Wow, this chapter sort of wrote itself. Like. I'm surprised. I don't know how it happened. One minute I was staring at a blank document and the next I had written a few thousand words! Oh well! I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you for all the support so far, I really appreciate it! :)
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is this fanfic. The rest is Rowling's.
WILFULLY: CHAPTER 25
Ginny Weasley could not catch a fucking break!
Her life was like a bloody roller coaster, filled with such bizarre ups and downs that it was honestly becoming hard to stay sane. She was angry, angry with everyone and everything and she wanted nothing more than to just grab this cruel, unjust world and rip it to shreds with her bare hands.
Of course, she could not do that. Not because it would have been the wrong thing to do – oh no, she did not care about that anymore – but because she physically could not use both her hands for anything anymore.
There was no feeling or movement in her left arm and hand anymore. Merlin, her arm was bloody dead!
She would rather be dead.
xx
One step at a time, Ginny told herself firmly as she tried to slip on her blouse.
Only it was bloody impossible to do that when one of her arms was bound tightly in thick bandages. Frustrated, she shucked the piece of clothing aside and decided to put on the skirt first. Unfortunately, her balance was off and she nearly toppled over, so she had to sit down on the edge of her bed and slip in up her legs, which took a good five minutes because she could not pull it up from both sides at the same time.
Once she had managed to fasten it, she decided to see to her hair. Brushing it was easy. Tying it into a ponytail was a nightmare, and after fumbling with it for what felt like an eternity, she let out a string of choice curse words that would have landed her in serious trouble if her mother had overheard. As if on cue, the door to her room opened and her mother walked in. Merlin, was the woman guided by invisible forces to come discipline her children whenever they said something bad? Well, probably not, otherwise she would be over at Ron's, washing his filthy mouth with soap all the time.
In any case, Molly Weasley showed no sign that she had heard the outburst. Instead, she smiled kindly and offered to help her get ready. Ginny allowed her mum to do her hair and then help her put on her blouse, all the while thinking how embarrassing this whole situation was. Bloody hell, earlier that morning, she had needed help in taking a bath. She was not a child; she should be able to do such menial tasks on her own.
It was all the fault of those damned Death Eaters, that blast and her stupid, dead arm!
A flare of worry rose through her veins like an ocean wave as she thought about the lack of feeling in her limb and what it would mean for her career. All of a sudden, she found herself gripped tightly by such terror that her breath seemed to freeze in her lungs. She stilled for a moment, another, another and then forced herself to blow out a shaky breath.
One step at a time.
Ginny followed her mum to the kitchen, where her dad was already halfway through breakfast. He served her some eggs and sausages – which she realised that she could not cut if she was holding her fork. Putting it down with a clang, she picked up the knife but the stupid sausages kept on slipping on the stupid ceramic plate. She kept at it stubbornly, until her father noticed her struggling and cut her meal into little pieces for her.
She gritted her teeth, feeling hopelessly useless and wondered if it would be better if she just left.
"Is Mr. Malfoy coming?" Her mum asked, and she knew that it was an attempt at distracting her with conversation.
"No," Ginny replied shortly. "He would have had to blow off this important meeting and I told him not to." She grimaced guiltily at how rude she had been to Draco during their last conversation; she had practically told him that she would break his jaw if she saw him at the Ministry, and while she had often threatened him as a joke before, this time she had meant it– and he had known it too. Of course, unlike her family, Draco was not someone who took shit from anyone, even her, so he had coolly stated that spending time with her was inspiring him to develop an 'anti-bitchiness potion'. She had not appreciated that comment at all and had verbally kicked him out of her room.
Ginny only managed to eat few bites and pushed her plate away, much to the disapproval of her mother, but she could not bring herself to care. Soon afterwards she Flooed to the Ministry with her father.
Flash.
Ginny was nearly blinded by the bright flashes of at least a dozen cameras. Blinking rapidly, she stared rather dumbly at the journalists gathered around her who were bombarding her with questions. It was only when she felt her father's hand on her back that she composed her expression and started moving down the Atrium. They paused briefly by the security desk where Eric Munch checked her with the Probity Probe and weighed her wand ("nine-and-a-half inches, yew, dragon heartstring core, been in use twelve years. That correct?"), and then continued on towards the Fountain of Magical Brethren, which had been re-sculpted to correctly promote equality amongst magical beings when Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken office.
"I'll be there," Her father pointed to the right where a group of Ministry officials had gathered to watch the press conference. "Be strong."
"Thanks, dad."
A four-feet tall podium had been erected before the fountain, upon which stood a long table covered with a dark banner bearing the Ministry of Magic crest. Shacklebolt was already seated in the middle of the table, deep in conversation with Rhys Jordan and Matilda Morris of the Tutshill Tornadoes, both of whom looked very sombre. Ginny had sent them a letter offering her condolences for the death of Jamie O'Leary, who played as a Beater for the team. She had not known him very well, having only met him once at a charity gala and twice on the pitch, but his death was a terrible loss for the Quidditch community.
"There you are!"
Gwenog Jones greeted her with a hug, and Ginny thanked her for the huge 'get well soon' basket that the team had sent her. It contained chocolate-chip muffins, a huge box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, a bunch of colourful Sugar Quills, a number of Quidditch magazines, word puzzles and an erotic novel with a photograph of a ridiculously hot naked man on the cover with a note from Abigail that said, 'Use creatively!'. Their conversation was cut short by the approach of a very familiar man with messy black hair and a lightning scar.
"Hey, Gin," said Harry. "How are you?"
"How do I look?" Even to her, her voice sounded a lot more accusatory than she would have liked.
Harry must have picked up on that, for his smile faltered for a moment but then he spoke in the same soft voice. "You look beautiful."
She snorted derisively. Honestly, did he really think that she would appreciate such a stupid compliment right now?
Mercifully, Shackebolt announced that since everyone was here and the thirty or so reporters had already assembled, they would be starting in a minute. She moved to take her assigned seat; it was just her bloody luck that she found herself placed next to Harry.
The press conference started with the Minister giving a formal statement in which he paid condolences to the families of those who were killed in the attack and gave updates on the conditions of the injured, which included the rapidly recovering Head of the Magical Law Enforcement as well. The Healers at St. Mungo's were optimistic that no one else would die due to their injuries, mercifully and hopefully halting the death toll at 29.
Harry gave a very brief update on the ongoing investigation next: that his team was working tirelessly to catch those responsible for the attack, and though they were currently chasing a couple of very strong leads, he could not share any further details because of security reasons. He did inform the media that Antonin Dolohov was leading the Death Eaters and that he had been running a recruitment drive across Britain and possibly Western Europe, which is why they were constantly in touch with the Auror Departments in related countries.
