Picking Flowers

| VI | A Know-it-all Afterall

Ginny had never felt more resolute. From the snug cardigan she had donned against the increasing chill of the castle, to the tightly tied laces on her runners--Ginny knew she had to do something. She marched straight into the library that evening, Malfoy wandering uninterestedly behind her. But it didn't matter how much interest he showed in this. It was her mission, anyway. She found an empty corner with table and chair where she quickly dropped her things--a small satchel containing a couple rolls of parchment, a few quilles and two full inkpots. She was ready to buckle down and do some research on ghosts.

It was harder than she thought. The Hogwarts library was very good for many reasons. For one, it was possibly one of the biggest wizarding libraries in Britain, if not the biggest. It contained a wealth of information on a wide variety of topics, a variety so wide that one often found things one did not expect. It was a wonderful, quiet place; very good for studying or researching or just leisurely reading. Despite this, and despite Madam Pince's best efforts, it was not the most orderly of places. Ginny knew that she might spend hours among the shelves, searching for just one book on her chosen topic--and that, of course, was unacceptable. She needed information fast; not just for Malfoy's sake--and of course she was trying to help him, no matter what a ponce he was--but for the sake of her sanity, as well. She might go crazy if she was forced to spend too much time with a person no one else could see. A person she, essentially, was not fond of in any way, shape or form.

She had to find a way to get rid of him.

She walked among the maze of stacked books, intent on her task. Malfoy lounged around nearby, watching her with, what Ginny now realized, were frightfully unnerving eyes. Ever since this morning, she hadn't been able to look him in the face. It didn't matter. This was for his own good. She felt a smile threaten her lips as her eyes finally, at long last, scanned over a title that might be of some use. Understanding the Undead by Gertrude Ghossy. It probably had all sorts of drivel on vampires and zombies, but she would see what she could find in there before searching out any other tomes.

The book was remarkably heavy. It weighed her arms down leadenly, and Ginny glared discretely over at Malfoy, who seemed to be studying a shelf not far down the aisle. Well the git could have helped a bit, couldn't he? She returned to her table, straining against gravity that seemed to tug the book downwards. It wasn't even that large, really. Leatherbound and unobtrusive, she probably never would have picked it up if she hadn't been in such a situation--being haunted, and all. She sat, fixing herself comfortably, and opened the book.

She found it very difficult to understand anything she read. The writing upon the cream parchment was legible, despite being a slight scratchy, but her eyes simply would not stay on the page. Malfoy prowled about the vicinity restlessly, scowling into the air for no reason. Despite herself, she followed his movements closely, wondering how a person so filled with life and energy could possibly be dead. But she couldn't question it anymore--she knew he was dead. Everything pointed to it. It was a question she had to leave behind as answered, though for some reason the answer did not sit well with her.

Finally, Malfoy stopped his relentless pacing. His eyes moved towards her, and Ginny hurriedly looked away. In the next moment, he was behind her, peering over her shoulder at the book she had on the table. She felt her hair rise on end as he leaned in close, his breath nearly tickling her ear. And then he was on the other side of the table, seating himself irritably. He looked at her blandly.

"Exorcism, Weasley?" he asked, shortly, gesturing towards the page she had unwittingly flipped to. Ginny stared down, surprised. She was almost at the end of the book, and she hadn't read a word. Her finger traced the outline of the page, reading the bold letters near the top. Chapter 66: Everyday Exorcism. She shut the cover promptly. For some reason, her cheeks flushed with shame. She studied his edge of the table and could see his fingers tapping impatiently. There was no way she could look him in the eye.

The silence seemed to stretch.

"Why are you researching this kind of thing, anyway? Don't you have homework to do?" She did have homework to do. Lots and lots of neglected homework. But there was no way she could do schoolwork while the ghost of a Malfoy, visible only to her, dumped cold liquids over her head and the heads of her friends. There was no way she could concentrate on anything but the way she had seen the sunrise through his nonexistent body, no way she could fight the peculiar feeling that gripped her when she thought of it. "Well?" he said again, his voice sharp.

"You can't stay like this forever," she said, trying to sound confident. "And there's no way I could tolerate you forever," she added, as an afterthought.

