down.
"I thought that maybe fighting a war together might mature you enough to treat me civilly, but I suppose I was just being foolish," he said, pinning Ginny with a cruel stare. She snorted.
"Just because you told me you fought for the right side doesn't mean you're a good guy. It doesn't change the things you've done. Or who you are."
"You know nothing of-"
He clenched his fists and snapped his mouth shut, exhaling through his nose.
"That's ridiculous, Weasley," he corrected stiffly, regaining his composure but eyes still glinting. "You can't loathe me for the rest of the year while we're supposed to be Head Boy and Girl. It's unprofessional."
"So that's what this is about, then?" Ginny asked. She knew he had an ulterior motive. Merlin forbid it be anything remotely selfless.
"I'm simply trying to create an environment where we aren't attempting to slit each others' throats every five minutes," he replied, exasperated. "We're supposed to be… role models."
He punctuated the 'role models' with air quotes. They had been McGonagall's exact words. A Head Girl must be a responsible, just, and mature role model for the rest of the student body to look up to.
"McGonagall made the wrong decision," Ginny said.
Malfoy didn't bother masking the malice in his voice. "Yes," he seethed. Ginny considered telling him to leave, but he started talking before she could get the words out.
"Why aren't you sitting with your friends?"
Ginny couldn't tell if he was trying to mock her or not. "Why do you care?"
"I don't. Just trying to make polite discussion, Merlin."
"I like being alone."
"Liar," Malfoy snapped. "What kind of Gryffindor are you?"
"One that likes to be alone."
Could he not take a hint?
"You're Ginny Weasley. You hate being alone."
"What in Godric's name makes you think that?"
"Oh, please. You're an attention leech. Head Girl, Quidditch Captain, War hero, good marks," he droned, making Ginny's eyebrow tic with anger. "And of course, your infamous looks."
He dragged his eyes slowly up and down her tattered robes, blotchy skin, bedraggled hair and slightly too plump cheeks. Bile rushed up her throat and her skin crawled at his brutish smile. The git.
He leaned forward on his seat, invading her space. The rage boiling inside her turned her face a violent shade of magenta.
"Not to mention a certain scar-headed suitor," he whispered, chuckling at the sudden choked noise that escaped Ginny's lips. "But what's that I hear? He dumped you? How tragic. Judging by your current… emotional state, I'm not exactly surprised."
Ginny was trembling all over. Her chin, her hands, her voice. She felt like she was drowning. Her vision swam in tears that ached behind her eyes. Malfoy's sneer was so cold it made her want to shiver.
"You," she whispered, her voice cracking with fury, "you- you know nothing about me."
Malfoy stood up, brushing imaginary dirt off his robes. Any sign of emotion had vanished from his expression and the neutral, blank, emotionless mask had returned. His grey eyes were darker than the sky on the other side of the window. He looked down his nose at her without the faintest hint of feeling.
"You're right. I do know nothing about you."
He spun on his heel, the expensive leather squeaking on the floor.
"Good day, Miss Weasley," he called over his shoulder as he unlatched the compartment door. "Do get some sleep after checking patrols. Your under-eye bags are starting to look alarmingly like a panda."
He stalked off, and Ginny let out a shaky exhale, trying to gain control of her breathing.
"I can't be with you, Ginny."
stupidlittletraitorfilthypigbloodtraitorworthlessexcuseforawitch-
"How do you not understand that we're a train wreck waiting to happen?"
traitortraitortraitorfilthypig-
"He dumped you?"
"It's not you- it's us, together. We don't work."
"I do know nothing about you."
Ginny clutched her chest and erupted into sobs. Tears gushed out of her eyes and splashed onto her knees. She felt her throat close up in panic as chaotic memories of erupting buildings, dead bodies and emerald green eyes exploded in her mind's eye.
Breathe, Ginny, breathe.
Clenching her eyes shut, she inhaled slowly through her nose and out through her mouth, focusing as hard as she could on the movement of her chest and not her mind.
In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four.
She imagined Harry's arms around her shoulders, shielding her from the bad dreams that woke her screaming in the middle of the night. She pretended the warmth of his skin and the softness of his voice surrounded her, and her hysteria quickly calmed into the occasional mournful hiccup. Ginny hated herself for her weakness, and more for the fact that it was Malfoy who'd made her break down like that.
