Hagrid was right. The number of first years at Hogwarts was pitifully low. One by one they trotted up to the stool, knees knocking for McGonagall to plop the enormous, dusty sorting hat onto their heads and announce which house they were assigned to for the next seven years of their lives.
"Vos, Ilsa."
The last little girl wobbled her way onto the stage. Her freckled face disappeared.
A few seconds went by and Ginny saw her lips moving just below the brim of the hat, as if she was negotiating with it. Ginny had done the same her first year. The hat had been dangerously considering putting Ginny into Slytherin, because of her 'stubborn ambition and iron will,' but Ginny, along with some carefully placed curse words she'd overheard from Fred and George's room-slash-laboratory, made sure that the hat dropped the idea as quickly as it came.
"SLYTHERIN!"
Poor thing. Probably wasn't persuasive enough.
Ilsa stumbled towards the cheering Slytherin table and sat down in a daze next to Blaise Zabini and a girl with a dark green bandana and two frizzy space buns who looked a lot like Blaise himself.
"Cousins," Dean Thomas explained, noticing Ginny's stare at the trio who hugged and thumped the little girl on the back joyfully. Ginny tilted her head in acknowledgement.
"Long time no see, Thomas." She flashed him a coy smile. She was single after all, what was wrong with testing familiar waters?
As if in response, Dean flung his arm around Polly Sharpe's shoulders and pecked her on the cheek, eliciting a surprised giggle from the girl.
'Worth a try,' Ginny thought, picking absent-mindedly at a hangnail on her thumb. Her stomach growled, announcing it was time for McGonagall to hurry up and make her speech already so they could start the feast. The Headmistress stood, raising a wrinkled hand to silence the students' clamour that quickly faded to a hushed murmur. They looked up at McGonagall expectantly.
"Welcome, dear students, to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she announced in her loud, piercing voice, magnified by an amplifying charm. Her eyes scrutinized the hall like a hawk. "It is my utmost pleasure to stand and have you all here today. If it weren't for your bravery, generosity and commitment, Hogwarts would still be a pile of rubble, and for that I, and the other Professors, thank you with all our hearts."
Someone let out a half-hearted whoop, but was met with deadly stares from the bench of teachers behind McGonagall's podium.
"As you all know, life at Hogwarts will continue as it once did before. Although the absence of our previous Headmaster, Professor Albus Dumbledore, grieves us all, we must hold our heads up high and honour the wonderful work he, our war heroes, and most importantly our martyrs have done to allow us to meet here once again."
McGonagall swallowed and adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose, blinking rapidly.
"First years, may your careers at Hogwarts be fruitful and successful, filled with happy memories and hard work. Returning students, may you too laugh loudly and study with dedication, although preferably not at the same time. And most importantly, may all of us come to appreciate the blessing of life bestowed upon us so graciously. Through love, acceptance and support, I know that we will overcome our demons and live together in harmony."
Seamus pretended to retch into Neville's lap, but most of the people at the table had misty eyes. Hagrid blew his nose with an awkward trumpeting sound. Ginny's mouth felt sour. "Good luck with that," she muttered under her breath. Hermione shot her a look of disapproval, and Ginny bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself making a face at the girl. She tasted something metallic and ran her tongue over her skin, feeling lumps and lines of raised scar tissue at the incessant chewing she'd taken to.
"As usual, the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds and I hope all of you remember the rules that were disclosed in your letters a few months ago," McGonagall continued, businesslike, shuffling the papers on her podium. "I would like to thank the Prefects, Head Boy and Head Girl for their strength of character in these difficult times. Please, stand for a hearty round of applause."
Ginny felt herself being shoved to her feet by multiple rough hands and stood, a little awkwardly, as the Great Hall echoed with deafening cheers from every table. She felt a pair of eyes burn into her back and met Malfoy's stare. He held it boldly and betrayed no hint of emotion on his countenance, but softly clapped his fingers into his palm.
Something unpleasant stirred deep inside Ginny - was he offering her an olive branch, at least for the time being? Ginny refused to consider it and tore her eyes away from his, focusing on a single floating candle whose wax dripped dangerously close to Professor Sprout's shock of grey hair.
"Finally, I should like to honour our excellent Professors before we sing our school anthem and tuck into our meal," McGonagall resumed once everyone was seated and calm. "We have many new faces on our staff this year. Please welcome Professor Rosaline Orpa Beckett, who will teach NEWT and OWL potions henceforth, alongside Professor Slughorn who will continue to teach years one to four."
Applause rippled the audience, and Ginny smiled a little as the blushing witch stood, bowed, and clasped her hands over her heart. Slughorn didn't bother to hide his disgruntled expression on her left, but he patted her on the back with a meaty hand when she sat down again.
"We also welcome Professor Gerome Tungstern to the school, who is the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher after Professor Snape's sad passing."