He pressed his lips together into a thin line. Ginny wondered if she had offended him. Instead of saying something caustic, however, he got up. Without sparing her a backward glance, he trotted away into the depths of the library.

Alone, now, with the book that she had picked out, she looked down at it, wondering why it felt so hard to open again. She stared at it almost hatefully for a few minutes. Everyday Exorcism? Who was she kidding? This was a hopeless venture and she knew it. She rose, leaving the book on the table and gathering her things. She should just leave.

"Where are you going, Weasley?" She spun, surprised to see that Malfoy was back. He held a stack of sizable books in his arms, and he was watching her in the strangest fashion.

She turned away. "I'm tired," was all she managed. She tried not to run as she left.

Malfoy did not visit her that night.

The walk towards the library felt like the longest walk of her life. Her last class of the day just done, Ginny had suffered an awful Monday. Nothing about it had been particularly outsandingly terrible, but for some reason she knew that it was terrible nonetheless. She had not seen Malfoy all day. Lost in a large crowd of first years, she tried to convince herself that she was not worried about him. She was just going to the library to do some research for her Charms essay. She was not looking for him.

She scrubbed her hand tiredly through her hair as the first years disappeared around a corner. The noisy enthusiasm that had come with them left, leaving the hall and Ginny perfectly empty. She hated Malfoy for making her like this. If she didn't see him at least once in a day, she started thinking that maybe she was crazy. Was he real? Was she real? Was this all some maddening dream? She continued her trek to the library.

He was at the same table she had vacated last night, his head propped up on his hand as he sat, engrossed, in a book. There was something strange about seeing him like this, obviously fascinated with something he was reading. Malfoy...reading. She had heard he was a good student, mostly from Ron and Harry who were both constantly at a loss as to how his grades could be almost as good as Hermione's. But she had spent a lot of time in the library and never once had she seen him there. Reading did not seem like something the likes of Malfoy would engage in.

He looked up when she took the chair across from him. His face betrayed nothing upon seeing her and he, as though she had not disturbed him at all, returned his gaze to the book in front of him. She bent, shuffling in her bag for a moment before bringing out her half-finished Charms essay. That was what she had come to work on, after all. She opened her Charms textbook in her lap, so as not to take up too much of the table space, and promptly began to write. The essay was due tomorrow.

The time seemed to pass quickly, and she became utterly absorbed in her work. Her hand began to ache and the quille she was using became worn down. Her inkpot was almost empty. Charms was not her favorite subject, that was for sure, but the subject matter for the essay had her spellbound. No time seemed to have passed before she laid down her quille, the essay complete before her. She sighed in satisfaction. She had not been that focussed in a very long time, and it felt good to have finished something.

Flexing her hand, she looked up to see Malfoy staring quite blatantly at her. He blinked and said nothing, but Ginny could not possibly allow the silence to continue.

"What are you reading there?" she questioned, gesturing to the now closed book beneath his hands. It was evident that he had been finished for quite some time. He looked down at the book as though he had forgotten it was there.

"Defensive Magic Through the Ages by Leonidus Redfellow," he said, making a face, "It did not live up to my expectations at all."

Ginny almost laughed. Here she was, sitting across from Malfoy in the library talking about how the book he had just read did not live up to his expectations. She could almost forget that he was Draco Malfoy. And that he was irrevocably, irreversibly dead. Ginny saw his eyes quickly scan the parchment she still had in front of her.

"Your handwriting is atrocious, by the way, Weasley," he stated. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Thanks for that," she replied sarcastically, "Your opinion means the world to me."

"I know it does," he said cockily, arching one of his fine, golden eyebrows, "Otherwise you would not have come searching for me today." Ginny sputtered, taken aback. "See? Even in death my charm is much too great for you." Ginny shook her head, denying him while somehow intent on ignoring him. Was he teasing her?

There was a brief, easy silence--much too easy for Ginny's comfort.

"I've been thinking," Malfoy said suddenly. His voice seemed strained for some reason. "I've been thinking about what you said yesterday, Weasley." She looked at him to find him watching her with that same blatant look on his face. Nothing about his expression could give her any hints as to what was going on in his head. She found it incredibly frustrating for some reason, and grew impatient when his pause stretched too long.