Cursing creatively, she stood up and decided it was time to join her friends and escape her thoughts, at least for the rest of the train ride. She tapped her wand against her badge and wiped a teardrop off her nose, hoping he was in a full Prefects' carriage when he received the flashing orange message.
'Head Git.'
Ginny's spirits lifted ever so slightly.
xxx
"Hermione, that necklace is gorgeous! Where'd you get it?"
"Fred gave it me before I left. It is rather pretty, isn't it?"
"Neville doesn't get me jewellery. He knows I'd lose it before I put it on. Or the nargles would snatch it off me. They do love shiny things."
"Luna!"
"It's alright, Neville. You're doing everyone a favour."
"So, Parvati - are you seeing anyone at the moment?"
"No, actually. Still kind of adjusting back to real life, I guess."
"I get you. Although I heard Seamus saying he thought you were, I quote, 'right fit'."
"Seamus can bugger off."
"I'll tell him you said that, Parv."
"You can bugger off too, Nev."
"Ginny, are you alright? You seem… distracted."
Ginny blinked rapidly and turned to meet Hermione's concern riddled face. She'd been staring with an absent mind at the lamppost where Harry had met her after a Hogsmeade visit once. It had been chilly and her nose had gone red from the cold, so he'd swept her up in his arms and peppered her numb face with kisses. Without knowing, Ginny had let her face go numb again in the icy September air.
"'M fine," she mumbled, throwing a very unconvincing smile Hermione's way and hugging her robes tighter to her shivering body. "I'm gonna gather all the firsties for the boats. I'll see you later?"
Hermione nodded, placing a warm hand on Ginny's shoulder and squeezing it sympathetically. Ginny resisted the urge to shrug her off, but she grit her teeth and patted the hand.
"I'm fine, really," she lied. Hermione nodded again.
"Take care," Neville called out, waving at her and looping his arm around Luna's waist. Ginny felt a sharp pang of loneliness as the two laughed and tottered their way towards the end of the platform, Hermione and Parvati following suit and giggling at the newest wildly heroic act Fred had come up with to impress his girlfriend. Ginny was jealous. Not of the relationships - she was more jealous of the feeling of being able to whisper to her friends about the boy who was smitten with her, or the opportunity to just walk down the small stretch of station with someone who truly loved her.
It had been like that once, for a short, blissful while, but the cold weather pulled her out of her fantasies and into reality. Harry was gone.
Malfoy's parting words stung in her memory and she felt sick again. It was no mystery that she wasn't dealing well with the War, but having Malfoy attack her with that so plainly made her want to give him his own two black eyes.
She spied Hagrid's enormous lamp on her right, casting weak beams of wavering gold that spilled through the mist and onto the ground. The platform was always foggy, no matter the weather, thanks to the Great Lake.
Hagrid was just as enormous and ruddy as he'd always been, which comforted Ginny. At least some things stayed the same at Hogwarts. She'd heard rumours that Hagrid and Madame Maxime were seeing each other more regularly now that things had calmed down. It made Ginny want to laugh. Everyone seemed to have someone - even Ron was getting close to, albeit with resistance, his auror partner, Hannah Abbott. Ginny didn't want to know Harry's situation on that particular matter. His second letter had thankfully left out any of those kinds of details.
Dear Ginny,
I hope this letter finds you well. Or at least better than the last one did. I completely understand your reasoning behind the incineration- I probably would have done the same in your place. I am in no way excusing myself and I know too well that the way I ended things was unforgivable. I'm not expecting you to forgive me, or care about me, or have anything to do with me. You don't even have to write me back for that matter. Again, I understand why you wouldn't want to. I am a world-class git, and I am so inexplicably sorry for the way I treated you. You don't have to read the rest of this, but just know that I'm writing to at least pretend that we can one day patch things up. And I don't plan on stopping writing to you- if you don't want to read my letters, you're most welcome to keep on burning them, but if you ever change your mind, they're not going to stop.
A few things have happened since I last wrote to you, so I'll tell you the important bits from last time and the new things as well. The Academy is, in short, brutal. I'm absolutely knackered every single night, which is why I'm writing this at five in the morning in our kitchenette. My dorm mates are all snorers, lucky me. I share a bunk with Ron, and we have an ex-Durmstrang student, two Ilvermornies and a guy called Donald Cricke who left Hogwarts three years ago and has almost finished his course here. Breakfast is at 6 o'clock and lectures start at quarter past seven (end at noon for lunch). Then we have practicals and training till half past five, and continue with other sessions till 9:00. The longest I've slept since arriving here is about six hours, but everything is so rewarding.