Then, Shacklebolt announced that the quarter finals of the British and Irish Quidditch League would take place as per usual, which caused a lot of whispers to erupt in the Atrium. "The losses that we faced in this cruel attack lay heavily upon our hearts, but I know that we are a strong people," he said. "We will not let a group of madmen bully us into cowering and letting go of the things that unite us and make us happy." He went on to explain how the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was working closely with the Department of Magical Games and Sports to place strong wards around the stadiums, and that there would be additional security checks at the upcoming matches.
"I want to assure people that they will be safe," Harry added. "I will not allow something like this to happen again." That was a tall promise to make, but the Wizarding Britain no doubt needed to hear it. And it would most certainly have a large impact since it was coming from the mouth of their hero.
Shacklebolt then opened the floor for questions and was instantly bombarded by a bunch of reporters questioning the competence of the Ministry and how they had failed to see this threat.
Ginny found herself zoning out. She would not have been able to concentrate even if she wanted to, and she certainly did not want to in this moment because there was a bloody weight hanging off her shoulder. It was her own limb – and yet the only thing she could feel was the weight of it. She tried to move her fingers, willed it with all her might just to accomplish a twitch of the thumb. Nothing. Nothing at all. What was the point of this bloody arm, then?
A reporter asked the Tornadoes players if they wanted a rematch. "No," Rhys Jordan answered. "The Holyhead Harpies won fair and square."
It had been five days since the blast. Five days – or rather four, if one started keeping count from the moment when she gained consciousness properly – since Ginny had been carrying this dead arm and a feeling of pure misery in her heart. She wondered if she would be able to feel anything in the limb if she stabbed it with a kitchen knife. Maybe she ought to try it.
A light kick to her shin snapped her out of her musings. She turned to Harry, who was pointedly looking straight ahead. She followed his gaze to find a reporter from Quidditch Times looking expectantly at her.
"I'm sorry," Ginny said, flushing. "What did you say?"
"I asked how you are feeling, Miss Weasley," The reporter said with a smile. "You gave everyone quite a scare. What do the Healers say about your injuries?"
The Healers had suggested chopping her arm off. They hadn't in the end, though they might as well have. She could not feel it. She could not bloody feel anything. Her throat clogged up all of a sudden, but she needed to speak. All the eyes were fixed on her, watching, waiting. "I, uh, I am fine." She forced a smile. "My taste buds are slowly dying because of the disgusting potions, though." Her stupid joke earned her a few laughs. "Why can't they make potions taste like chocolate syrup?"
"Your boyfriend is in the potioneering business. Maybe you should ask him!" the reporter said lightly.
"Yes. I think I will."
"Will you be playing in the quarter final against Puddlemere United?"
"N-No. I am afraid I'll have to sit that out." She willed herself not to cry. She will not break down, not here, not in front of all these people. She was Ginny Weasley, a brave Gryffindor. She had been a member of the Dumbledore's Army. She had fought in a bloody war. She would not break down. And yet, she could feel the tears forming in her eyes, blurring her vision. Damn it.
A gentle touch nearly caused her to jump. Harry had placed his hand on her knee, the warmth of his touch offering her the silence support that she very much needed in that moment. She took a deep breath and nodded imperceptibly to let him know that she was alright, and he pulled his hand back. Mercifully, this little exchange had taken place under the table, otherwise Rita Skeeter would have had a field day; she could spot the curly-haired bitch in the audience, her Quick Quotes Quill hovering near her shoulder.
Gwenog was answering some question about the team now, and about Ginny's temporary replacement.
Ginny bit her lip. She had waited so long and worked so bloody hard this season, and now that the Holyhead Harpies had qualified for the quarter final, she would not even be able to play it. Would she ever be able to play Quidditch? Worry clouded her mind once again. She would have no life without the sport; it was all she had ever wanted to do since her Hogwarts days. There was no other career for her but this.
She pushed away these thoughts firmly. All she needed to do right now was to get through this damned press conference. One step at a time.
"Mr. Potter?" A journalist from the Wizarding World News raised his hand. "Will you be looking into the relatives of past Death Eaters?"
"Anyone who is suspected of having connections to the Dark Arts will be looked into," Harry replied. "Notts, Vincent Crabbe, the Malfoys–"
Ginny turned to look at him, startled.
Even the reporter had raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "You mean to say that Draco Malfoy is a suspect?"
"Absolutely," Harry said with a nod. "Everyone here is aware of his family's history with Dark Magic and Voldemort. We also know from his past statements that he was involved in a number of Death Eater missions with Dolohov back during the war. It is only logical to investigate his possible connections to the current group of people terrorising our community."
"What do you have to say about the suspicion surrounding your boyfriend, Miss Weasley?" Rita Skeeter demanded, her eyes glinting with a mixture of curiosity and glee. Why not, for this had all the makings of a perfect scoop.
The ideal thing would be to not answer, but Ginny could not remain silent. She was, however, aware that she was backed into a corner by this question; she wanted nothing more than to shout at the top of her lungs that Draco had nothing to do with this entire fiasco, that he was completely and certainly innocent, but that declaration would only undermine Harry as the Head of the Auror Department. "I-I think Harry is doing his job," she said calmly, not liking how Skeeter's quill was scratching away madly on a notepad that was already half-filled. Maybe she should charm it to burst into flames? "But I am sure that Draco Malfoy has no involvement whatsoever in this Death Eater business."
"Then why does he act like an uncooperative git?" Harry blurted out with a snort, and then his eyes widened, as if he had not intended to say those words out loud. He cleared his throat and continued in a professional tone. "I mean, um, we don't know anything for sure about Malfoy's involvement in all this, but our investigation will bring out the truth."
It was clearly an attempt at trying to cover up but the damage was already done. With a few careless, spiteful sentences, Harry had practically damned Draco in front of the entire Wizarding Britain – and with no evidence at all. Ginny was so furious at what had just happened that she barely paid any attention to the rest of the conference and stormed away the moment it ended. She headed towards the lifts, deciding that it was perhaps best to wait in her dad's office until the press cleared away; she had no desire to be photographed any more in this pitiful condition, and especially when she was having trouble keeping her anger from showing on her face.
"Ginny? Ginny, wait!" Harry followed her into the lift and shut the golden grille before anyone else could get in.
"What the fuck was that?" Ginny demanded as the lift started to move.
"I may have gone overboard a bit," he admitted sheepishly. "I didn't mean to."
"Draco wasn't even in the country when the damned blast happened, and now everyone will think that he was somehow behind it."
"He could be."