The crowd hummed feverishly. A rugged looking man with salt and pepper hair that clung to his head in wild curls stood up, a frown seemingly carved into his lined, weather-worn face. He nodded at the confused clapping and whispers. Ginny noticed his right arm hung limp at his side. He had to push it off the table for it to move. He seemed awfully familiar, but not in the pleasant way Beckett had. Ginny felt as if she could recall Tungstern's face on a Ministry issued Undesirable poster, and there was something about his watery blue eyes that made her skin crawl.
"That's Gerry Tungstern," Ginny heard Neville say in awe. "He was the greatest player Puddlemere United ever had, until he joined You Know Who."
Ginny studied Tungstern curiously. His skin was like leather, brown as a nut from obvious days working in the sun. His eyes darted around his skull, taking in the surroundings hungrily. She remembered Gerry's days in Puddlemere - he was a chaser and particularly famous for his swooping swallow, where he would dive for the quaffle with neck-breaking speed and use his sudden momentum to lob the ball to the hoops. Gerry Tungstern never missed, but the shaking wreck of a man that sat in front of them proved otherwise to Ginny.
She thought of asking Neville what was wrong with his arm, but was cut off by the roar of off-key student voices singing the Hogwarts anthem at the tops of their lungs. Ginny saw something flash in Beckett's eyes when Tungstern stood - anger? Disgust? - but it passed like a fleeting shadow and was replaced by the usual warm grin.
"Thank Merlin," Ginny groaned when the gold and silver platters eventually filled with heaps of succulent feast. Everyone dived in, and Ginny noted Hermione's familiar disapproving stare as Ginny wolfed down her fifth helping of roast pheasant. It made her cheeks burn and her stomach even hungrier, but she put her fork down and began to pick at a pumpkin pasty.
Her housemates chattered and laughed but she couldn't let herself join in. All she could manage was a weak smile at Dean's exploding goblet hex every time Parvati tried to drink her pumpkin juice. Their conversation drowned out to white noise in the back of her mind and Ginny suddenly felt hot and sticky. Everyone was so close. They jostled and yelled. Her vision spun and her head pounded like a drum and she was going to be sick and she had to leave -
"Ginny! What's wrong?"
Her friends were stock still, eyeing her with worry and concern. Ginny heaved in a breath and stood up, deaf to Hermione's protests.
"Don't feel well," she mumbled. Tears of embarrassment pricked as she rushed out of the Great Hall, leaving a trail of whispers in her wake. Her head swam with shouts and screams and flurries of movement, and she knew she was going to vomit or faint in front of the whole school if she didn't calm herself down.
She could feel Colin Creevey's pale fingers grasping her neck.
"I'm scared," he'd said to her with bloodshot eyes and white lips. His head was cradled in her hands and he was suddenly cold, so, so cold -
Ginny slumped to the ground next to a gargoyle who respectfully turned away from her as she sobbed quietly into her arms, cursing and snivelling for the second time that day. She hated how weak she was, how pathetic she'd been acting recently. It was only a breakup, for Merlin's sake, and the War was over.
But Colin was so cold -
Ginny breathed in and out through her nose, tilting her head back on the ochre stone and concentrating on its cool that seeped into her skull.
Breathe, Ginny. Breathe.
It was these moments - the moments Ginny told herself to breathe that she felt the most guilty. How dare she breathe when thousands of others could no longer do so? How dare she breathe when she watched countless others lose their breath before her very eyes? She remembered the sound of the last breath being drawn clearest; the slightly choked hiccup followed by silence. Ginny stole that breath when she lived and they died.
And still she selfishly gulped the air into her lungs.
"Weasley?"
It was a question this time.
Malfoy loomed above her, his dark robes sweeping the ground and his head cocked to one side. Puzzlement was written plainly all over him, and he fidgeted with the cuffs of his robes while Ginny smeared her tears on the backs of her hands.
"Come here to gloat, ferret?" she sniffed, wiping her nose with a finger. The shouts in her mind were slowly ebbing away, and her chest was shaking less and less. Ginny hated to admit that something about Malfoy's presence diverted her panic and calmed her down. A wet laugh escaped her at the thought.
"Gloat? What are you on about?" Malfoy replied, his feathers ruffled. He leaned against the beam next to Ginny, ignoring the gargoyle's disgruntled flap of wings. "You ran out of the Great Hall like someone was going to kill you. Why on earth would I come here to gloat?"
"Because you're a Malfoy, and that's what Malfoys do. Gloat." Ginny drew her legs under her chin and glowered at him through her long ginger lashes. He ran his hand through his loose curls, palm resting on the back of his head.
"You really haven't forgiven me, have you?" he said, more statement than question. He had a habit of declaring things that normal people would politely ask.
"Show me an apology and maybe I'll have a chance to consider it."
Malfoy's mouth broke into a sneer. He tried to sloppily corrected himself, much to Ginny's chagrin.
