A/N: Hey there, I'm posting two chapters today because there are a few people who have taken the time to let me know they're enjoying it, and that really made me happy. grin Thanks for bearing with me since it took a little while. Also, if you are reading and enjoying, please do drop me a line to let me know. This is my first real effort with a totally non-canon ship and I'll feel a lot less silly continuing if people are actually enjoying the story! To those of you who have reviewed, this bonus chapter posting is absolutely for you. Thank you so very much.
Ginny stares into her tea cup with a sigh and re-crosses her legs for the tenth time. There's absolutely nothing of interest to look at in Professor McGonagall's study. She almost wishes that the new headmistress had taken Dumbledore's office. At least then she'd get to make faces at all the past headmasters. As it is, she's got to wait for her teacher with nothing but her thoughts to entertain her. It's not a pretty proposition.
Since her entire life has been reduced to Mission: Draco, there's not a whole lot outside of him to think about. Bloody embarrassing is what it is, and a bit painful, too. She's got a slow squeezing burn in her gut that she's trying to blame on something she's eaten. Because if Tuesday's pasty didn't have it in for her, then she might have to consider the possibility that it hurts to watch Draco Malfoy suffer. She doesn't like that idea at all.
It's been plenty bad enough following him with a perpetual case of heartburn, but she had to add insult to injury by learning things about Draco that have nothing to do with the possession. These other things shouldn't interest her in the slightest, but they do. She knows he's got a soft spot for his eagle owl, who's named Brice, and that he sneaks him treats after meals. He fingers his quills a certain way when he's paying attention, and enchants scraps of paper into origami when he's bored. He's an unbelievably fussy eater, and a much better flyer than she ever gave him credit for. He also looks more appealing in green and black leather than any person should, and that's the kicker, really. Malfoy is appealing. As in, appealing to her.
There's got to be a wing in Azkaban for cretins like her. She doesn't even like blonds, for Merlin's sake.
She flushes hotly, and puts her cup down roughly in the saucer. She is immensely relieved by the groan of the door announcing her teacher's presence.
"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," McGonagall says. "Three days away and there's no end to the catching up."
"Your trip went well then?" Ginny asks, straightening in her chair and hoping that the trip had to do with Draco's cure.
"I completed some valuable research, so yes," she answers meaningfully. Ginny gives a brief smile.
"Professor McGonagall, I need to discuss something with you. It also involves…research."
"Oh?" Professor McGonagall raises her hand to silence Ginny and performs several spells in quick succession. Then, she nods, "Well, then let's get straight to it, shall we?"
"I'm afraid I was wrong about Draco's possession. It isn't Voldemort possessing him; it's his father."
Her teacher's eyes flash in alarm, but it vanishes almost instantly. "How can you be sure?"
"Dobby told him. I brought him to Draco that night," Ginny says, feeling her cheeks go crimson at the admittance. "He was injured and I thought Dobby might be able to help."
"Injured? You said nothing to me of injuries."
"Please, Professor, I promised I wouldn't," she counters apologetically. "I'd already cast a healing spell, but he was terribly weak. I knew house elves had powerful magic, so I went in search of Dobby."
"You are referring to the house elf that used to live with the Malfoys, are you not, Miss Weasley?" Professor McGonagall asks in obvious disbelief. "It was my understanding that he had less than amicable feelings toward his former family."
"I thought so, too, but I didn't know where else to turn, and he agreed to come. He seemed reluctant at first, but then…" she trails off with a confused frown. "It may sound silly, Professor, but Dobby knew exactly what was happening. He knew it was Lucius. He was even able to cast a spell that seemed to protect Malfoy temporarily."
Professor McGonagall nods absently. "An elf would be perceptive to such matters. And their kind possesses a very powerful magic, though the effectiveness of a spell of that nature would likely diminish with each successive…" She trails off, seeming to forget her train of thought entirely. "His own father," she says abruptly, clearly horrified.
