Chapter Seven: Decay Will Let You Learn to Bend

Hermione showed up at breakfast the next morning, pale-faced with red-rimmed eyes. Ginny tried to feel some sympathy for her and failed. Whoever had called her the brightest witch of her age was sorely mistaken. She called a DA meeting and was screaming halfway through. "You KNOW Voldemort loves snakes! He's going to use them in battle! If we can't get these repelling jinxes working properly, we're going to be killed by snakes!"

"I still don't see what's wrong with an Impediment Jinx," Terry Boot countered.

With a snarl on her face, Hermione whipped her wand at the small snakes she had conjured for practice and they became ice. Another jab and the ice exploded everywhere. By the time Ginny uncovered her eyes, the door was swinging shut and Hermione was gone, Dennis Creevy quivering in her wake.

"What's eating her?" Padma asked.

"She skived off Transfiguration this morning," Neville reminded her.

"She wasn't in Arithmancy either," Anthony Goldstein said.

"Do you think someone broke up with her?" Pavarti gasped. Padma shot her a dark look. "What?"

"Could we just get some more snakes, please?" Terry asked irritably, prodding his own dumpy, uncoordinated specimen that was more worm than serpent.

Hermione became a spectre over the next two days, absent from mealtimes and, apparently, increasingly truant from class. On Thursday at lunch, Ginny and Colin were watching Neville prod a very sickly, very ugly plant. "I thought you were supposed to be good at Herbology," Colin teased, snapping a candid.

"It wasn't me, it was Pansy," Neville muttered, wincing when dark green spikes attacked and sank into his finger.

"I've had it with that Parkinson bitch," Ginny said darkly, stretching backwards to sight the subject of conversation through one eye. She'd been a particularly nasty entity over the last month or so. "A Sickle says I can Bat-Bogey her from here."

"It's not her fault," Neville said quickly. He sucked on his thumb. "It dried out overnight."

"What is it?" Colin asked, grimacing at the plant.

"I thon…." Neville looked surprised when a nonsense word came out of his mouth. His eyes widened and he suddenly became excited. "Ly longue!" He touched his thumb to his lips and pointed at the plant. "Loylon!" He scooped up the plant and scarpered away.

Colin blinked. "Oooookay."

"I…I think that plant just rendered Neville speechless," Ginny said hesitantly. While she was contemplating why someone would be happy if their tongue suddenly stopped working, her entire field of vision turned blue.

"They're ready," Luna murmured.

Ginny reached out and grasped the pillowcase that Luna was dangling in front of her. "Hi, Luna. Uh…thanks."

Luna looked at her expectantly.

"Oh, I mean, it's very pretty. I won't have any more problems with ballwags now."

"Blartfasts," she corrected gently, "and I can tell the amulet helped. But that," she said, indicating the pillowcase, "is for Hermione. She needs it right now."

Ginny eyed Luna keenly, trying to discern whether this was an odd flash of prophecy or hyperbole on Luna's part. She couldn't tell, and Luna wouldn't know even if she asked. "I'll get them right to her, then." She sauntered up to the Gryffindor girls' dorm and let herself into the seventh-year room. The curtains on Hermione's bed were drawn. "Hermione?" No answer. "Are you in here?"

Just when she was ready to try the library instead, Hermione's head appeared between the curtains. "What?" she croaked, her face screwed up against the light.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Ginny said quickly, "I didn't realize you were asleep."

"That them?" she asked, quickly becoming alert.

"Luna gave this to me."

Hermione threw back the curtain. "Perfect timing." With the bed exposed, Ginny could see that Hermione had fallen asleep in her school robes on a pile of money. A pile of Galleons, to be precise. Perfectly awake now, she flicked her wand and dozens of small velvet pouches flew out of the pillowcase. A graceful wiggle sent the Galleons sailing into the air into the pouches, and she banished most of them back into the pillowcase with a sweeping motion. "Take them to McGonagall. Tell her I'm not going to class this afternoon." The curtains snapped shut.

Ginny was getting dreadfully tired of being treated like a page.