"He wasn't!"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up at odd edges. "Look, if he isn't then he has nothing to worry about. After the investigation is done, I will address the press and everyone will know the truth once and for all."
"Do you even hear yourself?" She shook her head angrily. "You were so vague about the investigation in the beginning. I don't understand why you named Draco with such clarity, as if you are sure about his guilt."
"I told you, I didn't mean to–"
"Level Two: Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services," the cool female voice said as the lift came to a halt and the grilles slid open, but neither of them moved.
"What, getting my arm nearly chopped off wasn't enough that you're trying to ruin my boyfriend's life now?" Ginny demanded.
Harry flinched as if she had physically struck him. "Gin, please, you have to believe me," he said in a wounded voice. "I would never have let them take your arm. You misunderstood what you heard. Please."
He was probably telling the truth about that, but she was so bloody angry at him for the ridiculous stunt he had just pulled. Merlin, she wanted to strangle him and she would have if both her arms had been in working condition. "Go to hell, Harry," she snarled as she stepped out of the lift and headed off in the direction of her father's office without a backward glance.
xx
Ginny returned to the Burrow an hour later. She had just stepped out of the fireplace when she was practically accosted by her mum, who all but shoved a huge plate of food in her hand and insisted that she eat all of it. She sat down on the sofa in the living room, noting with some dismay that her steak was already cut into small bite-sized pieces, when her mum started adjusting the cushions so that they would support her injured arm.
"Mum, I'm fine," she snapped as she forcibly shoved some of her meal down her throat. Honestly, how was one supposed to have an appetite when everything in the whole wide world was just wrong?
"How did the press conference go?" Her mum asked, once again trying to distract her with conversation.
The attempt only made her seethe. "I had a row with Harry because he was being an arse. He told the reporters that Draco was a Death Eater."
"I'm sure he didn't mean it like that. You have been misunderstanding him quite a bit these past few days, dear."
"Right. My bad." Ginny rolled her eyes, irritated that her mother was siding with Harry. Not wanting to talk about him anymore, she changed the topic to her appointment with Blaise Zabini. She checked the time and realised that she ought to hurry if she wanted to make it on time. "Where is my medical file?"
Molly went to the shelf to grab a folder with the logo of St. Mungo's hospital on it. "I'm coming with you."
"No, you're not." Ginny placed her plate on the table and stood up, hand outstretched.
"You've barely eaten anything!"
She ignored the reproachful look she received from her mother. "The file."
"I cannot let you go to the hospital alone."
"I can manage one bloody appointment on my own, mum."
"Of course, you can," her mum said softly, carefully. "But I think I should come for support–"
"I don't need your bloody support!" Ginny shouted, all the pent-up frustration of the past few days bursting out of her. "You need to stop with all this coddling–"
"I'm only looking out for you, dear."
"You are smothering me!" Ginny snatched the file out of her mother's hands. "Just back off!"
"Ginny–"
"Mum, stop. I can do this on my own." Without waiting for a reply, she Flooed away to St. Mungo's.
The trip through the network of fireplaces was brief, but at the same time it was long enough to fill her with enormous guilt about how she had just treated her mum. Merlin, she hated acting like such a bitch, but at the same time her mum needed to understand that all that special treatment was making her feel ridiculously inadequate. That was, however, not reason enough to behave the way she did – and by the time she made her way to the hospital reception, she had added self-loathing to all the other emotions of anger, misery and hurt that she had been feeling for the past few days.
The reception witch checked her name on a clipboard and instructed her to go to one of the examination rooms.
It was a bland room with off-white walls, a bed and a high stool for the Healers. There was a cupboard on one side of the room, containing various healing devices and containers of potions and salves. A window overlooked the typical, dreary grey sky that predominated London for most of the year. Ginny tentatively sat down on the edge of the bed, her heart thudding wildly in her chest as memories that she had tried so hard to suppress somehow rose to the forefront of her mind.
She woke up dazedly, and realised that the pain monster, the one who flashed dark red, black and hot white, was still running wild in her veins, but she was somehow numb to it. It was not a relief. It most certainly did not make her feel any better. It was worse, much worse though she could not pinpoint why. Everything was very confusing.
The bright light from the torches was too bright, the plain white ceiling too boring and she firmly shut her eyes. Voices urgently conversed somewhere above her, but they were speaking some sort of Healing jargon. She recognised Harry's voice in the middle of all the gibberish, and she was relieved to hear him. The familiarity brought her comfort and she decided to doze off, trusting that Harry will take care of whatever was going on.
Hands prodded her sides. It would have tickled normally, but right now it only hurt. She raised her head a little so that she could tell the people in lime green robes to cut it out and just let her sleep when her gaze fell on her left arm–
She screamed in horror.
It was all but severed from just above the elbow, connected to the rest of her body by what appeared to be an inch of muscle. It lay there, open, bare, with blood spurting out like a violent fountain and bone protruding. She screamed over and over and tried to get up, tried to move her arm but she could not even feel its presence.
There was shouting around her now. The Healer was quickly casting some charm on her wound as he spoke to Harry, telling him that the cleanest, quickest way to save her life was to amputate.
Harry was shaking his head, looking terribly worried. He said something in reply, but she could not hear it because the mediwitch had just poured a nasty potion into her mouth and covered it with her hand, willing her to swallow. She did and then coughed violently, her vision flashing red with pain and fear.
"… but amputate if you must," Harry's voice reached her ears.
"No!" Ginny shouted. "No, NO!" She struggled to get up, to run away. She won't let them do it. She can't. But there firm hands were holding her down, shoving her back onto the bed. No. Merlin, no. How could Harry do this to her? She had trusted him to take care of her and here he was, giving these damned Healers the go-ahead to chop off her arm. How dare he? How could he? "No, please – Draco!" she cried out all of a sudden, hoping against hope that her boyfriend would just materialise here and tell everyone to fuck off. He would never let anyone amputate her arm; he understood all too well what it was to lose a part of yourself because he had lost a part of himself because of that Curse. He would never let her go through this. "Draco! I want Draco. No, no! Let me go!"
But the world was swimming dangerously. Her vision was turning black as that potion took effect. She rested her head back on the bed, unable to muster the energy to keep it up anymore, and felt tears trickled down her cheeks. "No, please…"
The last thing she saw before darkness consumed her was her arm in tatters.
The door to the room opened, causing Ginny to jump. It took her a moment to realise that her body was trembling and that a layer of sweat had formed on her brow.
"Miss Weasley?" Blaise Zabini hurried over to her, eyeing her with the calculating gaze of a Healer. "Are you alright?"
She gulped. "Y-Yes. I just– I was just…" she trailed off, unsure what to say. Her mind could not conjure up words to form an appropriate response. Mercifully, she did not need to bother.