Ron is hungry, exhausted, moping and surly, but underneath all the complaining he's really enjoying himself. I think this is good for him. He's stopped mentioning Hermione as much and is talking about her less in his dreams. He's still refusing to acknowledge Fred's existence, though. Last week, he was assigned his auror partner for the rest of the year. You might remember her- her name is Hannah Abbott and she was a Hufflepuff in our year. At first he was appalled at having a partner that wasn't me, and he let her know it, but she's almost as stubborn as he is and is proving an excellent match for him. I doubt anything romantic any time soon, considering the fact that she's still calling him Weasel and he's convinced that she's a metamorphagus banshee-hag, but when they're not screaming obscenities at each other they're quite adorable. I don't want to bother you with boring school stuff, so that's the only interesting thing going on at the moment. I don't have time for anything at all other than the occasional 5-aside Quidditch match (the Durmstrangs are utter rubbish).
I trust that you're doing well and excited for the new year to start. Congratulations on Head Girl! I'm so proud of you. You'll smash it, and everything else as usual. Apologies for the ridiculously long letter. I tend to scribble nonsense this early in the morning. Hope to hear from you soon. Or whenever convenient. Or whenever you're ready.
Yours Sincerely,
Harry Potter
Ginny had cried for three hours after reading the letter and flushed it down the toilet before she was stupid enough to write him back.
"Well I'll be blown. Is tha' Ginny Weasley standin' o'er there all alone?"
A real smile grew over Ginny's face at the sound of Hagrid's familiar boom.
"Hagrid, hello!" she cried, her voice muffled in his giant moleskin coat that smelled strongly of wood smoke, the Great Lake and, well, musty moleskin as he flung his arm around her in a warm embrace.
"Almost di'n't recognize yeh," he chuckled heartily, ruffling her bright red hair with his huge palm. "Yeh all right?"
"Alright as I'll ever be," she answered, having to crane her neck to look up at him. Although Ginny was relatively tall for a seventeen-year old girl, Hagrid still towered over her.
"Mr Malfoy and I 'ave already rounded up the li'l firsties for yeh," he commented with a slightly wobbly smile that hid a deep sadness in his usual twinkling face.
"Oh? So soon?" Ginny managed to inquire while fuming on the inside. The nerve of Malfoy. He could've at least bothered to tell her.
"Well, yeh know," Hagrid said, his rugged voice dropping a little in volume. "Not tha' many of 'em this year."
His beetle black eyes looked wet, but Ginny blamed it on the unflattering lamplight.
"You go join Mr Malfoy in the Prefects' carriages," he told her, squeezing her shoulder a little painfully, but not with pity like Hermione had. This was more encouraging. Hagrid understood that joining the Head Boy was not as easy as it sounded.
"I'll do that," she said, casting another smile his way and walking down the now empty platform, save a few loitering bats and an abandoned toad croaking grumpily next to a bench.
The Prefects' carriages were only slightly bigger than the ordinary ones, but there were more thestrals harnessed to them to ensure the ride was less bumpy as they flew to the Hogwarts Gates. Ginny had always been able to see the thestrals, even before the War. She'd laughed at Looney Lovegood along with everyone else, but guilt had eaten her up for years when she pretended not to see the strange skeletal creatures.
Ginny had witnessed the death of a muggle man when she was six, alone except for her mum and dad. She never forgot the sound of his scream as the car smashed into his back and sent him flying up into the air, and the nauseating crack of his head on its metal hood.
At least now she no longer had to pretend not to see them.
"Pretty things, thestrals," a soft feminine voice mused from behind Ginny. Her heart instantly leapt into her throat and she whirled around, wand brandished at the surprised woman standing behind her.
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear!" she said, placing a small gloved hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and the left one was cloudy with cataracts, but other than that she was quite ordinary looking. Tweed robes on a plump frame, short, curly black hair and little wrinkles around the corners of her mouth that indicated that she smiled a lot. Ginny exhaled in relief and put her wand away.
"I didn't mean to scare you," the lady apologised, her cheeks rosy with embarrassment.
"'S'alright," Ginny said, smiling weakly at the witch. Her face was familiar, but Ginny couldn't think why.