"In case you forgot, I have apologized to you. Multiple times. And I've been as respectful to you as you allow me-"
"Respectful?" Ginny crowed. "You've been respectful? What was our little meeting on the train then?"
Malfoy's jaw clenched. "I came to try and talk to you like anyone would, not cause a problem. Have you considered as to why I snapped at you earlier? No, you haven't, because you're so selfish and conceited that of course nobody else in the world has feelings, especially the ferret," he said in one long and angry breath.
Ginny felt like she'd been slapped in the face by a troll.
"How dare you lecture me on compassion?" She stood up and took a step forward, clenching her fists by her sides. She hated that she could sense the hurt radiating off of him, causing guilt to lodge in her throat like an ice cube. "You were an absolute nightmare to me every day of my life - you gave me and my family hell, Malfoy. You're a Death Eater for goodness -"
Malfoy grabbed Ginny's shoulders in an iron vice. Suddenly all her rage faded into dread at his livid expression. This was the Draco she knew and hated. A little voice in her ear piped up that maybe she could've been a little more gracious. Ginny squashed it.
"Do not ever mention that to me again," he said, his voice low and dangerous. Ginny tried to look indifferent, but her heart hammered in her chest so loud she worried he could hear it. "I am no such thing. I never was and I never will be."
"I'm sure your tattoo begs to differ," Ginny managed to say. She recoiled as Malfoy's hands released her. He rubbed his forearm unconsciously, as if out of habit.
"To fool the enemy you have to look like the enemy." He scuffed the floor with end of his shoe. The way his emotions suddenly flipped from murderous to monotonous chilled Ginny to the bone.
"You certainly acted like the enemy."
"Well, I'd be a pretty rubbish spy if you knew I was one, wouldn't I?"
Ginny refused to give him the satisfaction of her agreement so she shrugged and looked away. The air was thick and charged with emotions that sizzled like electricity. Neither teenager said a word for a few long moments.
"Why were you crying?" Draco finally asked, cutting the tension as if with a knife. Ginny shrugged again and wrapped her arms around her midriff. A breeze had shivered through the echoing, draughty halls.
"It's nothing," she said quietly. Empathy, however weak and uncomfortable, stuck out of Malfoy's words and made her want to retch.
"It can't be nothing. I know you well enough to know that Ginevra Weasley doesn't burst into tears for nothing."
From any other person's lips it would sound endearing, but all Malfoy spoke with was snobbery.
"Okay, it wasn't nothing, but it definitely isn't your business."
Malfoy's smirk appeared lazily. There was another thick, uncomfortable silence. They studied the floor with deep interest.
"You're… you're not a Death Eater," Ginny stated. It was the closest thing to a peace offering she could muster.
"Yes," Malfoy replied delicately. Ginny's cheeks flushed with heat. She wanted to punch his poised little face so badly -
"I'll be doing the speech for the firsties." Malfoy scratched the back of his neck. "Round up the Prefects, will you?"
And just like that, it was as if nothing happened. Malfoy's footsteps rang off the walls as he walked smartly off. "If… you ever want it to be my business," he said, pausing before he opened the door at the end of the hall, "I've found through my unique experiences that I am a very good listener."
Ginny made an obscene hand gesture at him and his smirk widened. The door thudded closed.
xxx
Dear Ginny,
You might have read my last letter. You might've not. Of course I would much prefer that you did, but like I said- you don't have to read anything I write to you. I honestly don't deserve to put these words on paper and send them your way, but I guess I'm just selfish. Something you're very aware of.
Anyhow, how are you doing? What's it like being Head Girl? How're Hermione and Neville and Luna doing? What are your plans for Quidditch this year, since you're captain? I have so many questions, but this is the last roll of parchment I have left. I had to write a fifty page essay on the origin, history and use of the three Unforgivables and I swear, if I ever hear the names of those curses ever again I WILL do something unforgivable. The Academy is relentless. If I don't come out of here the most seasoned auror the Wizarding world has ever seen, I'm going to the Wizengamot.
Hannah Abbott and Ron are slowly figuring out their differences. Her parents were murdered in the first War and her boyfriend was killed last year, so she's heartbroken too. It's amazing to witness the slow undercurrent of healing in them. Note the SLOW. Ron still refuses to call her by her first name when we talk about her. But he's making progress, and I couldn't be more proud.
I've finally been assigned my auror partner, but she's not from Hogwarts. Her name is Sua Park, and she's Korean-American, so obviously she went to Ilvermorny. It's been really interesting hearing the kind of experiences she's had compared to ours. Apparently, Americans call Muggles "No-Maj's," which I personally think is the laziest possible name for non-wizards. "Muggles" is pretty silly, but No-Maj? They could be a little more creative.
Nothing new other than that. I hope Sua and I are going to work well together this term - it's been hard enough training on my own, let alone with an actual partner. I also hope that you get back to me with your own news too, because if I keep talking about myself all the time I'm going to start sounding like Malfoy.