"And...?" she urged, sounding more irritable than she felt. He'd been thinking about what she'd said. She could hardly believe such a statement, coming from his mouth, but she might as well find out how he saw it all.

He shot her look, and in it Ginny saw something that, unconsciously, made her sigh in relief. Resentment--all the resentment he had harboured towards her and her family--it was still there behind this awkward facade of civility they had put up. She was glad, she told herself--very glad.

"Ginny?! Who are you talking to?"

Ginny spun around, her eyes wide. There, just beyond their table, was Hermione Granger, a pile of books in her arms and her face filled with concern.

"No one!" Ginny said, hastily, "I'm just working, that's all."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and Ginny could not help but think that they were filled with suspicion. "Are you...alone?" Hermione asked, approaching the table somewhat cautiously. Ginny looked towards Malfoy, who was sitting stock still. It seemed that he was extremely uncomfortable with being invisible to everyone else but her. If he tried to get up, though, Hermione would see the chair move.

Ginny nodded to Hermione, "Yes, of course. There's no one here, is there?" Malfoy sneered at her, as though offended by the way she brushed off his existence, but Ginny was not paying attention. The brown-haired girl's bushy head had never seemed so intimidating.

Hermione dropped her heavy armful onto the table, and looked at the chair Malfoy currently occupied. Ginny's stomach clenched when Hermione made no move to take it. Did she know? Could Hermione see him, too? Hermione remained standing, and she eyed something on the table thoughtfully.

"Defensive Magic Through the Ages?" she questioned, picking the book up and inspecting it, "I've never read this one. Is it good?"

"It didn't...live up to my expectations," Ginny replied after some hesitation, and couldn't help a small smile in Malfoy's direction. He was smirking.

Ginny looked up to see that Hermione had followed her eyes. She now stared exactly at the place where Malfoy's head should be--but Ginny realized now that all Hermione saw was empty space.

"Anyway, Ginny," Hermione said, redirecting her eyes, "I needed to talk to you about that incident Saturday morning." Hermione's intelligent brown eyes seemed wrought with curiousity.

Ginny's breathing hitched, and, despite herself, her foot began to tap beneath the table. "What about it?" she asked, fully prepared to lie her way out of this. Should she tell Hermione what was going on? No, the older girl would undoubtedly admit her to St. Mungos.

Hermione paused a moment, glancing yet again to the seemingly vacant chair across from Ginny. She still did not sit. "You know, I've had a lot of run-ins with Peeves over the years," Hermione explained, "He's really never up to any good. And I know everyone believes that Peeves is the one that caused what happened to you and Colin on Saturday but...I don't think it was Peeves at all."

Ginny found she was holding her breath. Trust Hermione to come up with some other explanation--an explanation that was likely closer to the truth than either Ginny or Malfoy wanted.

"See, I've thrown my fair share of items at Peeves--and seen a whole variety of items thrown at him. Slippers, inkpots...books. Really, you grab whatever's avaible to get him out of your hair." Hermione was frowning, her nimble fingers playing with the binding on the book she still held in her hands. "But," and she looked right at Ginny now, "No matter what I've thrown, it's never bounced off of him."

Ginny released a breath, but none of the tension left her body. "What are you trying to say?"

"Well," Hermione said, tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear, "The culprit wasn't Peeves. It was someone--or something--else. Ghosts and poltergeists like Peeves and Nearly Headless Nick; material objects go right through them. That's how they go through walls and ceilings and such. Whatever poured that milk on you, it wasn't one of the spirits that haunt Hogwarts."

Oh, but it was. If only Hermione knew she was within inches of Malfoy's ghost; a new ghost to haunt the halls of the castle, perhaps not like one she had ever read about or experienced. Ginny was silent. Hermione took it as reason to worry.

"Are you sure you're alright, Ginny? Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Nothing at all," Ginny replied, trying her best to act as brightly as she could. If Hermione legitimately found out about Malfoy's current way of existing, what would she do? Would she be able to offer the answers to all of the questions Ginny wanted to know? If only there were some concrete way of proving to another person that he really existed.