"It's terrible," Ginny says softly, unexpected tears suddenly blurring her vision. "He usually takes over while Draco sleeps or when he's very tired, and he imitates him so well most of the time." She pauses to shake her head in disgust. "Draco fights him off in the middle of the day by going into a trance, like you talked about. Or sometimes, he focuses really intently on something he's reading or doing, like flying."
"Are you sure?" McGonagall says with a furrowed brow. "Are you sure he's fighting him off and not helping?"
"I'd bet my life on it, Professor," Ginny says hotly, some part of her vaguely wondering why she's so quick to defend him. "He is being violated."
Professor McGonagall holds her breath for a beat, then gives a slight nod. "Thank you, Miss Weasley. I admit this information comes as a shock to me. With Lucius being in Azkaban, I am earnestly amazed that he's managed it. I fear this will complicate matters."
"What do you mean? Don't you have the spell to fix him?"
"We did," she says, with a sad smile on her lips. "We had everything in order to get Voldemort out of Mr. Malfoy's mind."
"Well, then use it! You can't honestly tell me that Lucius Malfoy is stronger than Voldemort, can you?"
"Indeed, I can. Lucius shares familial ties with Draco. There is blood power in this possession. It is beyond normal magic, this bond."
Ginny's stomach drops into her knees at this. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know," McGonagall says. "I honestly have no idea."
"What can we do?"
"For now, I must forbid you from following Mr. Malfoy," the professor insists. "I can not allow you to endanger yourself further. I can only begin to imagine Lucius Malfoy's intentions, but they're likely to be every bit as heinous as the atrocity he's committing with his son."
"I can't do that, Professor McGonagall," she says, alarm and insistence infusing her tone. "He is totally alone! And you can't do it alone, either. You've got the school and your classes and all I have…" There is something too raw in this statement and she leaves it hanging there unfinished. She knows, inexplicably, that if she completes this thought, things will never be the same again. She drops her eyes to her abandoned tea and finishes softly, "No one is in more danger than Draco, Professor. Someone needs to watch him and I already know his habits. He won't discover me."
"Do you honestly feel that your parents would approve of this, Miss Weasley?" Professor McGonagall asks sharply.
"No, I don't," she admits, "but I'll be of age soon, and if Hogwarts has taught me anything about being a witch, it's that I must be able to think clearly on my own."
Ginny can see the resolve waver in her face. McGonagall has always been an advocate of strength and self-reliance. She knows she's won before her teacher relents with a slight inclination of her head.
"Well done," she says, with a knowing glint in her eye. "I suppose I do not need to remind you to be careful?"
"I will. I promise."
A few minutes later, Ginny is back in the hallway. McGonagall agreed to keep her informed and she did the same, but for now, they simply wait. Draco suffers and she takes notes. Brilliant plan. Except for the part about her being smack dab in the middle of it again. And this time, she begged for it. Demented is what she is. Utterly demented.
Maybe it's because of Harry, because of the loneliness and all that. It would make a good deal of sense if it was even remotely true. But it isn't. Ginny waited five years to date The-Boy-Who-Lived. He ended it, so it's ended. She's got no intention of pining away another few years of her life in the hope of a future that might not ever be. If it's meant to happen for Harry and her, then…then I wouldn't be checking out Draco Malfoy, she thinks
Ginny heaves a sigh and rubs her palm absently over her face. She needs to get out of here, needs to get her head sorted and somehow the Gryffindor common room just doesn't seem ideal for accomplishing that. Instead, she makes her way through the halls and pushes open the heavy doors that lead to a small, overgrown garden.
It's isolated and run-down, but it's always been one of her favorites. There are twisting paths and ivy-covered walls. Best of all, there's a narrow gurgling stream which changes course every few minutes, carving a new path through the garden. The stream is probably the primary reason this place is usually deserted. Most students don't want to risk getting soaked in the middle of a picnic when the lake is perfectly content to sit still for them.
She steps over mossy rocks and trails a hand over a crumbling stone wall. The sun has dipped below the west side of the castle now, leaving this east-facing garden bathed in blue shadows. It is familiar and quiet and exactly what she needs, until she realizes she isn't alone.
