A slightly longer chapter. More coming soon, although my other Harry Potter fic is taking precedence right now. Hugs to everyone who reviewed.
A light breeze blew in through the open window, teasing Ginny's red curls gently about her face. She gazed thoughtfully at her reflection, considering her appearance from different angles. The effect was not as spectacular as she'd hoped, but she certainly looked good. She'd never be as tall as Hermione, but then, Charlie wasn't tall either, and he still managed to loom over even Bill and Percy. He'd taught her that little trick, of 'thinking big' as he put it, and one of her friends had once sworn it added two inches to her height. She might not loom over Draco Malfoy, but he wouldn't be looking down on her today.
Ah, today… what a piece of absolute foolishness. Whatever had possessed Hermione to think a weekend picnic for the five of them would be a good idea? The boys would be at each other's throats the whole time, and Hermione would be caught in the middle, catching her fair share of abuse. And Ginny herself? She had no idea. Hopefully she wouldn't be pulled into a brawl with Malfoy, but you never could tell.
What was that bastard playing at, she wondered for what seemed the thousandth time. He wasn't interested in Hermione - anyone with eyes could see that. And Hermione didn't care for him any more than she ever had. It really was a wonder that Ron and Harry didn't see through the farce. But what did they think they were doing? She frowned at her reflection as she tried to puzzle it out.
Well, what did she know, she though, trying to fit the pieces together. Hermione was 'dating' Malfoy. The two didn't really do anything together where anyone could see, just smiled at each other in the hallways and occasionally made some comment that couldn't be termed insulting. A couple of days each week, Hermione went to the Slytherin common room, where she sat in a corner and did her homework, while Malfoy got on with his life.
That last she knew because Blaise had told her, and that meant she trust the knowledge as firmly as if she had seen it with her own eyes. She had gone out with Blaise once over the summer, and although it hadn't come to anything, she didn't mind the boy so much. Well, he was terribly arrogant, and tended to walk around like he had a wand up his ass, but he was nice enough to those he liked (although there weren't many of those) and he didn't lie. Which wasn't to say he was above misdirecting someone, or insinuating something he knew wasn't true, but if he straight out told her something, she believed him. Besides, what would he gain from lying about this? The only change in her perspective the knowledge had given her was that, instead of preparing to ship Hermione off to St. Mungo's psychiatric ward, she had to accept that Malfoy and Hermione were up to something, but were only cooperating with each other because they had no choice.
And now to drag her and Harry and Ron into this… where was the sense? Well, she'd always rather thought Hermione might fancy Ron, and from some of the girl's broader hints over the past few years, she thought Ginny and Harry might be good together. Oh Merlin, Ginny though, collapsing onto her bed. Was this whole thing a deranged attempt at match-making? Except that she'd already told Harry she wasn't interested, and Hermione ought to have heard all about that. After all, her own brother had been the original instigator of that, and Harry had been the one hitting on her, and of course when things didn't work out they'd run crying to their mutual best friend who, being a girl, might be able to explain just what was going on.
Unless Hermione had just decided that Ginny was just playing hard to get. After all, once Hermione latched onto an idea, it took the end of the world to get her to let go of it, and she would be utterly convinced she was right the entire time. Oh, but this time… this time she'd really made some mistakes. It wasn't that the girl wasn't smart, it's just that in some respects she was rather simple.
Ginny still heard the echoes of Tom Riddle sometimes, especially when she encountered something that reminded her strongly of her first year. Not that there was any vestige of the phantom Head Boy left in her, but as Dumbledore had told her, you couldn't spend a year being slowly taken over, and then possessed, by an extremely malevolent spirit without a few bad memories surfacing once in a while. So sometimes, when she looked at Hermione, she saw the girl as Tom had, and she knew how easy it was to manipulate someone like her. Ginny would never have been able to bring herself to do it but Malfoy… Malfoy wouldn't think twice, especially if it meant he could bring pain to Harry and Ron.
"Ginny?" Well, if it wasn't the girl herself. Arrived to drag Ginny out to the Picnic of Pain, and she had privately begun thinking of it. If Ron didn't ask Hermione out within the month and put them all out of their misery, Ginny privately vowed, she would go and hex all of them - Ron, Harry, Malfoy and most especially Hermione - so badly they wouldn't recover for a decade.