He seemed to understand that she had been reliving some bad memory; she supposed a Healer who dealt largely with people who had been the victims of Dark Magic would pick up such signs very well. He summoned a paper cup filled with water and pushed it into her hands. Then, he picked up the file she had brought and started to study it.
His gaze flickered now and then towards her, but it was more to ensure that she was not going to collapse; mostly, though he gave her the space to pull herself together, and she was grateful for that.
Tossing the empty paper cup in the bit, Ginny sat patiently. The minutes trickled by slowly, though this time she did not allow her thoughts to wander. She could not, would not break. It was more important to discuss her potential healing with Zabini.
One step at a time.
Finally, Zabini put aside the file and turned to her. "Let's take a look at your arm." He placed a pillow in her lap upon which she rested her lump of an arm. Then, he took off her sling and cut open her bandages with a flick of his wand. With great gentleness, he pulled them off and discarded them into the bin.
Ginny waited for the feel of the cool room air on her skin and bit her lip in disappointment when she felt absolutely nothing at all. Steeling herself, she dared to look down. Her hand and arm looked as normal as ever, except for a four-inch long, raw red scar just above her elbow where they had reattached the part of the limb that had almost been severed. There was a much smaller similar scar on her forearm.
"Can you try to lift your arm for me?" Zabini asked.
She tried, focused as hard as she could. Nothing. Miserably, she shook her head.
"Okay." He grabbed her hand in his. "Squeeze my fingers."
Once again, she tried with all her might, commanded her stupid hand to move even if it was just a little, weak twitch. Nothing. Oh, Merlin. Her fears were true. She had truly lost all function in her limb. She would never be able to use it again. She would have to quit from the Holyhead Harpies. Her career was over. She was going to be a cripple, having to rely on others for even the tiniest things.
Fuck.
The feel of wetness on her cheeks made her aware to the fact that she had started to cry silently. Furious with herself and the world, she wiped away the tears with her good hand, feeling so utterly embarrassed at crying before Blaise Zabini. She was a Gryffindor, she was supposed to be brave, not a pathetic mess. What would he think?
But he did not seem to notice her weakness. In fact, he looked very much absorbed in his work: he had placed her hand back on the pillow and was now muttering a long, complex incantation that she did not recognise. A pale blue light emitted from his wand to her arm, and all of a sudden, her skin and muscles turned transparent.
She could see her bone surrounded by an intricate web of nerves and veins, though everything was in the same pale blue colour as the light of the spell. She should have been terrified, but as it were, she found herself amazed by the sight. It was perhaps the lack of squirting blood and torn muscles that made the scene before her not scary at all. Another flick of the wand and certain parts of her nerves glowed white while others turned crimson.
The clipboard attached to a purple feather quill that always hovered by the beds in St. Mungo's was taking notes swiftly, and it took her a moment to realise that Zabini was dictating to it in fluent Italian, which was odd because she had seen him speak in English when he had treated Draco. A suspicion formed in her mind, and she decided to voice it: "Are you speaking in Italian so I won't understand what you're saying?"
His lips curled, as if he was inwardly making fun of her for not being able to speak multiple languages. "Yep!"
Normally, she would have said something scalding to wipe that stupid Slytherin smirk off his face. But right now, she found that she was worried. "That bad, huh?"
"No. It's just that I don't want you reaching conclusions based off of what are mere observations. Drake told me that you have basically convinced yourself that there is no hope."
"And what else did Drake say to you?"
"Honestly?" Zabini asked, and when she nodded, he said, "That you've become a crybaby."
Ginny bristled. "Yes well, takes one to know one."
Zabini snorted in amusement. "I won't disagree with that." A pause. "He is worried about you."
"So, he decides to bitch to you about me?" she demanded. It would seem that not only was her ex an arsehole, but her current boyfriend was one too. It was wrong of Draco to go to Blaise and whine about her. If he found her to be so bloody irritating then he should have had the balls to come and say it to her face. But then again, Malfoys were not really known for their valour. Of course, Draco would prefer venting out in front of others than just being honest with her. Coward.
"That's what we do," he shrugged nonchalantly. "You should hear some of the things I say to him about Daphne. Doesn't mean that I love her any less, though. Sometimes, you just need a friend to talk to."
"What made you so wise?" She asked, miffed.
"Perhaps I will tell you one day," he mused as he moved to take out a vial of sparkling grey liquid from the shelf. Instead of making her drink it, he poured some of it on a cotton bud and smeared it gently over her scars.
"So, what's the verdict?" Ginny asked in a small voice, unsure if she actually wanted to know the answer.
"I will not lie, the damage is quite extensive: not only was your bone completely shattered but most of the blood vessels and all the major nerves in your arm were cut. Well, except for the axillary nerve, which lies closer to your shoulder, but has essentially been… muted." With a wave of his wand, Zabini conjured fresh bandages and directed them to wrap around her arm once again, only this time they were less thick than before. "Healer Pye fixed the immediate damage, but because the injury was caused by a blast of Dark Magic, completely healing it is a more complicated task."
Her heart sank. There it was: the confirmation that she would never be the same again. All her dreams were shattered, for now she would have a future she did not want. No more Quidditch. No more independence. No more of anything that made her who she was. Fuck. She should never have come here for this stupid appointment; she had known all along what the lack of feeling in her arm had meant and this confirmation from a so-called professional had done nothing but driven the dagger further. She had been right to be miserable. Her family and Draco had been wrong.
She felt tears prickle at the corner of her eyes once again. It was over. Everything was over. She was drowning in such misery that she almost did not hear the next words that Zabini said.
"That is not to say that it is not possible to heal the damage."
Huh. What? She looked at him, bewildered.
He was calmly slipping the sling back around her shoulder, not at all surprised by the storm of emotions that had invaded her expression; he must be used to dealing with hysterical patients, after all. "With a comprehensive mixture of spells, potions and physical therapy, I do believe that you will be able to gain complete function of your arm and hand."
"Complete?" Ginny echoed weakly, not daring to believe what he had just said. "I-I will be able to play Quidditch?"
"I don't see why not. I should, however, warn you: it is a long and difficult road to recovery that you face, Miss Weasley. Since we will need to destroy the remnants of the Dark Magic in your nerves and revive them one by one, the progress will be ridiculously slow. There will be failures and you will get frustrated."
Her eyes twinkled, and for the first time since that damned blast, she felt that she could breathe easily. "I-If the Harpies go to the semi-finals, will I be able to play?"
