Ginny has never moved so quickly in her life. She's running in a full sprint down the corridors and stairs. And for Malfoy, no less. It's completely disturbing. Nonetheless, she's still zipping through Hogwarts, hair on fire, to find help for him.
When he'd tried for the third time, unsuccessfully, to stand up, she knew they needed help. Of course, she might have been able to help him, but frankly, he was shirtless and they were in a bathroom. It was all a little too bizarre.
"Wait here," she said, "I'll be right back."
"No, Weasley," he snapped. "I said no one can know!"
"And no one will," she promised. "I've got an idea."
His eyes watched her with obvious suspicion. "Why in Merlin's name would you want to help me?"
She didn't like any of the possible answers to his question, so she simply ignored it. She moved for the door, casting one last look at his prone form. "Please, Draco," she softly pleaded. "Wait."
Ginny huffs down the last staircase and slips quietly into the darkness of The Great Hall with a scowl. She's certain she's gone mental, now. Ginny Weasley does not plead with anyone, least of all a gormless prat like Malfoy. She also does not call him Draco. Or at least she didn't used to. She snorts irritably as she pushes open the kitchen doors.
She searches the faces of the elves who look up from their chopping and stirring. She's surprised they're still working at this hour. Towards the back a particular elf, dressed in at least a dozen mismatched garments, smiles as he sees her.
"Miss Ginny Weasley!" Dobby says, putting down his knife to approach her. The other elves look away in obvious distaste as he peers up at her with his impossibly large eyes. "Have you brought Dobby news of Harry Potter? Is he safe?"
Ginny feels her eye twitch at the mention of her ex. "I'm sorry, Dobby, I haven't heard from him." It's the truth, too. She's received no floo calls or hastily scrawled notes delivered by strange owls. If her mother's clock still works, and it does, the trio, or at least Ron, was still alive last time she checked. Beyond that, they know nothing.
"In so much time there is still no news of Harry Potter?" Dobby cries, very real worry in his tone. "Oh, Dobby worries for him, Miss Weasley!"
"I know," she says wearily. "But I don't have any answers about Harry. I'm here for help myself."
He nods eagerly, but seeming to notice her reluctance to say more, leans very close until she can see her own reflection bobbing in his eyes. As far as she can tell, she looks dreadful.
"Is it a secret, Miss Weasley?"
She nods and lowers her voice. "Can you come with me?"
Dobby does not hesitate. He follows her back through the castle in silence, keeping up surprisingly well with her long strides. When they reach the bathroom, she finds herself holding her breath until she pushes open the door and spots him across the room. A completely inappropriate wave of relief rushes over her. She ignores it and walks up to him, bringing Dobby with her.
Malfoy is sitting against the wall near the sink now, hands draped over his bent knees. He's obviously used the wand she returned, as the floor is clean and the mirror is repaired. He's also managed to shrug on his shirt, but the buttons are not fastened and his cuffs hang open around his large hands. Something tugs low in her belly when he looks up at her, his eyes a flash of silver peeking through dark lashes. The feeling passes when his focus shifts from her to direct a grimace at Dobby.
"Oh, no you don't," Malfoy hisses, struggling to his feet and clutching the edge of the sink for support. "That Potty-loving traitor elf isn't coming near me."
She cocks her head and arches a brow. "No? Pomfrey, then? Professor McGonagall?" His expression is mutinous, but he seems to find no answer for her. She continues, "Perhaps I should fetch Hagrid, he's a right ace with—"
"Save it, Weasley," he snarls and she smirks triumphantly as she turns back to Dobby.
"Malfoy's been hurt very badly," she explains, gesturing vaguely at him. Dobby seems reluctant to even chance a look.
"Yeah, and what would a sniveling bag of wrinkles like…." Draco's voice abruptly trails off in a shuddering breath. She turns around to see his eyes closed and his face pale, his fingers white and taut against the porceline.
"Alright there?" she asks. Surely she isn't worried. Is she? His brow furrows and she wonders when she moved so much closer to him, and more interestingly, when she reached for his hand on the sink, which is cool and dry beneath her fingers. Before she can figure it out, he looks at her. A sharp sensation stabs through her middle, then dissipates into a wild fluttering. The whole world shrinks down to a pinpoint as they stare each other down.
"Dobby is not servant to the Malfoys anymore," the house elf says softly, and the moment snaps like a dried up twig. Ginny pulls her hand back and turns to Dobby, feeling a rush of heat in her cheeks as she collects herself. She has no idea what just happened, but she's pretty sure she should cut off her hand and scour her eyes when she gets back to her dorm.
It takes her longer than it should to realize that Dobby has moved between them and is studying Draco carefully. He's also waiting for her reply. "I don't know where else to go," she manages at last. "I completed a healing spell, but he's terribly weak. And the teachers mustn't know!"