Yours sincerely,
Harry Potter
Ginny wasn't sure how the envelope had gotten into her hands. Or how she'd ripped the flap into tiny shreds all over her red duvet. Or how her eyes had drunk in the words like an old traveller dying of thirst. She wasn't sure why her encounter with Malfoy had caused her to ache with longing for the boy with the lightning scar. She wasn't sure why his flickering grey eyes had spurred her into feverish desperation to open the third letter and latch onto the remaining shards of her life with Harry Potter.
But after reading it she felt hollow.
Disappointed.
Was she expecting a confession of love, a song, a poem declaring his regret and desire to get back together with her? Ginny wasn't sure what she expected, but it definitely wasn't the cavernous hole that collapsed inwardly on her chest and made her heart thrash and struggle.
Sua Park.
Ginny tasted bile.
She carefully folded the letter into a neat square and placed it into the chestnut quill box where Harry's other letter lay. She shut the clasp and stuffed the box under the bed, out of sight, but not out of mind. Sleep came fitfully some time before her Gryffindor dorm mates giggled and gossiped their way up the stairs.
She dreamed of a Death Eater quidditch match played on cream envelopes. The snitch was caught by a zooming grey-eyed seeker, but when his palm opened to reveal it, Beckett's filmy eyeball blinked up at the crowd.
xxx
Ginny's undercurrent of aversion towards Minerva McGonagall was made official on the third day of school.
Of course, it was a love-hate relationship. Ginny had been dealt a six-times extra potent disadvantage at birth called the name Weasley, so the wrath of the now-headmistress was something she knew was inevitable. And although McGonagall did show that underneath it all, she cared very deeply about the Weasleys, all of that flew out the window when Ginny heard what was planned for her.
"The role of Head Students under my leadership is different to what this school is accustomed to, but I believe it is very much needed in light of our situation."
McGonagall had called Ginny and Malfoy into her office the morning before classes officially started, spectacles perched on the end of her beak-like nose and voice sharper than a double-edged sword.
They were standing in front of the enormous mahogany desk in the middle of McGonagall's study. Countless paintings of old headmasters and headmistresses snoozed in their fancy armchairs. All but one, who was sitting bolt upright and staring straight at Ginny with a familiar cheeky gleam in his eye.
It was Albus Dumbledore, his frame hung proudly above McGonagall's head. Ginny gave him a tight smile, her chest even tighter under the old wizard's returning wink. She let herself glance at Malfoy, who was twiddling his thumbs where he thought McGonagall couldn't see and wore an expression of almost liquid boredom on his face.
Ginny tightened her shoulders, trying to keep herself as far away as possible from the uncomfortable warmth that oozed from him. His emerald green badge flashed in the light filtering through the large stained glass windows. Ginny imagined Malfoy sitting cross-legged on his four poster, polishing his badge rigorously just for this moment. She almost let herself snicker.
"I'm sure you two understand, yes?" the Professor asked.
"Yes, ma'am," Draco said with a winning smile.
"Yeah," Ginny grunted.
"As you know, I expect both of you to organise the Halloween and Christmas Balls and consult Professor Flitwick and I before making anything official," McGonagall continued brusquely. Ginny's stomach flickered at the idea of a ball and dressing up and dancing and mingling and laughing without Harry -
She kept her back ram-rod straight and nodded.
"Obviously, you must be perfect role models to the rest of the student body, academically and in conduct," said McGonagall, lacing her fingers beneath her chin and eyeing Malfoy and Ginny with obvious apprehension. "I will not accept any silly squabbling, hexing, pranking or sabotaging by either of you."
"You don't have to worry about that, Professor," Malfoy said silkily. "I'm sure Miss Weasley has matured enough to understand-"
"Yes, thank you, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall cut in, "but I'd prefer to remain uninterrupted, if you please."
Malfoy flushed a ruddy purple and Ginny's heart swelled with respect for the Headmistress.
"Now, for your new duties. They are all listed in the owl I sent you. You are to be in charge of tutor groups, first year initiation programmes, extracurricular clubs and detention monitoring. Obviously, you have teams that have direct control over these things, but consider yourself microcosms of me. You oversee, manage, advertise and are the force of peace and stability. When things go wrong, people go to you. Are you up for this task?"
Ginny certainly wasn't, but she had little choice but to assent.
"I understand that with all this extra responsibility you deserve some extra power."
At that, Malfoy's ears literally perked up. 'Slytherins,' Ginny thought sourly.
"Don't get too excited, Mr Malfoy," McGonagall warned. Her eyes were little brown pinpricks. "You still only have the right to give detentions, dock or give house points and take control of situations when teachers are otherwise unable to do so."
Malfoy visibly deflated.