"As a Puddlemere fan, I am obligated to say that there is no way your pathetic team will win the quarter finals," Zabini told her lightly, then quickly turned serious. "As your Healer, I must tell you that you are out for this season. Maybe you'll be able to play the next."
The hope stirring in her heart stilled. "That long?"
"These injuries are not something I can heal in days. It will take weeks, months– of course, recovery varies from patient to patient, so a lot of it will depend on the effort that you put in."
She nodded. Hard work was something she could do, and she was willing to do whatever it takes to get herself healed. "When do we start?"
"Not yet." He replied, and upon noticing the impatience on her face, added: "I will have the hospital contact you when its time."
"Well, what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"
"Rest. Eat healthy." He picked up the file from the desk and handed it to her. "And for the sake of my mate's sanity, stop being a crybaby."
xx
An hour later, Ginny found herself sitting at the Leaky Cauldron, sipping her third glass of Firewhiskey and firmly ignoring the inquisitive gazes of the pub's customers. She did not know herself whether this impromptu drinking party was an attempt at celebration or an attempt to hide away from her worries.
Her conversation with Zabini had indeed uncoiled the serpent of terror and misery that had taken a hold of her insides, allowing her to breathe in the very welcome fumes of hope. She no longer felt the urge to stab herself, and maybe she would buy a bouquet of flowers as an apology to her mother when she returned home.
But she was now gripped with a soul-wrenching anxiety. Zabini seemed optimistic about the treatment. In fact, he seemed rather confident in his ability to fix her and she was inclined to trust his capabilities; after all, he handled Draco's Curse quite well, and that was far more complicated than one nearly-severed arm. But at the same time, he had said that it would be a long and frustrating road to recovery. She was going to miss this Quidditch season for sure, and she hated that; she wanted nothing more than to be able to play against Puddlemere United and then move on to the semi-finals and, hopefully, the finals. But that was not going to happen. All she could do now was put in her maximum effort on the treatment and then train hard to ensure that she would not have to sit out of the next season. She'll be damned if she missed more Quidditch than she absolutely had to.
There was hope.
But there was also despair.
Because while she knew that her arm would be healed, it did not change the fact that it was currently sitting limply in the sling. Not being able to feel it, let alone move it, filled her with emptiness. And that emptiness vaguely reminded her of the hollowness she had felt after Fred's death and that horrible feeling of missing something that had once been an integral part of your existence.
She downed the contents of her glass and slammed it down on the bar top, letting the liquid burn down her throat and cause a pleasant buzz in her mind. She would not go down that train of thought. It was simply too painful to think of Fred, and though she had shared her grief with Harry back when they were together, she felt that talking about that damned tragedy would never take away from the fact that her brother was gone and she missed him too much.
And now her arm was gone too. At least temporarily. And her life sucked.
Shaking her head, she became all too aware that people around her were discussing her in hushed whispers. The reason behind that became clear when she saw the front page of the Evening Prophet that the man sitting next to her was reading.
TRUTH OR JEALOUSY: POTTER ACCUSES MALFOY OF DEATH EATER ACTIVITY
By, Rita Skeeter
Oh, for the love of Merlin! Ginny quickly slipped a few coins onto the counter and stood up. She swayed for a moment, then took a deep breath and quickly headed off to the nearest Apparition point.
Within a matter of minutes, she had walked up the grand staircase and into the Main Hall of the Malfoy Manor, where she found herself face to face with Narcissa Malfoy.
"Miss Weasley," she greeted her politely, though her voice was coloured with apprehension. Her gaze flickered from her face to somewhere over her shoulder expectantly. "Is he with you?"
"Who?"
"Draco. Is he with you?"
Ginny was confused. "No. I came here to see him."
To her surprise, Narcissa muttered something in a foreign language that was undoubtedly swear words. The woman had been an epitome of grace and propriety even when Draco had been in the hospital, why then did she seem so agitated?
"I can't find him anywhere. He is not at his office or with Blaise or any of his friends." Narcissa said as she started pacing restlessly in front of the huge, roaring hearth. "His PA told me that he has no scheduled meeting. Even his personal house-elf has no idea of his whereabouts. When did you last see him?"
It took Ginny a moment to remember; those glasses of Firewhiskey she had had earlier were muddling her brain. "Y-Yesterday morning. Why are you worried?"
"You dare ask me that? When it is your precious ex-boyfriend who condemned my son in front of the entire media out of a petty grudge." With a shake of her head, she lowered herself into one of the highbacked armchairs by the fire. "I always told Draco that this relationship with you will only earn him unwanted enemies."
Merlin. Why was Ginny getting blamed for what Harry had said during the press conference? How bloody unfair. Though she probably should not have expected Narcissa Malfoy to be fair especially when it was obvious from their previous meetings that the woman hated her.
At the same time, she could not help but wonder where Draco was. It was obvious that Narcissa had checked most of the possible places he could be. The article in the Evening Prophet had been published a few hours ago and thought she had not really read it, she knew it would be full of Skeeter's usual bile with an extra side of suspicion thrown on 'the Malfoy heir' as well as the competence of 'heartbroken Harry Potter'. Surely, no one would take it seriously enough to take matters into their own hands. Even if they believed that Draco was involved in shady business, they would trust Harry to carry out the investigation, which is what Harry had said to the reporters. Right? "I'm sure he will be fine," Ginny said, more to herself than to Narcissa. "He can take care of himself."
"Your family is large enough that you won't notice if you lost one or two members, but I happen to have only one child and I would very much prefer if his life was not in danger."
"How dare you?" Ginny snarled as she pulled out her wand and pointed it at the haughty, arrogant woman, very much ready to hex her into oblivion. "You are bloody trembling because you can't find your son when he's most likely off in a meeting or something, while my mother actually lost one. And it was all because of people like you, who were stupid enough to believe in blood purity and then got seduced by a bloody half-blood's message of world domination! And yet, you have the audacity to moc–"
"My words were uncalled for." Narcissa held up her hands as a gesture of peace. "My apologies to you, Miss Weasley."
"If you want me to respect you then you'll have to respect me," she stated as she lowered her wand. "And I do want to respect you, Mrs. Malfoy. For Draco."
"I know. I did not mean what I said."
"Liar."
Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose, her eyes flashing with what did look like remorse. Or was it worry? "You must understand that Draco means the world to me. The idea of him being in trouble is unfathomable."
Ginny nodded slowly. Even though what Narcissa had said was completely unforgiveable, she did understand her fear, for she had seen it in her own mother's eyes during the war. And because of Fred's death, that fear had somehow stayed there long after Voldemort had died.
She summoned a decanter of scotch and two crystal glasses from the bar and then took a seat in the other, vacant armchair. She fixed up the drinks and passed one to Narcissa, who seemed surprised that she had thought of her even after the argument they had just had.
