Ginevra – Oh, my bad – Ginny Granger arrived a week ago, and the news was quick to spread to the whole school that Granger had a second cousin who just joined fifth year.
Second cousin my foot. She looked more like a descendant of Dumbledore – red hair, the whole let's-hate-Riddle philosophy, fierce secretive glares that no one seemed to notice, and getting along with the other three houses as well as being immensely popular in Gryffindor.
At least, this time Abraxas shared my suspicion and open dislike. Actually, none of the Slytherins liked her, but grudgingly got along with her because she was related to Granger.
In a way, Abraxas had it for her worse than I did. And not in a good way.
He had bothered to approach her the day after the Sorting Hat ceremony. She'd been standing with Granger, alone and whispering, and Malfoy had dragged me along.
"Hi." He extended his hand and flashed her a charming smile that girls just swooned over. "I'm Abraxas Malfoy." He'd always felt the need to mention his last name – while someone could argue he did it for the popularity or to spark fear, Abraxas didn't really like his surname. But he'd grown to admit it was a part of him, and he accepted it as often as possible.
Even mentally, I couldn't call the fifth year "Granger."
So, as I was saying, the red head hissed.
In my opinion, she fitted more into Slytherin than Granger did. To come to think of it, so did Dumbledore – manipulative and hissy.
"I beg your pardon?" Abraxas truly thought she was ill. No girl in the right mind would respond to him like that, even the toughest of Gryffindors. It was hilarious. "Are you not well – "
"Don't touch me."
Oh, lord, she was shaking. I thought it was temper at first, but she seemed genuinely afraid. Apparently Granger caught on, too. "He's not him, Ginny," she said gently, stroking the other girl's hair. "He's not him."
She turned away.
And that, young wizards, was the first time Abraxas had been rejected by a girl. Poor boy sure did take it hard.
"What an infuriating, insolent wench!"
Ooh. Abraxas badmouthed someone.
"Must run in the family," I said mock solemnly.
"She can't be a Granger. We gave them that name. Neither are Grangers." He paused. Do you think she's Dumbledore's love child?"
"Are you implying you hate him?"
He coloured. "You tend to rub off on people who get to know you."
Ooh. Abraxas (almost) badmouthed someone again.
The only proper thing that the flame child had done was her encounter with Avery.
"Hey." He leaned against a wall. He usually was the last person to talk to a Gryffindor, but this was Granger's cousin we were talking about. That absolutely meant anyone even closely associated with Granger was awesomecoolio (except other Gryffindors. And do note sarcasm).
The younger girl took a deep breath, which either meant she was trying to calm down or was code for Oh-God-why-me.
He looked her up and down, and I had to admit, she was nice to look at. She kept her hair neater than her supposed cousin. "I'm Maddex."
She laughed into his face.
I was biting back a grin, as were many stand-bys like me. Avery, only a few feet away, looked absolutely horrified.
"Ma-m- mad," she said in between her fits of hysterics, "Mad – ex? Like, an insane ex?"
He fumed. "Double d's."
She snorted, and fell into bouts of laughter again.
Granger, though, was turning very pink. I wondered what she was thinking at that moment. Avery regarded her.
"Hermione," he whined. Honestly, why hadn't she slapped him yet? "Coming to Potions or not?"
"With you? Why would she? I don't think so," her cousin said nastily (I mean it. Avery was a dork, and Avery was evil, but no one who could have known him unless based on rumours had the right to judge him. It wasn't about good or bad, it was just fair).
"No one asked you," Avery retorted. "Honestly, Hermione, I do wish you'd pick your friends more carefully. Gryffindors? It's unbecoming."
"She can't pick family, dumbass. What, do we have to explain how babies are made to you now?"
Avery, pureblood to the T, swore at her violently.
…And ended up getting hexed and landed in the infirmary. Ginevra Granger received quite an undeserved detention from Slughorn, who just happened to pass by. I swear, he just pops up creepily.
(He's got nothing on Dumbledore, though.)
(Creep.)
Granger, though, was being sickeningly sweet. She apologised to Avery on behalf of her cousin and called a truce (though I don't know how it's a truce when the other person involved hasn't agreed to it). She also begged forgiveness from the Ravenclaw seventh years for not being able to make it to the Hogsmeade trip.