"But you will be rewarded by having a few perks." It was Ginny's turn to listen, but her excitement was punctured straight away. "I have organised a special study space for just the two of you, complete with your own bathrooms and living area," McGonagall said. "You have access to the Prefects' bathrooms if you wish, but you are still obliged to sleep in your dorms with the rest of your house mates. The new quarters are only for work and relaxation."
A battle of emotions fought for Ginny's favour. On the one hand, she was ecstatic to have a space for herself to study and get away from the Gryffindor ruckus. She loved her house, but it really was impossible to get anything done in the rowdy common room and crammed dormitories. People were constantly shouting and gossiping as loud as they could to be heard over the squealing firsties practicing exploding snap techniques. If things ever began to reach a semblance of calm, the older students would decide to pull the most obnoxious prank possible or start an enchanted paper plane war to spice things up. Also, the thought of having an excuse to get away from Hermione, Parvati and Co. was a blessed relief.
But she wasn't exactly alone, was she? Because he would be there, hovering over her shoulder with his stupid smirk and biting words and cruel grey eyes, no matter what she did. A seventh-year poisoned gobstones tournament almost sounded tamer than that.
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall, that sounds wonderful," came the boy in question's slimy gratitude.
"Yeah, thanks," Ginny grunted again.
'Don't you dare compare yourself to that filthy ferret,' Ginny snapped at herself. Her anger must have shown on her face because Malfoy shot her a puzzled look.
"The room is in the east tower, near the Arithmancy classroom," McGonagall said, looking rather pleased with herself. "You'll find it."
Ginny ducked her head and murmured some more thanks to the Professor, strolling out of the study and purposefully cutting in front of Malfoy.
"Lime cordial," she said to the statue, who leaped aside and allowed them through the door.
"Well, this'll be fun," she heard Malfoy mutter under his breath as they marched through the corridors to the east side of the Hogwarts castle. Ginny's battered satchel banged against her leg with every step, but she refused to show weakness in front of Malfoy and heft its weight. A nicely coloured bruise would just have to await her in the morning.
"I know we're supposed to collaborate or whatever," Ginny said when they finally reached the door emblazoned with a large gold 'H,' "but stay out of my way, okay?"
Malfoy didn't say anything for a few seconds, studying the door knocker before curling his long fingers around it and pushing the frame open.
"Why in Merlin's name would I want to get in your way, Weasley?" he replied, utterly deadpan. The door swung behind him and Ginny had to shove her shoulders against it to stop it trapping her.
"Git," she told herself in a not-so-quiet-voice.
The space they'd entered was small but Ginny couldn't deny that it was cosy. Stone archways lined the low ceiling, and every wall was panelled with roughly hewn oak, still covered in knots. The room was circular and branched off into four others - two with doors labelled 'Lavatory' and the other two with no doors at all, only empty frames revealing a small nook fitted with a desk, a solid looking chair and scores of bookshelves. A wide fireplace took up one wall. Some overstuffed settees and armchairs were arranged around it. The windows looked out onto the quidditch pitch, and Ginny's heart soared at the thought of finally being up in the air again, this time as Gryffindor captain.
"It's nice," she said in a gruff voice. Sunlight danced in her coffee coloured eyes and set off her flaming red hair, making her look brighter than she had in ages.
But Malfoy's gaze was trained on the fireplace.
"I'll, um, see you later," Ginny said, hefting her satchel. "I've got DADA next, so…"
Malfoy looked at her, and Ginny felt herself squirm under his stare.
"Okay?"
"So I'll be off," she said, nodding and swallowing and feeling heat creep up her cheeks.
Why did she feel so uncomfortable?
"Right," he said.
"Right," she agreed, but stayed rooted to her spot.
"You want my bloody permission or something?" Malfoy asked.
"No, no, just, ugh," Ginny stammered intelligently, spinning on her heel and shoving the door open. Well, attempting to shove the door open. It had gotten stuck somehow when she'd closed it earlier.
"Try pulling in, not out," Malfoy said, humour dancing in his words. Ginny growled and rattled the knob, then yanked it towards her and found that he'd been right.
"There you go, well done."
Ginny huffed. "Shut up, ferret."
Her face remained scarlet the entire sprint to Defence Against the Dark Arts.
xxx
"Professor Gerome Tungstern," the man said slowly as he chalked his name up on the blackboard for the class of seventh years to see. Ginny had gotten a place next to Hermione, who'd smiled and asked her what McGonagall had said, and had gushed appropriately upon hearing about the new study quarters. But she was silent now, staring at the new teacher with a set jaw and the trademark Hermione look of determination etched on her face.
'He has no idea what's going to hit him,' Ginny thought, putting her frustrations aside.
Tungstern's moist blue eyes hovered over the faces of the students like he was trying to see into their souls. His dead arm swung by his side hypnotically and his hair was the same colour as the black and white chalkboard behind him.
"Welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts," he said, voice rustier than old nails. Ginny cringed.