Neither of them spoke, and time trickled by at a snail's pace.
The press conference felt like ages ago, even though it had only been that morning. And Ginny could not shake this odd feeling, as if she were trapped inside an hourglass, drowning in infinite sand particles and falling with it into places unknown for eternity. The sound of Narcissa's voice snapped her out of her rather bewildering thoughts.
"I had trouble conceiving during the first few years of my marriage." She seemed to be lost in a world of her own thoughts, her blue eyes fixed on the flames in the fireplace. "It took four miscarriages before Draco was born. And it was a complicated birth; they told me I won't be able to have another child again."
Well, that explained a whole bloody lot, not only about why Narcissa was so terribly worried but also about why Draco had been such a spoiled child. Ginny tried to picture a baby Draco, with tiny hands and feet, pale blond hair and a sneer on his face; he probably spat on the Healer who delivered him the second he was out of the womb, or at least kicked him when he was wrapped in a standard hospital-issued blanket that was not up to the Malfoy standards. The thought made her chortle, which was perhaps not the wisest thing to do considering what a morbid conversation they were having. Composing her face into what she hoped was a more serious expression, she asked, "Is that why you lied to Voldemort?"
Narcissa was eyeing her oddly, as if she thought she was insane. "I would like to think to think that I would have lied to him even if I had other children," she replied coolly. "But it was for Draco, yes. His wellbeing is my first priority. And the fact that you make him happy is the only reason that I have not taken a more direct approach to end this horrid affair."
"Is that something you normally do, manipulate your son's love life?"
"I've never had the need. Draco's choices of companions have been more approvable in the past."
"Well, I'm proud to have caused the scandal," Ginny retorted challengingly. "And don't think for a moment that you can break us up."
Narcissa pressed her lips together in distaste. "Because you have him wrapped around your little finger?"
"Oh, I've had him wrapped around other parts of my body too, Mrs. Malfoy!"
Normally, Ginny would never have replied with a such a crude remark, that too with the intention of causing discomfort because it was such a Slytherin thing to do, but she could not resist. And the look of mingled disgust and incredulity on Narcissa's face was completely worth it. It was highly likely that the alcohol had had a large role in loosening her tongue as well, but she could not be bothered by it; the scotch was rather well-aged and she was already on her third glass– or was it the fourth? Either way, Mrs. Malfoy was eyeing her drink with great disapproval, and she raised it tauntingly at her in a toast before taking a nice, big gulp. Once again, completely worth it.
"Mother?"
Draco had walked into the Hall, garbed in a formal suit with his cloak hanging over his arm. His stormy eyes moved from one woman to the other, and his expression reflected utter bewilderment.
"Draco!" Narcissa exclaimed as she stood up to hug him.
He wrapped his arms around her. "What's going on? You're supposed to be in Italy."
"I came as soon as I read the Prophet. Have you seen what they're saying about you?"
"All the more reason for you to stay in Tuscany, mother," He pulled away with an exasperated sigh. "I can handle this."
"Can you?" She demanded. "No one knew where you have been for hours."
"I was visiting our research lab in Inverness. I wanted to discuss this idea I had about improving the potency of the Oculus potion by adding a little bit of ground–" he cut himself off with a shake of the head, clearly deeming his potioneering theories irrelevant to this conversation. "You don't have to worry about me."
"We need to talk," Narcissa said firmly, and Draco looked strained at that. "But first, you must deal with Miss Weasley before she embarrasses herself any further."
Ginny had been watching the mother and son converse, but that last statement caused her to frown. "Oi! When did I embarrass myself?" she slurred drunkenly as she stood up, stumbled, accidentally slammed her knee into the small table and sent the decanter of scotch flying to the ground, where it shattered with a loud crash. She watched the drink seep over to the clearly very expensive rug with a grimace, then looked up at the Malfoys. "That doesn't count."
Narcissa shot a pointed look to Draco that contained a lecture in itself and then excused herself.
Once she had left, Draco turned to face Ginny, his lips curved in amusement. "You are drunk."
"You're blond," she shot back.
"Very good." He pointed his wand at the floor and cleaned up the mess she had accidentally made. "Are there any other obvious observations you would like to make?"
Ginny raised her chin with as much indignation as she could muster. "Your mother is a bitch."
"Behave," Draco reprimanded her half-heartedly. "How long have the two of you been sitting here?"
"I dunno. A bit?"
"I should be glad you didn't hex each other, then."
"I came close."
He eyed her for a long moment, then called for Yugo. "Bring Miss Weasley some coffee, please."
"Make it Irish," Ginny said gleefully.
"Do not make it Irish," He said, then dismissed the creature with a slight nod before turning to her. "How are you feeling?"
"Pleasantly drunk!" She replied as she merrily moved towards the great table that lay on one side of the Hall. He had once told her that the Death Eaters used to hold meetings here back during the war and that Charity Burbage had actually been murdered on it, and she could not understand for the life of her why he had not burnt it down. Still, horrible memories aside, she had to reluctantly admit that it was a beautiful piece of antique furniture. Very finely polished dark wood. Full marks to the person who made it.
"Yes, I can see that. I meant your arm."
It occurred to Ginny that she had not thought about the great conundrum of her arm for a while, and that she actually felt better than she had in almost a week. Well, they did not say that alcohol helped one forget his worries for nothing. "It's the same as before," she replied as she hopped onto the table, her legs swinging merrily off the edge. "I had an appointment with Zabini earlier today."
"What did he say?" he asked as he walked over to stand before her, most likely to ensure that he would be able to catch her if she slipped off and fell. Gentlemanly git.
"That he can fix it."
A look of relief flashed across Draco's face and his lips curved into a breath-taking smile. The man was ridiculously handsome, in a very aristocratic way. "That is good news."
"But it will take months."
He faltered, then leaned forward to place a kiss on her forehead. "As long as you get better."
The coffee arrived soon afterwards and Draco placed a steaming mug in her hands. "Drink this," he ordered.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Only if you take off your clothes."
"What will that accomplish?"
"I'll have a nice view to look at," she replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I see flirting and drunkenness do not mix well when it comes to you."
"I resent that. I can be an eggcellent flirt!" Ginny wrinkled her nose because she knew that the stupid word had not come out right. She tried saying it correctly, only to fail again, and decided that perhaps it was wise to obey her handsome git of a boyfriend for once. So, she took a sip of the coffee. "Are you alright?" she couldn't help but ask after a short silence. "What Harry said during–"
"I don't want to talk about it."