I and Abraxas discussed this. Ginny Granger had arrived the very next day – and from the same place Granger hailed. Did she mentally note the spots where the magical portals could open in, when we had done the spell the other morning? Or had the redhead come in the same library style?
Abraxas seemed upset at the thought of Granger still pursuing operation Kill Riddle, but he was foolish to have expected someone to change from Immamurderhim to Immabecomehisfriend. I very rarely exercised the slavery advantage of the Promise spell – but only because I didn't want to allow it to consume me. It was tempting, wanting the spell for extreme purposes. Whenever I thought of the slavery spell, my mind flied to evil thoughts.
Making her ruin her own life, making her ruin Dumbledore – that sort of thing. Sometimes, I admit, I even thought of sexual favours – ultimately leading to the desire to humiliate her. I didn't know if it was hatred, or dare I say, envy. But the Promise quickly acknowledged the fact she made me uneasy, and twisted this line of truth to suit its dark ways.
Instead, I forced her to tell everyone that she was my friend – were they to ask. (I repeat, more tact than Avery).
Not only was it a stupid way to use a slave, it also struck me as weird that she could be forced to lie to others, but she had the liberty to hide her secrets from me when I asked. I had truly not looked that deeply into the spell – just the basic terms – and I carefully noted to do this later.
Of course, the flame child could not openly try to kill me, because the first person to know about her plans or notice changes in her behaviour would be Granger, and the spell included her having to tell me when I or Abraxas were targeted by someone. If she did know, that is.
Not to mention I wasn't defenseless against a lousy fifth year.
Though, she wasn't all that lousy, I admitted to myself thoughtfully. Not as efficient as Granger – I had to stop complimenting her intelligence, it made me feel just a bit insecure – but she was as smart as fifth years went (my fifthyeardom don't count). She got along well excellently with Bolarden, and this gained the respect of the girls and even some of the boys, though they never admitted it because of Avery's hostility towards her.
Until dinner, of course.
She'd come to the Slytherin table, and sat calmly between Granger and Bulstrode.
Abraxas really could hold grudges if he tried.
"Becka," he said sweetly, "Tom wants to talk to you about Potions."
She blushed furiously. She didn't fancy either one of us or anything. She just did this whenever she looked like she wanted to voice out her opinion, but was too shy to. While I'd have called it spineless on some days, sometimes it was a smart move to not get involved.
Today, I could completely imagine what was going through her mind. Tom bloody Riddle , the Potions freak, is sitting next to Hermione bloody Granger, also the Potions freak, and Riddle would want to talk to me about Potions?
But she got up without a word, and Abraxas plopped beside the Fiery One.
Immediately, all the girls in the table hissed.
Welcome to Slytherin, Lioness cub.
She had turned an amusing shade of red. It actually seemed like Septimus Weasely Syndrome.
"I must apologize, Ginevra," he said charmingly, "We had a very unfortunate start. How did your first week here go, Ginevra?"
She gritted her teeth. "Haven't you heard from your friends? I don't like being called Ginevra."
"Oh, of course! Sorry, Gin."
She stopped gritting her teeth, and turned her head very, very slowly to him. "Don't call me Gin."
"Sure thing, Gin."
"No one calls me Gin," she spat. "No one except- " She stopped.
He leaned in with exaggerated interest. "Except who?"
"Friends. Except friends."
He snorted. "Right. Because you stutter on that word. It is oh so difficult to pronounce "friends." Except who, Gin?"
I stared in fascination. I'd seen worse, I honestly had, but Abraxas was being crueler than I thought he was capable of today. Was his pride that vulnerable? I failed to think how he would act if he were openly against Muggleborns.
She was the only one who didn't seem startled at the table. She didn't know he wasn't always this annoying, after all. "How's your Mum doing, Malfoy?" She said sweetly. "Being a blonde bimbo and sleeping around as usual? Was it twenty, or was it twenty one business associates? I can't seem to remember."
"Ginny!" Hermione chided, appalled, the same moment I hissed, "Watch your tongue, wench."
Malfoy didn't say a word. He just turned his face to his soup, his expression calm and otherwise unreadable. "Pass the salt, would you, Avery?"
The other obeyed, his expression one of shock and awe.