"Excellent," McGonagall said crisply when she realized what cargo Ginny bore. She reached in and nicked a sample for herself. "Extraordinary," she muttered, examining the trick Galleon in her palm. "Miss Weasley, if you would please Floo these over to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? It would be…highly irregular if I would show up there. I will explain to your professors that you are indisposed."

If Ginny wasn't mistaken, Fred and George had set wards to prevent any Hogwarts faculty from entering the premises. "Of course," she murmured, trying to tamp down her irritation at being used as an oversized owl. McGonagall tossed the Floo Powder and Ginny hefted her burden into the fire. As soon as she emerged at her destination, she realized that McGonagall had practically given her carte blanche. The rest of the day was hers.

"Ginny!" George cried boisterously, looking up from his paperwork. "Is that them?" he asked, motioning to the pillowcase.

"That's right, George," she cackled, "a dozen dead house elves."

"I'm Fred." He slung the pillowcase on the counter. "George, Ginny's here!"

"I heard, George," George said, stepping into the room.

"Shall we show her, George?"

"Absolutely, George."

Fred turned the top parchment in his stack over to Ginny.

Dear BILL WEASLEY,

Congratulations! You've guessed the correct order of the Phoenix Puzzle that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes released to our loyal customers last month. As a token of our awe at your attention to detail, we present you with this Trick Galleon. Are you tired of wondering if it's going to rain tomorrow? If your secret crush likes you back? If You-Know-Who is murdering your family? The Trick Galleon will answer all of your questions if you just ask. Astound your friends! Don't leave home without the Trick Galleon, it's a shining beacon of knowledge in these dark times!

Here at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, we are always innovating new products! We're currently perfecting Nosy-Proof Invisible Ink, which can only be revealed by a stylus keyed to the original pen! Give it a try with the stylus taped below – we've encoded a message on the top right corner of this letter just for you!

Thank you for your continued patronage of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

Prankfully yours,

Fred and George Weasley

p.s. – Christmas is almost here! We are proud to present Yuletide Edition Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, available now!

"You're both barking," she said simply.

"Barking geniuses, you mean," Fred corrected. "They have to be written in code in case they're intercepted."

"So what's the secret message – other than a guarantee that the recipient will know if their package has been tampered with?"

"'Portkey', of course."

"We taught her so well," George sighed with a misty smile.

"You don't think these clues are too subtle?"

"Please," Fred scoffed, "if they can't figure it out they're not going to be useful on the battlefield anyways. If it's too obvious, interceptors could figure it out."

"Well, interceptors are going to be suspicious when the Galleons don't actually do anything."

"Oh, but they will," Fred said ominously.

"Lee showed us the funniest Muggle toy a while back," George explained. "We've adapted the idea. Watch." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and appraised it in such a way that Ginny was reminded of a picture in her Muggle Studies textbook of a man holding a human skull. "Oh Great Bogie Rag," he said in a deep, theatrical voice, "isn't ickle Ginnykins lucky to have such wonderful brothers?"

"Cannot predict now," the hankie chirped.

"Great Bogie Rag," Fred asked, "is that because said brothers haven't grown into their true wonderfulness, wonderful as they are already?"

"My sources say yes," the hankie squeaked. Fred and George chortled

Ginny raised an eyebrow. "It's enchanted to flatter you?"

"Reply hazy, try again," said the hankie.

"It answers yes or no questions randomly. Endless amusement and quite brilliant, don't you think?"

"YES!" the hankie agreed emphatically.

"Rag, will I shred you to pieces if George doesn't put you in his pocket straight away?" Ginny asked sweetly.

"Signs point to yes."

Ginny gestured meaningfully. The handkerchief disappeared. "You're sure this extra charm won't affect the Portkey function?"

"Positive," George said breezily.

"We've tested them against traditional Portkeys and a handful of other common enchantments," Fred elaborated.

"Sounds like you've cased it," Ginny admitted. "I've got to go; there's some post I need to send."

"I'll go with," Fred said.

At the post office, Ginny mailed a carefully-worded letter to Remus Lupin that she'd composed that morning during History of Magic. "It's from Harry, Fred, but he doesn't want Lupin to know he was at Hogwarts."

"You should've seen Mum when she got those letters from Harry and Ron," Fred chuckled. "Smiling and crying and furious. They're idiots not to ask for help, you know."