She opened her mouth to argue, but there was something about the way his eyes flashed that made her stop; it was not difficult to tell, especially for her now that she was able to read him somewhat, that the accusations had had an impact on him, but he was someone who preferred shoving his visceral reactions away. Pretending to be cold and aloof was his way of claiming control and considering that the Wizarding Britain was most likely going to treat him like a leper in the coming future, it was perhaps best that she let him maintain an illusion of that control. She did want to let him know that she had his back, which is why she said, "I told him off for what he said."
"You didn't have to," he replied slowly, though he did place another kiss on her brow as a way of saying thank you.
"Of course, I did. He was being a git," Ginny stated as she put her half-empty mug aside. The caffeine had reduced the state of her drunkenness to a pleasant buzzing feeling and she did not want to lose that just yet. Her gaze landed on a small pile of letters lying on a silver tray, all addressed to Draco, and she remembered burning her fingers because of a cursed stone that someone had tried to send to him. "Are you still getting hate mail?"
"It's bound to get worse now, I reckon," Draco shrugged nonchalantly, and upon noting the concerned look on her face, added, "But don't worry. My security team ensures that no offensive mail reaches me."
That was smart, but Ginny was not going to leave it at that. She grabbed the envelopes and said, "Well, I'm not taking any chances. I won't let anyone curse you. I'll protect you."
Draco looked amused. "Will you, now?"
She nodded fervently.
"Then I feel much safer already." His eyes were twinkling merrily as he moved to capture her lips with his in a slow, languorous kiss that caused hundreds of butterflies to erupt in her stomach.
She hummed contentedly when he pulled away after what felt like a while but at the same time was too bloody soon; she could do with more of those kisses, maybe even something more heated, but at the same time she had to deliver on her promise of protecting him. So, she tried to open the first envelope, only to realise that it was awfully hard breaking wax seals with just one hand. Her misery at not being able to move her other arm bubbled to the forefront one again– especially when Draco took some pity at her and helped her accomplish that ridiculously simple task.
The loud sound of protest that emanated from Draco afterwards did distract her though. "Ginevra Weasley!" He scolded. "Must you behave like an unprincipled cretin? It is rude to go through other people's correspondence without permission."
For a moment, she found herself getting angry at his indignance. Had he not practically helped her open the bloody letter? And then she realised that he was acting grumpy because that was the 'expected' reaction from him; he was trying to make her feel as if everything was normal by completely ignoring the struggles she was going through because of her injuries all the while helping her overcome those struggles. It was a sweet gesture– only, she realised with a pang that her parents had been trying to do the same thing for her and she had almost bit her mum's head off for it earlier that day. She vowed to try to be nicer to them from now on.
"You're invited to a gala next month held by The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers," she said as she skimmed over the contents of the very fancy looking card. "And you're allowed a plus one!" She raised an eyebrow. "How fancy is this going to be? I mean, should I buy a new gown or will an evening dress do?"
"What makes you think I will want to bring you?" He asked, snatching the card out of her hands and reading it himself.
"As if you can find a better date than me," Ginny retorted with a snort as she reached for the next envelope. He managed to grab it first, only to hold it in place for her so that she could rip it open and pull out the folded parchment inside. "Ooh, this one is from a friend of yours."
Draco,
I returned from Seoul three days ago (after signing a deal with a company that brews this amazing wizarding version of soju – I'm telling you, it is the most unique beverage I've ever had, which is saying something considering that I proudly hold the title of 'Chief Alcoholic' among our group of friends) to find out that the Death Eaters have risen again. What the fuck, mate?!
My father is ecstatic about the situation. Bastard. When I visited him in Azkaban, he encouraged me to seek these valiant heroes and assist them in their noble mission in any way I can. I told him I'd sooner snog Trelawney, to which he had a rather colourful, homophobic response that I shall leave to your imagination.
The Aurors raided the venue of my nightclub yesterday and completely destroyed the bar that I hired special designers to construct. It'll need to be redone now, and I'm running out of gold. I doubt Gringotts will be willing to give me another loan.
Ever since I got my shit together, I'd been looking forward to opening my own club. But I don't know if it will happen now. Damn those Death Eaters and damn those Aurors!
Anyways, we should probably catch up over a pint (or ten). Let me know when you're available.
– Theodore Nott
P.S. I stopped by Paris on my way back to go to an art exhibition to buy these gorgeous paintings by Turpin (you remember her from Hogwarts?) for the club and I ran into Crabbe at Rue du Alters. Mate, he's changed and NOT in a good way. Will tell you all about it when we meet.
Ginny frowned. "Why would Nott be running out of gold? I thought you ancient pureblood families had a lot of old money."
"And yet, you Weasleys remained destitute for decades!" Draco muttered as he once again snatched the letter out of her hands and read it quickly. "Most of Nott's assets were seized by the Ministry as a fine after his father was given a life sentence in Azkaban. What remained, he squandered away on drink and gambling."
Huh. She knew for a fact that the Malfoys had been fined heavily during their trials but they had managed to retain most of their wealth because of their last minute change in allegiance, and that amount of wealth was frighteningly large from what Ginny had managed to estimate during the past few months of dating Draco. But she had never really thought about the children of other Death Eaters. "Doesn't losing his fortune give Nott the motive to, y'know, support the Death Eater Cause?"
"He would never," Draco said with such confidence that she was taken aback. "Not out of any moral reasons, but merely to spite his father. The bastard used to beat him." His lips curled in disgust. "Said he was trying to discipline the gayness out of him."
A flash of anger coursed through her. It was cruel that Theodore Nott had had to endure such abuse, and that too from his own father.
Shaking her head sadly, Ginny reached for another envelope from the pile and grinned when Draco swore exasperatedly in French. "Funny you should speak that language, love," she said as she recognised the Beauxbatons seal. Why would the wizarding school be writing to him? She hoped it was not because he had decided to enroll there to finish his final year or something; he had often lamented how he had never been able to finish his formal education at Hogwarts because the Dark Lord had wanted him around. Not that she would mind if he ever fulfilled his dream of studying, it was just that he already knew everything that was taught at NEWT level and more. Plus, she would not want him to move to another country; it would be hell to maintain a long-distance relationship. She pulled the letter out, which was written in French, and handed it to him. "What does it say?"
Draco was clearly confused, which is probably why he obeyed her and started translating the letter out loud without an argument or another taunt at her lack of manners:
"Dear Mr. Malfoy,
I write to you concerning Mr. Jeremy A. Chaucer, who is one of the most brilliant sixth-year students at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. However, because of the tragedy that befell his family a few months ago, he has been struggling in his studies. On top of that, the faculty is deeply concerned about his deteriorating mental health. The school governors have decided that it would be best to allow Mr. Chaucer to take a break from his education for the remainder of his term.