Abraxas tilted the salt bottle – it occurred to me that he could have simply summoned the salt with magic – and said distractedly, "I'm afraid it's quite inappropriate for a girl like you to believe rumours like that."
I supposed he had expected to get a rise out of her for the "girl like you" bit, but she reacted differently. "Rumours?" she sneered, and continued patronizingly, "I know the truth is very hard to swallow, but Malfoy darling, grow up and look at reality when She's fucking other men in front of your father's eyes!" she sighed dramatically, and asked in a mock curious tone, "Is he in Azkaban yet? What happened to your Mum, by the way? Oh, don't worry, I've heard that the effects of a powerful Cruciatus curse doesn't last…after death."
"Very inappropriate," his voice raised an octave, "And I highly doubt if anyone could tolerate you. Do you have a boyfriend? I bet he committed suicide."
Girls gasped at the insult (it was sickening how their lives revolved around a man's attentions. I was no equalizer, but surely there were girls who wasted raw talent), but for the Grangers, it seemed to mean something else entirely. The red head froze, while Granger was whispering, "Oh my God, You've got to be kidding," half a dozen times under her breath.
The younger girl gave him a tight smile. "Spot on, Malfoy," her voice oddly lifeless. "I'm good at divination myself, but I guess you're a better teller of the past." She also whispered something that started like, "Or should I say-" and I didn't catch the last bit.
She stood up, evidently holding back tears. "I'm going back to my table, Hermione." And left.
Abraxas still seemed very calm, and a little indifferent, but I knew better.
He was feeling like shit.
Granger spoke in the end. Not whispering, either.
"I'm not going to poke my nose in your business, or Ginny's," she said, "But do know that she's been through much, much more pain than you'll ever see in your life."
"She said shit about –"
"I don't care. Sorry, Abraxas."
"How was I to know –"
"I don't give a fuck," she said firmly. The table fell silent.
"Hermione, you shouldn't swear," Avery said seriously. "You're a girl."
For a moment, I thought she was going to murder him. But she just sighed tiredly and said, "Not now, Maddex."
And that moment I realised that even the most unexpected people responded well to true affection.
"Okay, Hermione," he said in a gentle tone I'd never heard him use before. It made him sound older, and wise. Abraxas, too, couldn't help but murmur an apology, which was graciously accepted.
So what was wrong with me? Why couldn't I accept her?
Because you haven't tried to, my conscience chortled.
LEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEFTYLEF TYLEFTYLEFTY
In the next Charms class, I seated myself next to her. Surely Becka Bulstrode could sit somewhere else.
(That's what you get if you can't even defend yourself. Some people just had to learn the hard way.)
"Hey."
I had tried to sound cheerful, but it obviously didn't work because she turned to me with a confused look and said, "Are you unwell?"
I grimaced. "Took a shot at sounding friendly."
She snorted, but smiled at me. I supposed she was trying to assure me she was teasing.
It felt weird.
(A nice kind of weird. Not "Dumbledore is going to frame me for something I didn't do" weird.)
(I have got to stop referencing him.)
The Professor certainly was taking her time.
"So Malfoy mad at you, too?" she said conversationally. I didn't know what she understood when he'd already apologised to her. Did he have to give a written apology to show her he wasn't angry?
"No. I wanted to sit here."
She looked at me then. Direct eye contact.
It wasn't that uncomfortable the first few seconds, but then I felt like there was another presence in my mind. I felt as uneasy as the first time I'd made eye contact with her. It seemed like well concealed Legilimency; but she couldn't possibly do it wandlesssly, could she? At sixteen, too.
"How old are you?" I asked.
"Seventeen." The moment she answered, the discomfort of her stare vanished.
I started. "They never get ages wrong in Hogwarts. And you're smart enough to be elected as Minister of Magic. Ministress." I paused. "Shit, you weren't supposed to know that."
She giggled, and looked at me with something akin to amazement.
"What? I can make jokes," I said defensively. "Albeit feeble ones."
"Yeah."
And so I learnt to forget asking suspicion laden questions and converse comfortably, and almost felt disappointed when the Professor arrived.
A/N: I just want to know, do you think the length of the chapters are fine? If not, why? I may or may not pay heed, but I'm trying hard to write one decent fic. Please Read and Review! Also, does it bother people that I don't have a disclaimer?