"Well, I'm going to go check these books out, then," Hermione said, a small smile on her face, "See you later!" And then Hermione did something very strange. While reaching down to gather the books, her right hand flung out rapidly in Malfoy's direction. Ginny saw his entire being shimmer as her hand went through his chest, a look of the purest disgust on his face as he pushed away from the scene, toppling the chair he'd been sitting on. "Oops," the other girl said, her smile now tight. She looked knowingly, and not unkindly, at Ginny. "If you need me, don't hesitate to ask." And off she sauntered toward the library entrance and Madam Pince's desk.

"That--that filthy--" Malfoy cut off, sneering nastily at her back as he brushed off his robes, harshly, as though he were also trying to brush away the parts of him Hermione's hand had gone through.

Ginny eyed speculatively. "She means well. She might even be able to help us." He flashed her a dangerous look. "I mean, concerning your condition. Hermione knows a lot of things. She could probably recommend me a book or something."

The young man before her grimaced. "Listen, Weasley," he said, his voice low, "I don't want anyone knowing about this. If, by some miracle of Merlin, I were to actually be alive..."

Ginny understood. Some part of Malfoy had not really given up on life yet. All of the things he had been doing with her these past few days--pulling her toes, pouring milk over her--if he were to come back from whatever state he was in, he would not want to have to acknowledge that they had happened. The only reason he was really here was because, if he wasn't, he existed to no one but himself.

"How did you die?" she asked suddenly, blurting the question out before she could even process what she was saying. It had been on her mind for a while now--Dumbledore had only called it a 'terrible and tragic accident', and Madam Pince had not said anything. Ginny knew he had died on the Quidditch pitch, because that was what he had told her. But she could not fathom how such a thing had happened to Malfoy, who rode his broom like birds ride the currents--flawlessly, perfectly.

But she knew almost immediately after it left her mouth that it had not been the right thing to ask. Malfoy's lower jaw twitched in some kind of repressed fury. "It's none of your business," he said, quietly--and Ginny had a flash of real fear. This was the Malfoy she had caught a glimpse of before--briefly, when she'd seen the resentment in his eyes--but now she saw him fully before her. Malfoy was still Malfoy, no matter how much he pulled her toes or pinched her bum.

Ginny was just leaving the library when Luna and Colin accosted her. They both appeared to be glowing.

"What are you two on about?" she questioned, realizing how exhausted she was when she heard her own voice. She glanced surreptitiously behind her, hopeful, for some reason, that Malfoy had followed her out. He hadn't.

"Oh, its so exciting, Ginny!" Luna said, smiling dazedly. The way her head shook caused the small, hairy earrings she was wearing to shiver oddly. Ginny wondered if they were something alive.

"Don't give it away!" Colin broke in, shooting Luna a stern but amused look. "Now Ginny, can you guess what we're doing on Thursday night?"

Ginny shrugged. "Homework?" Colin and Luna glanced at each other in disbelief.

"Should I slap her, or should you?" Luna asked, quite seriously.

Colin rolled his eyes. "We're picking what you're to wear on Saturday, idiot!"

It took Ginny a moment to realize what they were talking about. "Oh! Hogsmeade; I almost forgot." Luna and Colin once again exchanged glances. "I suppose that's fine. Honestly, though, what's all the fuss about? I can't think of any reason I shouldn't go to Hogsmeade wearing my bathrobe."

"It'd be far too cold for that, dear," Luna stated, her blue eyes wide and sincere.

"And you'd look stupid, even if there wasn't such a fabulous reason to look good as Luna and I have procured for you."

"So you're obviously not telling, then?" Ginny prodded, curious despite her tiredness.

"Our lips are sealed," Colin said happily, and Luna slid her fingers across her lips as though zipping them shut.

Ginny sighed, but couldn't help a smile at her two best friends. Whatever Colin and Luna had 'procured', she knew it would be good.

Author's Note: And on it goes...This story is turning out far longer than I had anticipated. It's all that blasted development that's keeping me from writing a good lemon! And yes, there will be a lemon or a semi-lemon or something (or two!) in this story. I couldn't call it complete if there wasn't. Originally it was supposed to be this short, fast little thing I did to get over a plot bunny and mild writer's block, but now I think I like it far more than that.

I hope everyone is enjoying it! Thanks for the super reviews, and expect chapter seven soon!

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