The only recent interest that Mr. Chaucer has expressed is in the summer internship at the Malfoy Corporation. He says that he met you during his winter break and that you encouraged him to apply. From what his teacher say, he looks up to you as a mentor already. Which is why, I wanted to ask you if there was a way that he could be offered an internship in your company for the next few months.
I know for a fact that Mr. Chaucer would love to work for you and I believe that it will provide him a much-needed distraction and help him heal from the horrible losses he has faced. I must also reiterate that he is a very intelligent young wizard, and skilled at potion-making.
Please let me know if your company will be able to accommodate him. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to contact me.
Yours sincerely,
Olympe Maxime
Headmistress, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic"
"Well, you have to help him," Ginny said flatly once he had finished reading the letter.
"Do I?" Draco looked troubled and he shook his head. "There are people in my company who deal with these things. I suppose I'll forward this to them and they can decide what to do based on the vacancies–"
"Come on, don't be like that. The poor boy needs help, and you must help him."
He ran a hand over his face, looking extremely tried all of a sudden. "You're right," he conceded after a few moments of silent pondering. "I'll have it arranged."
She leaned forward to kiss him with a smile, hoping to let him know how proud she was of him for reaching that decision quite quickly.
Her hand slowly travelled to his soft hair, fingers playing with those pale blond locks as she internally bemoaned the lack of her other limb which she would have liked to wrap around his waist and pull him closer. Draco seemed to know what she wanted, for he stepped closer to her and she wrapped her legs around him to hold him there, eternally grateful for his presence in her life. The touch of his lips soothed her much more than all those disgusting potions she had been forced to take these past days.
The glorious snogging continued for quite a bit, leaving her insides mush and her lips swollen, until Draco finally pulled away with a slight shake of his head, which was a response to her wordless question that she had asked by reaching for his belt and trying (and miserably failing) to undo it.
"You've had a long day, love, and so have I," He sounded giddily breathless.
"I don't mind," she whispered as she tried to reach for his belt once again, only to let out a groan when he gently untangled her legs from around his waist and took a step back. This was not the first time he had refused to get intimate with her; she had noticed that he had been happy to kiss but very much reluctant to do anything more since the blast. Was it because she was a cripple now? No, it can't be. He loved her, and she knew it.
"Come on." He held out a hand. "Let's get you back to the Burrow."
"Do I have to?" Ginny could not help but whine like a little girl, though she did place her hand in his and slowly slipped off the table.
Draco pulled her close with a smile, placed a tender kiss on her lips and then started leading her towards the hearth. "As much as I would love for you to stay the night, your potions are at the Burrow. Besides, I think your parents will sleep better knowing you are home."
"You can stay over."
"I don't think it wise to test Mr. Weasley's patience."
"He won't mind," she told him. "Especially now that you've somehow managed to win mum over. How did that happen?" It was a curious change of events. Not only did her mother now approve of Draco all of a sudden, but he actually conversed with her with something more than the usual reserved politeness, as if they were old friends. The other day, as Draco had been about to leave, he had actually placed a slight kiss on Molly Weasley's cheek (she had blushed beetroot at that) and Ginny had almost fainted. So had her dad. And George, who had been visiting at the time.
Draco shrugged, though his lips were curved into a smug smirk. "I suppose Mrs. Weasley has finally recognised me for the agelessly wise, well-manneredly noble, remarkably talented and unbelievably good-looking man that I am."
"Or she's finally lost her marbles," she shot back with a roll of her eyes as she reached for the Floo Powder. "Are you sure you can't come?"
"I'm afraid not," Draco promised, then glanced at the great doors of the Hall with a grimace. "I have a mother to placate."
She stepped into the fireplace. "Well, let me know if your snobby mum becomes too much for you to handle. I'll be very happy to hex her."
"Behave, Ginevra."
"Make me."
He grinned, then made a gesture of shooing her away, and within a minute she found herself stepping into the living room of the Burrow, where her parents were sitting, clearly worried about her.
The first thing she did was apologise to them for how rude she had been acting. Then she told them that Zabini had been optimistic about her arm, which resulted in a few loud cheers and her mother exclaiming that they needed to celebrate this great news with chocolate waffles, something that both she and her dad readily agreed to.
By the time she went to bed that night, Ginny felt her heart was bubbling with love. Draco, her family, her friends, even Harry – they were the people who gave her strength, who had made it somewhat easier for her to face these past few days. Without them, she would never have coped with her injuries. She would have done something drastic to escape the hollowness and the utter desolation that she felt inside of her.
An image of Harry's face flashed before her eyes and she let out a sigh. She was still mad at him for what he had said about Draco, but it was cruel of her to accuse him of nearly getting her arm amputated. He had asked the Healers to do so, but he told her later that it was only as a worst-case scenario. She believed that; there was no way that Harry would deliberately hurt her. So, maybe it was time to make amends there too. Yes. She would. Tomorrow.
One step at a time.
xx
Ginny Weasley could not catch a fucking break!
It had not been easy to fill herself with optimism when her useless arm was still hanging extremely uselessly from her shoulder, but she had done it. She had forced herself to believe that there was hope and that these difficult times would pass.
But all of that evaporated the moment she lay her eyes on the front page of the next morning's Daily Prophet.
AURORS RAID MALFOY MANOR, ARREST SUSPECTED DEATH EATER
She did not even bother reading the article underneath. She could not have even if she wanted to, for her eyes were fixed on the horrible photograph underneath the glaring headline.
It was taken in the Main Hall of the Malfoy Manor, the very place where she had spent quite a while just last night. Except the Hall was wrecked as if it had been hit by a hurricane. The grand table was overturned, the armchairs by the hearth were blown up with their stuffing pouring out, the bar toppled as a bunch of cloaked figures inspected the contents of the various bottles and decanters. A struggling Narcissa Malfoy, garbed in a long night-robe with her hair unkempt, was being held back by a very stern-looking Katie Bell. A few feet away, two burly-looking Aurors had roughly tackled Draco to the ground and were binding his hands and feet in iron chains. The blond (though he appeared black and white in the photograph) glared up at Harry Potter, who stood above him with wand in his hand, overseeing the Auror raid.
Fuck.
Just a quick note: I know Theodore Nott turns out to be a Death Eater in the Cursed Child, but since this story is not compliant with the Epilogue, it is not compliant with the play as well. (Also, I've both seen and read the Cursed Child and I did some, small parts of it, but I personally do not consider it canon. My canon is the 7 books and the 8 movies)
Anyways, what did you think about this chapter? Please, please do leave a review and let me know!
Until next time x