There was a light breeze pushing through the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and making the tiniest of ripples about the edge of the lake. Out on the grounds, students lazed about in the early September sun, laughing and relaxing and generally enjoying a weekend of gorgeous weather. It was the perfect day for a… for a… sweet Circe, he couldn't even bring himself to think the word.
"Why am I going to a picnic?" Blaise drawled. Yes, that was the worded. That horrid, hateful word.
"If I have to suffer, so do you," Draco snapped. "I'm not going to be surrounded by a bunch of Gryffindors." He spat the word like a curse.
The look Zabini sent him was pure ice. "You could have brought your goons. And anyway, why go at all?" he continued, not giving Draco a chance to answer. "I'm beginning to suspect there's more to this than you said. Don't tell me you actually like the Mudblood."
"Say that again and I'll kill you where you stand, Zabini. And you didn't have to agree to come."
"Death threats. Just my lot, as always." Blaise sighed extravagantly. "You do have me there, though, Malfoy. So I'd like another chance to get at Ginny Weasley." Hearing Draco's sound of protest, he smirked knowingly. "Come off it. You know you'd go with her if you had the chance."
Hell, Draco thought sourly, half the male population of Hogwarts would, if not for two problems. The first, which didn't phase him at all, was Weasley the elder. The other, and slightly more daunting to any man with a brain, was the girl herself. How many hearts had she crushed already this year with a polite 'no thank-you'? Rumor put it at almost half a dozen. But really, the ultimate problem for Draco, the one he couldn't overcome enough to see Ginny Weasley as anything other than another impoverished redhead was, well, her being a Weasley. "Some of us have standards," he snarled.
Even as the words came out, he realized Blaise wasn't listening. "Well hello," the other boy breathed quietly. Draco, glancing at his housemate, saw a boy who looked like he'd just been hit over the head with a Beater's club. There was no other way to achieve that expression, with the slack jaw and slightly glazed eyes. He almost looked around for someone with quidditch gear but… ah, that would do it too.
Poor Ginny Weasley might be, but even Draco had to admit she knew what to do with what she had. Her yellow sundress wasn't in the latest style, but it fit her well, and the color brought out the gold in her tan. Red and gold… best not forget that, he told himself sternly. A Gryffindor to the bone. So why was she watching him with that calculating look he had come to think of as a Slytherin trademark? He glanced at the others around her, wondering if they'd seen that coolly conniving look on their precious Gryffindor good-girl, but it seemed they hadn't, and at that moment Draco was pretty sure Blaise wouldn't notice if the squid hopped out of the lake and started dancing the fandango.
There were Potty and Weasel, looking mutinous and talking with their heads close together, every once in a while shooting him and Zabini dark looks. The Mudblood didn't look too happy either, but she was bent over the basket, pretending to be busy laying out food for them all.
But that discomfiting look was gone quickly, covered over with a sweet smile. "Blaise," she greeted the boy, who stammered something out in return. Did that boy have it bad or what. "Malfoy." Her voice was chilly and flat, just short of actually being offensive. He met her gaze directly, and favored her with a small smirk.
"Miss Weasley. I'd say I'm charmed but…" he shrugged elegantly - he knew that shrug was elegant, he'd practiced it in front of the mirror enough times - and went on, "I'm not."
"Draco, darling," the Mudblood said, all but spitting the words. She was regretting her hasty plan now, that was obvious.
"Malfoy," Potter said, his voice even flatter than Ginny's had been, but his eyes burned angrily. "Zabini." The elder Weasley just glared at him. Perhaps Weasley the Elder liked to think of himself as the strong, silent type, Draco reflected privately. He wasn't strong, but the silent part was just fine with him.
And was that a note of jealousy he had detected in Potty's voice when he greeted Blaise? Why, yes, it did appear to be. The boy looked like his girlfriend had left him for a blast-ended skrewt. Was that the case? He watched Ginny Weasley out of the corner of his eye as he sat down. She was flirting a bit with Blaise, who looked like Christmas had come months early, but she didn't seem particularly interested in him. She was making an impression on Potty, though, that was for sure.
He snagged a pie that the Mudblood had put out and lay back on the blanket to eat it. Not only had her plan gone completely wrong, she had handed him the keys to bringing down half of Gryffindor. Oh yes, this was going to be a fun year.