"Goodness, where are my manners?" the woman scolded herself, chuckling. She held out a pudgy hand. "Professor Rosaline Beckett. It's a pleasure to meet you, dear."
It clicked. Ginny remembered a large, blown out image on the front page of Witch Weekly entitled 'R. O. Beckett: The Female Force for Potions' that her mother had read with ardour a few weeks ago. Beckett was less glamorous and made up than her magazine depiction, but the eye and the tweed gave it all away.
"An honour, Professor," Ginny replied, shaking the outstretched hand firmly. "And welcome to Hogwarts."
Beckett beamed at her and took Ginny's hands in both of her own. Her grip was surprisingly firm for a little middle-aged lady.
"Thank you, Miss Weasley. Welcome is scarce these days, I've come to know," she whispered, as if letting Ginny in on a special secret. Ginny's chest filled with unfamiliar warmth and she felt herself smiling shyly at Beckett. She hadn't been greeted so fondly since before the War. It was odd, but in a lovely way, for a stranger to treat her with such little suspicion.
Beckett squeezed her hands and released them, straightening her patterned green robes and wiping a tear that had leaked out of her cloudy left eye. Ginny's eyebrows drew together in concern and her mouth opened to ask if she was alright, but Beckett waved a hand dismissively at her.
"I'm fine, don't worry," she assured, dabbing her cheek with a worn-out handkerchief. "It's the Pale-Eye, nothing more. Acts up when the wind's blowing."
"Ah," Ginny replied eloquently. She'd heard of Pale-Eye from her brother Charlie, who was very familiar with obscure magical ailments due to his work with dragons. The creatures he cared for were excellent carriers of all sorts of diseases, including Pale-Eye, which is said to have originated from a Bogworm in Mongolia in the 1890's that made its way into the eye of a Chinese Fireball dragon and spread to Europe due to the Fireball's migration patterns. It wasn't infectious, and could only be transmitted through the claws of infected dragons or other instruments of similar magical properties. Ginny wondered how on earth Beckett had gotten the disease, but decided it wasn't the most pleasant topic to divulge in with a Professor.
"Will you be teaching potions this year, Professor Beckett?" Ginny inquired, noticing that the carriages were beginning to fill with Prefects.
"I will, and hopefully for many years to come," Beckett chuckled, running her fingers through the mane of a thestral that had wondered over curiously from where it stood. "Such beautiful creatures, aren't they?"
Ginny didn't reply, watching Beckett stroke the thestral's bony neck and whisper to it in a low voice. 'Beautiful' wasn't the word that sprung to mind, but they certainly were fascinating. Ginny didn't know whether to laugh or join in with Beckett's loving administrations to the beast. She decided to awkwardly jam her hands in her pockets and stare at her toes.
"You best be getting off, Miss Weasley," Beckett said after about a minute, dusting her hands off and turning round to wink at Ginny. "Can't have the Head Girl late to the feast, hm?"
"Of course not," Ginny apologised, but winked back. She regretted it almost immediately- ('Who am I, Fred?')- but again, it was a completely unconscious response to the witch who seemed to ooze kindness from her very robes.
"Bye, darling," Beckett said affectionately to her thestral, giving it one last pat and climbing into the carriage with a loud puff and an 'oh, dear!'
Ginny shook her head, bewildered, but climbed into her own carriage dutifully where Malfoy already sat, much to her chagrin. He barely looked at her and didn't move his feet from the cushions opposite. Ginny sighed as loudly as she could and sandwiched herself between the door and his legs, but Malfoy didn't bat an eyelid.
The short journey to the gates was silent apart from his singular request to please stop staring at me like I've just murdered a boat full of orphans.
XXX
a/n: The AU of this fic is simple: Fred lives, Draco was a spy for Dumbledore.
Harry Potter was published such a long time ago but I adore how people still love it. I doubt this fic will get much reception, but it's fun to write and I'm a sucker for Drinny, so we good.
Updates won't be super frequent but they will have a lot of content. Chapters will range from 6.5k to 9k words.
Disclaimer: I own nothing except a few made up characters. All rights to Rowling. This is fic is honestly just an outlet for all my Drinny fantasies, so if you actually stumble upon this fic and continue to read it, major kudos to you. R&R if there's anyone out there lol.
- sadukulelegirl xx