Tungstern pulled out his wand - a twisted stick of what looked like pine - and pointed it at Neville Longbottom.
"Name."
"Neville," Neville gulped, standing up and banging his knees on his desk.
"Neville what, boy?"
"Neville Longbottom, sir."
"Very good."
Tungstern put down his wand and stepped to the side, stuffing his good arm into the pocket of his robes.
"You know any protective spells, Longbottom?"
Neville nodded.
"Speak up, speak up!" Tungstern barked.
"Y-yes, s-sir," Neville stammered.
"What are they, hm?"
"I know, um, expelliarmus," said Neville. His hands fidgeted in his cloak and Ginny felt her heart throb with sympathy.
"What, this one?"
With a flash of blinding red light, Tungstern wordlessly disarmed Neville and sent his wand clattering over the flagstones of the classroom. A hideous cackle escaped his lips. Neville looked like he was trying not to sob.
"Thank you, Longbottom. Sit down."
Neville ducked his head and didn't look up for the next ten minutes.
"Does anyone else know any protective spells?" Tungstern asked. The students rustled in their seats. Hermione's arms were straining not to shoot up in the air.
"Good, because that isn't what we're gonna be learnin' today," Tungstern said, smiling cruelly. A hiss escaped Ginny's mouth and she shot Neville a pitying look, which he didn't see or pretended not to.
The class unfolded in a rather dictatorial fashion. Tungstern barked out the topics on the DADA module they would be taking that year and explained all the new parts of the curriculum that were added in light of the War. No one asked questions and it didn't look like he would've answered them if they did. Ginny's mind travelled to Harry and how he would have started a riot if he'd seen the poor quality of teaching that plagued this particular NEWT year after year, especially after the events of the War.
"For the remainin' twenty minutes, we'll be discussin' our first lesson, magical infiltration of the psyche, or psychism," Tungstern announced. His eyes flitted over to Ginny and stared at her long and hard. Longer than she was comfortable with.
"Psychism can be established via potion or spell, but it is much more common with enchantments," he continued, still looking at Ginny and not blinking. "Enchanted objects are an effective medium to establish a psychismic curse. They are difficult to cast and even more difficult to destroy, much to the advantage of the curser."
Ginny felt a prickle at the back of her neck as Tungstern began to pace, still watching her.
"Psychism can be parasitic, telekinetic or simply for the purpose of mind control," Tungstern drawled. "I expect you all to write an essay on the subject using reference books from the library. I'll be givin' you all passes for the restricted section, but hopefully you won't need 'em."
Ginny grew distracted by a fly buzzing above Tungstern's head. She suppressed a yawn.
"… Weasley? Weasley!"
"Huh?" Ginny asked, snapping herself out of her daze.
"I would like to speak to you after class," Tungstern said. A fleck of spit hung off his bottom lip. Ginny felt ill.
"Everyone else, dismissed to charms," he announced. There was an cacaphony of chairs scraping against stone. Ginny stood up, gathering her books in her arms. She shot Hermione a fake smile who hovered in waiting for her at the door on the other side of the room, just like she used to for Ron and Harry. Ginny loved the feeling of being a replacement for her siblings.
When everyone had left, Tungstern turned to Ginny and grinned wolfishly at her.
"Miss Weasley," he said. His eyes flashed with something sinister.
"Professor."
"I have reason to believe that you are a rather exceptional quidditch player, yes?" he inquired, peering at her as if finding the answer on her colour-drained face. Ginny blinked in surprise. She was not expecting that to be the subject of their conversation.
"An honour from you, sir." She brushed a ratty lock of ginger hair away from her face. The flattery tasted bitter on her tongue.
"Oh, not at all. My quidditch days are long over," Tungstern said.
"Ah." She had no desire to ask why his career ended in such an abrupt way.
Tungstern began pacing down the aisle, steepling his one good hand beneath his chin.
"It must be hard, you know."
Ginny's brow furrowed. "Sir?"
"Bein' Head Girl and quidditch captain at the same time, I mean," he explained, turning on his heel and walking back towards her. "And of course, NEWTS are never easy in any circumstance."
"Yes, I suppose," Ginny replied. Her voice creased with caution, and Tungstern noticed.
"Don't sound so worried, girl, I'm only empathisin." He stooped over the desk and Ginny leaned away from him.
"I can help you," he whispered. "Personal quidditch training. I can make you into a star, Ginny Weasley."
Ginny was at loss for words.
"I don't think that's allowed, sir," she said in an equally hushed voice, not quite sure why they were whispering.
"It'll be terribly hush-hush, I assure you." His eyes roved over her face intensely.
"I don't know what to say, Professor."
"You don't have to say anythin' yet." Tungstern drummed his roughened fingers on the desk. "Just have a little think about it first."
Ginny nodded, but her heart hammered in her chest at every pound of his hand against the wood.