"That's right, you little maggot," Draco snarls, any trace of weakness vanished, "and if you breathe a word of it—"
Ginny is whirling to cut him off when Dobby's voice stops her. "I will help you, Master Malfoy."
Given the total silence that follows this declaration, Ginny guesses that Draco is every bit as shocked by the declaration as she. When she turns, she sees Malfoy's face is pensive, his eyes locked warily on the house elf watching him.
"I don't have time," Draco whispers, and his tone is so raw, so desperate that she shivers. They are watching each other intently. Ginny knows at once that she has become a spectator, as inconsequential as vapor between them.
Dobby nods with sad eyes. With knowing eyes. "He's never been patient."
Something sour zings through her belly. Jealousy? She wants to spit the thought out of her head. But it's there. Malfoy is her secret. Hers. Not Dobby's, no matter how many years they spent together at Malfoy Manor. This entire line of thinking is going nowhere good and she'd really like to know when she came completely unhinged like this.
The house elf utters a few words in a tongue she doesn't recognize. Ginny knows very little of house elf magic, but she has no doubt that a spell has been cast.
"Will it…" Malfoy leaves the remainder of his question dangling, but the hope in his voice is heart-breaking.
"Dobby has no power over that, Master Malfoy. There will be time to restore your energy and perhaps for a shower, if you wish."
"Yes. A little privacy, Weasley?" It is not a question, but he follows it with another look that sends a shower of sparks through her system. For Merlin's sake. She's one hard knock on the head away from St. Mungo's. Ginny nods woodenly, and heads for the door without a backward glance.
She walks briskly to the end of the corridor. They're just eyes, you big girl's blouse. Malfoy eyes, no less. She nearly jumps clean out of her skin when a cat darts in front of her path. Bugger all. Of course it would have to be this cat she'd run into. Yellow eyes blink and the cat transfigures into Headmistress McGonagall while Ginny watches.
"Out a little late, Miss Weasley?"
A little, indeed. She doesn't need a clock to tell her she's a solid hour past curfew at the least. "Yes, Professor."
She's got detention for sure, but it doesn't matter. Professor McGonagall has to know. Malfoy would have kittens if he knew she was out here right now, but she's had Voldemort crawl around inside her brain, too. She knows that it feels safer to hide, but it isn't. It really isn't.
McGonagall huffs when the silence stretches too long. "Well? Do you have any explanation for what you're doing here at this hour?"
"It's Draco Malfoy, ma'am," she says quietly, her eyes darting around the hall to be sure no one else is listening. Malfoy needs help; but Argus Filch is not what she has in mind.
"Miss Weasley, thanks to your none too subtle facial expressions in the Great Hall, your reservations regarding Mr. Malfoy are known to everyone."
McGonagall probably thinks she's going to try to beg out of detention claiming emotional trauma over a snotty remark or some such rot. Ginny crosses her arms, angrily.
"He's a Death Eater," she announces tartly. "And I'm pretty sure you-know-who has a backstage pass to his head."
Her teacher purses her lips tightly and looks likes she's seriously considering a year's worth of detentions.
"He's possessed, Professor!" she cries, now exasperated by the lack of response. "By Voldemort!"
"Thank you, Miss Weasley," McGonagall says and without further response or explanation, takes her arm and leads her briskly into an abandoned classroom. She extends her wands and mutters several spells before turning to Ginny with a stern look. "I am perfectly aware of Draco's possession."
Ginny gapes openly, finding no words that even begin to cover her thoughts. Off her look, McGonagall makes a soft clicking noise. "Honestly, I have taught Draco Malfoy since he was eleven. Do you think I wouldn't notice his peculiar behavior as of late?"
"Peculiar?" Ginny snorts. "He's been a raving lunatic!" Catching her teacher's disapproving frown, she ducks her head and adopts a respectful tone. "Sorry, ma'am."
"I certainly hope so," she says and Ginny's cheeks burn. "In any event, while I appreciate your concern, I am aware of both the possession and the Dark Mark."
"What are you going to do?" Ginny asked, and when McGonagall looked quietly away, she feels a frisson of panic lance her middle. "You have to do something! He can't live like that!"
"What we are planning is not your concern, Miss Weasley. I do wonder how you came upon this information, though."
"I've…" Ginny swallows hard. "I've been watching him. I was hoping to…"
"Bring him to justice?" she asks, and Ginny is pretty sure her face is all the confirmation McGonagall needs. She continues, evenly, "And now?"
Ginny stares at her fingernails evenly. "It's different. I've had him inside me and there's no worse feeling on earth." She pauses to let loose a sigh. "Look, I know he's a snobby little brat, but I've got to help him. No one should be used like that. Not even Malfoy."
"Indeed." McGonagall lets out a sigh before continuing, "The best thing you can do is to leave this to us, and steer clear of Mr. Malfoy, lest he suspect your awareness."
"That's it? Steer clear?" Ginny cries. "How long do you think we have until the whole school figures it out? Granted, the Slytherins are a pretty thick lot, but at some point one of them is going to notice when they find him staring at a spoon for two hours!"