Her heart catches at the sight of him, and she's beginning to consider blindness spells which would be preferable to her increasingly embarrassing reactions to his presence. In her defense, he does look particularly attractive at present, crouched by the river's edge with his breath steaming in the cold and his hair glinting in the twilight. His black cloak is thrown behind his shoulders and he's turning something over in his gloved fingers.
A coin? No, a necklace…a locket, maybe?. Draco Malfoy has a locket? It's official, the world is actually ending. Right now.
He's scowling at the object in his fingers and she can't get a fix on his eyes. She's not about to get any closer until she knows exactly who she's dealing with. A gush of wind blows behind her and she crouches down, taming her wild, red hair with a pale hand. The stream through the garden shifts course, and Draco steps over it easily.
"Why are you following me?" he asks and she whips her head around desperately, looking…hell, hoping, to find someone else nearby. When she turns back, his eyes are locked on hers and she's feeling absolutely ridiculous for crouching down in the bushes like a common thief. She stands up and offers a pitiful shrug.
"I fancied a walk," she tries, moving a little closer and breathing easier when she sees the familiar dance of silver in his eyes. Better than Daddy Deatheater. He shakes his head and closes his fist around the locket as she approaches. She stops when she is just out of arm's reach.
"That's a lovely story, but we both know you've been following me since that night in the bathroom."
Bugger. Ginny flushes and manages a wry smirk. "Actually until just now, I was pretty sure only one of us knew, so give us a minute to catch up, yeah?"
He almost smiles and her heart does flips. It's disgusting. His cruel mask descends once more, leaving his generous mouth in a hateful scowl. "I told you to stay away."
"I didn't listen."
"You should have listened. You also shouldn't have gone to McGonagall."
"Funny thing about me," she says, trying for a light tone despite her nervousness, "I'm terrible with following directions."
He whirls around on her so fast that she loses her breath. Before she can reach for her wand, before she can even think, he's got a hard grip on her wrists and he's steering her bodily back into an ivy-draped wall.
"You think you're cute, don't you, Weasley?" he snaps, face so close that she can smell the faintest trace of cinnamon on his breath. He pushes her hard and she gasps when his thighs press against hers to pin her in place. "Bloody Gryffindors, always gagging to be the hero."
She says nothing, just watches him stare down at her, his cheeks flushed with fury, his eyes smoldering. He won't hurt her, not really. She's strangely sure of this, so she does not interrupt when he goes on in a snarl, "Just like your pathetic little boyfriend, aren't you? Everybody could use a bit of saving from you."
She really wants to tear into him for that, but she doesn't. She just focuses on breathing in and out and on not noticing how warm and firm he feels against her. He's trembling all over and she's itching to touch him, itching to soothe the pain that tarnishes the air around him.
"You think you can save me, Weasley?" he snaps, and his voice is a jagged knife, ripping through the very seams of her sanity. "You and your righteous little professor? You have no idea what I've done! No idea!"
The anguish in his voice makes her stomach clench. If she looks at him one more moment, there's no telling what she'll do. She sighs in relief when he releases her and turns his back on her. The locket is now splayed in the dirt between them. She reaches for it quietly, blinking at the two tiny oval pictures. One is of Draco, all little boy cheeks and impossibly blonde hair. The other is of Lucius Malfoy. She resists the urge to scratch out his cold eyes with her fingernail.
"Do you know what he's had me do?" he croaks woodenly, but she's sure he does not expect a response. She's also sure, very sure, that she does not want to hear what he's about to say. An owl hoots softly from somewhere near and she breathes in the coolness of the evening.
"I can still smell it," he says softly, so softly that she moves closer so as not to lose his voice in the soft rush of the stream. "My throat still stings and my eyes still burn. I taste the ash. I feel the heat. I can still smell the sweet charring of cedar."
Something cold slithers and curls in her belly and her hands begin to tremble as Draco continues, "I can smell her hair," he says, breath hitching. "That's when I came back. I regained control of my body just in time to smell of my mother's hair burning from her scalp. That's the inheritance my father left me."