"I will be requesting payment, though," the professor said, sounding a little businesslike. Ginny immediately went on offense mode.
"I'm sorry sir, but my financial situation isn't-"
Tungstern barked out a laugh, cutting her off. "Not money, girl. Information." He began toying with the stubble on his chin. "Information and cooperation with some, ah, magical projects of mine. You understand?"
Ginny didn't understand. "I'm not following, Professor."
Tungstern sighed and looped his thumb under his chin."I'm workin' on some projects for my research, Ginny. Projects that require information I'm thinkin' you have." All semblances of friendliness evaporated in his next words. "Are you or are you not willin' to provide this information in return for quidditch coaching, Miss Weasley?"
Ginny gulped, looking around for somebody to rescue her, but Hermione was chatting with Neville at the door and her head was turned. She met Tungstern's gaze. They burned with intensity and Ginny felt the weight of his proposal sink into her.
"I'm sorry, Professor, but I have to decline," she said, backing away from him and clutching her books to her body for support. "I hope you have a pleasant day."
Tungstern's jaw began to grind against his teeth, but he let her walk away with only a withering glare. "You're making a mistake, Miss Weasley," he said, loud enough to reach her near the door. Ginny's lip quivered but she didn't turn back.
"You alright?" Hermione asked, concern pleating her brow.
"Yeah," Ginny gulped, grabbing Hermione's arm and tugging her down the stairs. "Let's go to the kitchens, I'm starving."
She could still feel Tungstern's wilting blue eyes on her back all the way down the spiral staircase.
xxx
Ginny sat with her legs curled beneath her, an enormous leather-bound volume perched on her bent knees. Her day had been exhausting, but the sweet, silent relief of her new quarters took the edge off a bit. The armchairs were much more comfortable than the Gryffindor common room's, and the fire crackling in the hearth seeped gilded warmth.
As if on cue, a boy with windswept white-blond hair and expensive robes strutted in, nodding curtly at Ginny but saying nothing in greeting (thank Merlin). Ginny flipped the page of her book, not absorbing any of the text. Her mind was focused only on Malfoy, who settled himself in the armchair opposite her, parchment falling out of his book bag, quill in hand - official and organised and concentrated and just brimming with Things To Do. It made Ginny sick, how important he always acted. (How important Ginny never felt).
"You're staring at me like I've grown a second head," Malfoy commented, not looking up from whatever he was working on.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "What was that again, Malfoy? You wanted to make things more professional between us?"
Malfoy looked up. "And that's relevant because…?"
"You literally just stormed past me like I don't exist," Ginny huffed. "At least say hello, even if you don't care."
A smirk unfolded lazily over his lips. "Hello, Weasley. How was your day?"
Ginny whacked her book shut and shoved it to the side, leaning forwards on the armchair to look him square in the face.
"I hate you," she said.
And Malfoy, the little sot. He laughed.
"You're the strangest girl I've ever met, Weasley. You say you want nothing to do with me. Then you say you want me to be civil to you after refusing my attempts at niceties-"
Ginny's jaw dropped in outrage, but he forced on -
"- and then you say you hate me and are disgusted by me after I do exactly what you ask."
He leaned back on the chair, arms draped over the sides. He seemed satisfied. Ginny's face stewed burgundy, but a sinking feeling took hold of her chest. What he said contained some elements of truth.
"Don't belittle me, Malfoy." She dug her nails into her palms. "Stop playing the victim."
"Victim of what?" he asked, astonished. "The war's over, Ginny."
His use of her name was punch to the gut. The genuine concern in his voice was even worse.
And he was right, wasn't he? There war was over.
(Everywhere but in Ginny's head, it was over).
"Look," he said, sighing. "I don't like you either. I don't want to be around you. I find you irritable, annoying, stubborn, and an insufferable blood traitor."
Ginny's eyes hardened into tiny flashing jewels. "Well, good, because I find you a disgusting, evil, cruel, spineless stuck-up spoiled little traitorous pureblood arse-"
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
"Glad the feeling's mutual," Malfoy said. He wasn't smiling anymore.
"But."
"But," Malfoy nodded, looking like he'd smelled something nasty. "We can't be knives out at every opportunity. Because then we'd be terrible role models to our impressionable little doves, wouldn't we?"
"Perhaps we would," Ginny said, sweet as sugar.
Malfoy smiled - a fake, ugly smile. "Excellent."
Ginny eventually cleared her throat and forced out the words that made her want to retch all over the plushy brown carpet.
"You excited for quidditch this season?"
"Very," Malfoy replied carefully. He seemed hesitant, edging around her. "I can't wait to start coaching the Slytherin team."
"Same," Ginny said. "But the Gryffindor team."
"Naturally."
Ginny said, "Weird to have Gerry Tungstern around." Very weird. The weirdest ever, actually.
"Oh, yes," Malfoy replied. "I personally am not a Puddlemere supporter, but I can appreciate talent like his."