"No, they won't. The teachers warned the Slytherin House not to discuss his strange behavior. They believe it is an after effect of the spell Mr. Malfoy was under."
Ginny's mind clicks pieces together. "The spell. The one Dumbledore talked about in his letter. It wasn't a spell, was it? It was this."
McGonagall nods gravely and drops her voice to a rasp, "We are working on a cure, but our secrecy is crucial to any hope of success! We believe Draco may be aware of his condition, but we cannot approach him as we do not know if he is working with or against the possession. If we reveal too much too soon, we risk everything."
"The trances," Ginny says, eyes bright. "He's doing them himself, isn't he? That's how you know he's aware."
"We believe so. Bringing himself to a trance-like state would certainly make it easier to shut down his mind, to lock out external sources. But alternately, if he wished, he could use this to open doors, to heighten his possessor's access."
Ginny shakes her head fiercely. "No way. Malfoy is a lot of things, most of them things I hate, but there's no way he'd trust anyone enough to open his mind intentionally."
McGonagall nodded in concession. "That is my hope as well, but there's no way to be sure. Who's in control at any given moment is anyone's guess given Malfoy's inherently disagreeable personality."
Her mind wanders to the first encounter at the lake, when his eyes swirled with light. That same silver glow was dancing in his gaze in the bathroom after she'd healed him, and then again when she'd touched his hand. Somehow she knows that the Draco she saw tonight, the Draco whose eyes spin with little wisps of silvery light, is real.
"I can tell," she announces confidently.
Professor McGonagall opens her mouth as if to refute, but Ginny squares her shoulders and lifts her chin. "I can't explain it, but I know when I'm dealing with the real Draco Malfoy and I should be using that ability."
Her teacher watches her for a long beat before responding. "I've had enough dealings with your family to know that regardless of what I say, you will be watching Draco Malfoy," she says. "Learn what you can of his patterns, but do not be discovered!"
"He knows I know," she admits and McGonagall's brow creases. "The real Draco knows," she corrects. "And don't bother telling me I'm in danger. We're all in danger."
"Still, your caution is crucial. While we know that only one soul may be in control of a body at any given time, that soul can change very quickly!"
"I know," Ginny nods, "I've seen it happen."
"Then you know you must be careful."
Ginny nods wearily and heads for the door at her teacher's urging. Hand on the knob, she turns back with unexpected tears in her eyes. Her voice is small and weak when she speaks. "Seeing him…it's like going back. It's like living it all over again."
McGonagall's expression softens. "We will help him, Miss Weasley."
Ginny offers a weak smile before they step into the hallway. They walk together in silence, exchanging a small nod as they branch off to head toward their prospective quarters. After McGonagall's footsteps have slipped into silence, she turns around, padding away from her dorm.
Un-bloody-believable, she thinks with a self-derisive snort. She's going to check on him. She might as well start doodling his name in the back of her school books. When she reaches the prefect's bathroom, she hears the soft rush of water beyond the door. She raps softly on the wood deciding she's done plenty of spying for one night.
Dobby emerges at once and Ginny steps back to give him room. She hears the water turn off before Dobby closes the door behind him.
"How is he?"
"He is stronger, Miss Weasley, but…" Dobby trails off and wrings his hands.
"But what?" she snaps, not liking the way her chest feels tight with anxiety now when a week ago, hell a few hours ago, she wouldn't have cared if he drowned himself in a toilet.
"They're so terribly alike!" Dobby cries. "Even when he's himself, there is the shouting and the snapping. And the resemblance…" Dobby trails off in a whimper.
"Resemblence?" Ginny asked, confused.
Before Dobby can respond, the bathroom door is thrown open and Malfoy emerges, hair still damp, but otherwise looking more put together than she ever has in her life. His robes are impeccable and there's a clean woodsy scent floating around him.
"What's it going to take to keep you away from me, Weasley?" Malfoy sneers, but beneath the cold words she sees fear swimming in his eyes. And that's not all she sees. It's still Draco in there. Apparently she has a bloody gift with that. Terrific.
"I know what's happening to you, Malfoy," she snaps, her irritation with herself coming through. "I've been possessed by Voldemort. I know what it looks like."
He barks out a cruel laugh and shakes his head. "You don't know a thing about it!" he hisses. "Go back to your common room, Ginny. Stay away from me. I'm warning you."
The look in his eyes is anything but a warning. It's a plea. He's afraid. Afraid for her. The realization strikes her with such force that she can do nothing but watch blankly as he leaves them, his long strides taking him quickly out of sight.
"Miss Weasley, Master Malfoy is right," Dobby says, and she looks down to see his still watery eyes blinking up at her in surprise.
"Right about what?"
"He is not possessed by Voldemort; he is possessed by Master…" Dobby shakes his head, a bitter look lighting his features. "By Lucius Malfoy. His father."