Ginny covers her mouth and tears slide over her fingers unchecked. She can tell by his trembling shoulders that he's crying, too, and it is all she can do to not touch him.
"How are you going to save that, Weasley?" he grits out between quiet sobs. "How do you save someone that doesn't want to be saved?"
She can't hold back the hiccupping cry that escapes her throat anymore than she can stop her arms from going around his middle. She crosses her arms over the hardness of his stomach and presses her wet cheek against his back, feeling him take and hold a sharp breath at her embrace. She only holds him tighter, terrified by what she's done and even more terrified that he might try to shake her off. He doesn't, so she clings to him for long minutes in the ethereal quiet of approaching night.
"You didn't do this," she finally manages, her voice broken and muffled between his shoulder blades, "He used you, Draco."
He barks out a bitter laugh and she hears leather creaking as if he's clenching his fists. "What does it matter? I let him."
"You didn't let him do anything," she says angrily. "McGonagall is working on a spell."
She winces at his laugh, but decides not to argue. There will be more time for convincing, later, when her cheek isn't itchy from his wool cloak and her palms aren't sweating against the ridges of his abdomen.
"I can't stop him," he admits callously, muscles jumping beneath her fingers, "He's going to take me under and there isn't a damned thing I can do about it."
"I won't let him," she promises, resting her forehead against his shoulder.
The laugh that escapes him is a cruel, cold bark. "He's not going to ask for permission. My father gets what he wants."
"Not this time," she growls, curling her fingers in the soft fabric of his shirt. She's sickened and glad at once at his admission. She knows that a page has been turned between them now. There is no going back from here.
"You don't know my father, Ginny," he sighs.
"And he doesn't know me," she says, with the steely grit that is pure, stubborn Weasley.
He exhales slowly and his whole body relaxes in her arms. Ginny feels a brush of leather covered fingers over her hands. It sends a frisson of heat to every nerve ending in her body. Okay, this is several steps past too far. Despite feeling the sudden weight of the wrongness of it all, she releases him reluctantly. She crosses her arms over her body and chews her lip lest she be inclined to grope him again or spout out any more sentimental drivel.
He turns around and she flushes because she knows she looks awful. The wind's been blowing every which way and she's been crying. She probably looks like a puffy-eyed red porcupine, possibly one that's been struck by lightning. He, of course, looks perfect, only the faintest trace of wetness on his lashes to hint at his former emotion. His expression is unreadable as he searches her features, and that's probably for the best. She doesn't want to know what he's thinking right now.
He breaks his gaze and quietly walks around her. She closes her eyes, feeling gutted by the whole ordeal and ready for a hot bath and a dozen chocolate frogs. His boots whisper through the grass as he retreats, leaving just enough noise for her to hear him stop, a few feet away. She looks over her shoulder to see him eyeing her with a quizzical expression.
"Why are you involved in this, Ginny?"
She can't look at him and say this. She simply can't. She closes her eyes and turns her face away. "I don't think I know how to not be involved anymore."
"That's not an answer. Tell me why."
Merlin, does he ever let up? She snorts irritably and opens her eyes to roll them theatrically. "Honestly, Malfoy, I'm still considering a trip to St. Mungo's for that fact that I am voluntarily helping you. Can we just let the why's be for a bit?"
He does smile then and however fleeting it is, it cuts her off at the knees. How did she miss this? In six years, how did she fail to notice him? Because he was a complete prick until his whole life fell apart, she thinks.
His smile fades and he looks down, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Be careful. He knows me well."
"So do I," she counters, keeping her chin high.
There is a long pause after that, but she refuses to meet his eyes. At last, she catches his nod in her peripheral vision. Without further ado, he walks to the castle, leaving her reeling in a mix of emotions and ankle-deep in the stream that has changed course at a really inopportune time.
"Blimey," she says to herself, stepping neatly out of the stream and performing a drying spell on her feet. "This is not good, Weasley. This is not good at all."