"What team do you support?"
"Holyhead Harpies. You?"
"Likewise." Ginny frowned.
Malfoy looked bemused. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?"
Ginny reached for her book and opened it up again, ruffled at the odd exchange she'd just had. She peered over the top of the page at Malfoy, who was back to writing, chin puckered.
"When'd you start supporting the Harpies?" Ginny asked, now genuinely curious. Malfoy set his paper and quill aside, clasping his hands over his bent knee.
"I must've been about thirteen… so, what, '93?" he mused.
"Oh," Ginny said.
"You seem surprised," he remarked. "Why ever is that?"
"Dunno… you don't strike me as the type to support an all-female team," Ginny said. Pointedly.
"You have some wild misconceptions about me, Weasley," Malfoy snorted.
"Just judging off what I know."
"What you know and what's true are two very different matters," he sighed. "Why the sudden curiosity?"
Heat crept up Ginny's neck and bloomed onto her cheeks. "Nothing," she lied.
"Hm." Malfoy appeared unconvinced.
"Fine, I-" Ginny sucked in a breath. "I want to play for them. The Holyhead Harpies. One day, when I'm good enough."
"Why are you so embarrassed about that?" Malfoy asked, cocking his head to the side in a way that reminded Ginny weirdly of a puppy.
"'Cause it's stupid." Ginny smoothed down a tangle of hair behind her head. "Everyone knows I'm never gonna get there."
"Why do you think that?"
"What are you, Rita Skeeter? Enough with the why's!"
"It's just my way of making conversation, Weasley. No need to get so annoyed."
Ginny groaned and looked away. "How is making small talk with you the most painful thing I've ever experienced?" she asked.
"Why do you think you can't make into the Harpies?" Malfoy repeated.
Ginny clenched her jaw, staring at her lap.
"I'm not good enough to make it professionally," she told her shoes. "I could never get in. And I'm a Weasley."
"There's no doubt that your family name stains your reputation," Malfoy said, looking away as a thunderous black cloud formed on Ginny's face, "but you shouldn't doubt your talent. That's what matters. Not who you are or where you came from, but what you can do. And I know you're more than good enough to get into the Harpies, even at seventeen."
Ginny's clenched teeth went slack and she gaped, open-mouthed for a couple of seconds.
"But I know you'll think I'm just taunting you or something equally stupid, so please don't get upset with me. I don't have the energy."
Ginny was at loss for words. "I guess we'll have to see what happens when the matches start." She looked up only to dart her eyes away.
"Indeed. Coaching's going to be a killer, though. All the kids on my team are either shell-shocked, depressed or have some form of PTSD."
"Same," Ginny said glumly.
They sat there for a solid hour, Malfoy's quill scratching against his parchment and Ginny absorbing her book on the history of parasitic enchantments to see what she could find on psychism. Finally, the chime echoed through the castle for ten o'clock, and Malfoy began packing his things into his book bag. Ginny caught sight of a few scribbled ingredients for the draught of living death on one of his loose papers.
"Beckett working you hard?" she inquired.
"Not really," Malfoy shrugged. "Potions is one of my better NEWTs."
"What were you working on, then?"
A wry smile curled over his lips. "Personal matters."
"Such as?"
He stood up and straightened his immaculate robes. "A letter."
Ginny snorted. "And who's the unfortunate recipient?"
"My mother." Malfoy's smile wilted. "She'll be quite excited to find out I'm being taught Potions by the Rosaline Beckett. I'm not so sure about Tungstern, though."
"Oh," Ginny mumbled. Her cheeks blazed with embarrassment "Sorry." She grappled the air for something to say. "What about your father? You write to him?"
"My father is a good-for-nothing coward rotting in Azkaban," Malfoy glowered. Ginny kept her mouth shut, afraid that she would agree with him if she opened it.
"Beckett is a rather odd character, however," he continued. "Has a nasty case of Pale Eye."
Ginny jumped to attention. "Yeah," she said, remembering the cloud of blue tinted cataracts the day she met Professor Beckett. "It's weird. I can't imagine her going near a dragon, let alone being scratched by one."
"There are other ways of contracting Pale Eye, Weasley," Malfoy said so darkly that Ginny almost felt the room temperature drop by a hundred degrees. His face was like a blank slab of stone.
"What are they?" she asked. Malfoy's features hardened even further.
"Good night, Weasley," he sniped, marching towards the exit.
"You didn't answer my question-"
The door slammed shut with a hard thunk. It seemed there was a pattern in Malfoy's methods of exiting.
Ginny growled some unflattering things about his mother under her breath, imagining his pompous stroll to the dungeons and taking pleasure at the thought of him tripping over his own million galleon robes on the way.
She didn't take pleasure in the guilt that remained over Mr and Mrs Malfoy, however.
XXX
a/n: another update yipee. review if y'all are reading, it'll help me improve a lot!