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe they have help we don't know about. I don't know how they would've made it all the way to Turkey and back otherwise."

"Turkey?" Fred echoed.

"That's all I know. They were too important to tell us lowly girls about it."

"Like I said, they're idiots." They strolled to the fireplace located for the convenience of post office patrons. "Chin up, Ginny, and we'll see you in a month."

"Bye, Fred," she said, giving him a quick hug. "Share half of that with George, mind!" she joked.

"Will do. See you."

Ginny tossed the Floo powder into the fire. She saw Fred slip out the door and into the crowd on the street. "Ministry of Magic, Department of Corrections!" she cried. Now that her letter was speeding its way to Lupin, she felt it was time to pay a last visit to Draco Malfoy.

"Back again so soon, Miss Weasley?"

"I just can't stay away, Alec." Goodbye, Alec, she thought as he left her in the room. Goodbye, dreary grey Azkaban. Goodbye, hard chair that always makes my back hurt. Goodbye, nasty draughty room. The door opened. Goodbye, Malfoy.

He was hunched over yet smiling. "Finally! I was worried you were never coming back."

"I was just here less than a week ago,"

"Really?" he murmured, seeming uninterested in such minor details.

"I'm supposed to be in class. I just wanted to drop in and say hello."

"You skived off class to see me?" he asked warmly, his eyes guileless.

He was killing her. Ginny wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him. She hated herself for almost liking this new, gentle Malfoy. He is not Tom, not Tom, NOT Tom… Her family was more important than the boy in front of her. "That's right."

"How are classes going?"

She made some idle small talk about the trying nature of her schoolwork. Her impending Transfiguration essay was particularly vexing, but Draco had no advice.

"Potter hasn't turned up dead yet?" he asked.

"No, he's very much alive. I saw him two days ago."

Draco stiffened. "He's back at Hogwarts?"

"No. He's disappeared again."

"Thank every god there is," he sighed, mopping his filthy brow with his bound hands. "Stay as far away from him as possible."

"No problem there," Ginny muttered under her breath.

"I don't want you in any trouble."

"I can handle myself, you know," she said in annoyance. "If Death Eaters mess with me, this is what they're going to get." She pulled out Colin's photo and showed him.

Draco sucked in his breath, transfixed. "Can I have it?" he asked, stretching his hands out tentatively.

Ginny snatched the picture back reflexively. Draco's face fell into the beginnings of a pout. She reconsidered and realized that this would be Malfoy's last request of her. She could always claim she lost it and ask Colin for another copy. "Okay," she agreed, relinquishing it.

Draco cradled it in his hands like a baby bird, seemingly afraid to touch it. He looked from Picture-Ginny to Ginny herself, his eyes large and dark. "Thank you."

"No problem. Just a reminder of my lethal wand technique," she joked.

"Sometimes I start forgetting your face," he said softly. "I – I'm starting to forget everyone's faces when I try to imagine them in the dark. Sometimes it's like they never existed, like I've always been here, alone."

His pain was visceral. For a moment, Ginny was transported outside herself and reminded that Draco was only a year older than her, hardly more than a boy, and thrust into a world he had no control over. She remembered her own near-hysteria months ago when she realized she couldn't recall Harry's face with complete accuracy and wordlessly reached her hand across the table until it was beside his. His dirty knuckles brushed against her palm, and at the contact he drew a heaving breath and bowed his head, dull hanks of hair obscuring his face.

She laid her thumb over his hand. "I've got to get going," she whispered. He nodded and his hands disappeared behind his hair. "Draco, look at me." He did. His mouth was twisted into a grimace and his eyes shone unnaturally. Guilt was choking her. She had to keep perspective. He was a criminal, a blackmailer, a user! She was free of him! She should turn and leave now! "I'm sorry," she said instead.

His entire body was trembling. "I'll miss you," he said plaintively.

"I know. I'll miss you too," she replied, realizing after she said it that it wasn't entirely a lie.

"You're the best friend I could ask for here," he murmured.

Ginny's throat constricted painfully. "Goodbye, Malfoy."

A/N Are you craving some B-plot? If you'd like to hear more about Neville and his plant, read my other in-progress fic, Walking Wounded.