Sorry for the horrendously long wait but I had massive writer's block for a while, and then as soon as I got to writing again, I got sick. I wasn't able to get to my computer for over a week because of it but I'm finally back to writing now. Anyways, just a few announcements:
Pami comes back in chapter 19 :)
The next update will only take a few days, vs. over two weeks *winces*
Thanks to everyone for sticking with the story and I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter!
Ginny glanced up from her parchment, blinking owlishly, as the sound of the bell echoed through the mostly deserted room. Is it seven o'clock already? she thought with a sigh. Time sure does fly, I guess. To bad it seems to do it only when I want it to slow down, or better yet stop altogether. Tonight was her first night of detention with Draco in the greenhouses and she was dreading it more with every passing second.
Why did I have to pick that night to wander the corridors after hours? she thought with a groan. Why couldn't I have just gone to bed and asked Hermione in the morning? I'm so stupid! Agh! And now I'm stuck with Malfoy for the next two and a half hours.
"Lucky me," she sighed glumly.
Reluctant to leave and have to face Malfoy again, she took her time in gathering up the scattered books and pieces of mostly empty parchment. Almost without even thinking, she stuffed the ones she wanted into her book bag and headed towards the librarian's desk. Madam Pinch glanced up with pursed lips, her expression disapproving. "Yes?" she asked tartly.
Ginny bit her lip to stop herself from making a sharp remark that would surely earn her another night of detention. The stuffy old lady was all the time getting on her nerves, but the Gryffindor always made an effort to control her temper—with the staff at least. The students were a different matter entirely.
Realizing that she had stood there glaring at the polished wood desk for a few seconds, Ginny snapped out of her musings and took a deep breath before sliding the books out so Madam Pinch could stamp them.
"If you get even an ounce of ink of them, I'll ban you from the library forever," the woman threatened stiffly. Ginny barely resisted the urge to make a rude gesture and hurried out of the library. For some reason, the librarian had never liked her. Of course, she did not like any student (save for maybe Hermione and a few of the more scholarly Ravenclaws) but Ginny seemed to be at the top of her list of "Most Disliked People on Earth."
As she walked, the Gryffindor began to mentally prepare herself for hours of torture. Just ignore him, she instructed sternly. Don't look at him, don't talk to him and for Merlin's sake, don't attack him! I'm in enough trouble as it is.
Draco felt remarkably cheerful after his conversation with Ginny. It was not because he had enjoyed his little talk with the Weaselette, Merlin knows that was about as painful as it got, but rather because he had finally gotten his sort-of-not-quite apology off his chest.
Ahh, it feels good to be innocent, he thought with a fake grin that resembled a wolf barring its teeth.
As he waited for Ginny and Professor Sprout to show up, the Slytherin thought back to what he had said to the Gryffindor in the library.
"You would have made a very interesting Slytherin, Ginevra…"
He had not meant to say it out loud and by the time he had realized he had, it was too late to snatch the words back. The only choice he was left with was to pretend that it had been on purpose. Maybe he pulled it off and maybe he did not. To be frank, Draco did not really care what she thought of him. Why would he? She was just a blood-traitor after all, no one important.
And besides, he had spoken true. She would have made an interesting House mate. Underneath that layer of idiotic recklessness and bravery was an intelligence far superior to the rest of her family—to the rest of her House as a matter of fact. No, it was not the kind of "book smarts" that Granger had. It was an innate Slytherin cunning that made her stand out—or blend in, depending on her intentions. She knew how people thought; she knew their weakness and strengths, their fears and desires. More importantly, she knew exactly what buttons to push to make them go over the edge.
But what frustrated him to no end was that she did not even use her natural abilities most of the time. No, the Weaselette put on her Gryffindor mask and acted like a good little girl whom no one would expect as having the means to draw out their every secret.
They were sort of similar, he supposed. They both had talents that set them apart from the rest but the one difference was that he chose to use his while she did not. It was so frustrating to see people waste their lives for a foolish cause. In her case, it was for that stupid Saint Potter. Just thinking his name set Draco's teeth on edge, and his wand hand twitched restlessly.
Although the Slytherin might not have the guts to actually kill his rival, he would still take the first opportunity to strike back at him and make him pay for all the pain and misery he caused him. Potter stole everything from him—his family; his good name; his Quidditch fame; his spotlight; and much, much more.
Though some may argue that Draco had never possessed any of those in the first place—save for his family perhaps, but even that was a sad sight to behold—but Draco knew better. He would have had all those things if Potter had not come along and taken them from him. Potter had always been the "It Guy," the one everyone talked about, even during their second and fourth year when many looked at the black-haired boy with suspicion and fear.
It had been impossible for Draco to stop himself from envying the power and respect the Gryffindor had commanded. So, when Draco could not find what he was looking for at home or school, he had turned to other sources.
That was when everything went wrong. He got in too deep and before he knew it, his life was completely ruined because of Him—the Dark Lord. Draco had grown up hearing about the dark wizard who terrorized the country for years but he had never really understood what made him so powerful before. At least, not until he experienced it for himself.
Fear.
Fear motivated people to do things they would otherwise never do, be it to ransack their grandfather's shop for money, to destroy entire families with one curse, to torture innocent children, or to go to Azkaban for the rest of their lives.
When you're that afraid, you'll do anything to save your own skin. Including murder, Draco thought grimly, remembering his own periods of mind-numbing terror. It's easy to say that you won't do those things when you and your family are safe and sound, but when you're in the middle of a war like that, the lines become slightly more blurred.
A bright flash of red in front of him jerked Draco out of his thoughts and he stumbled back with a half-muttered curse. "Great Merlin, Weasley. What're you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?" he demanded waspishly, brushing away imaginary lint from his robe as he attempted to calm his racing heart.
Ginny raised her eyebrows at him with a smirk. "Whatever works, Malfoy. Whatever works."
Before he could reply to that rather rude statement, the sight of Professor Sprout waddling down the path towards the greenhouses stilled his anger for the moment. "Professor," he said politely, hoping that his frustration did not show on his face. He had already gotten enough lectures from McGonagall to last him the rest of his life and he was not about to suffer through another one just because the Weaselette did not know when to keep her big mouth shut.
Just forget about her, he instructed himself stiffly. Just pretend she's not even here.
After greeting Ginny and Draco with a smile, the squat witch beckoned them into Greenhouse 1 and pointed towards a large clump of weeds in the back. "I'll give you two something easy to do tonight, since it's your first day and all. I need those weeds pulled up back there so I can ready the Abyssinian shrivelfigs for the second years. Oh, and please take care around the other plants. You might hurt them," she explained with a worried glance at a row of potted plants with wicked-looking thorns and vines that were whipping around restlessly. Once she confiscated their wands and showed them a selection of tools they could use, she nodded once to them and left.
All too soon Ginny was left standing beside Draco, rubbing her arm awkwardly.
Blimey, the tension in here could be cut with a butter knife, she thought to herself with a quick peek at the Slytherin. When he caught her eye, they both flushed faintly in embarrassment and he hastily grabbed the nearest tool Professor Sprout had pointed out to them.
The two went to work quietly, avoiding each other's eyes. Pulling on a pair of thick gloves that had been carelessly discarded on a nearby table, the Gryffindor knelt and began yanking up the hardy weeds
Meanwhile, beside her Draco was puzzled as to what he was supposed to do. What in blazes is this for? Draco wondered as he studied the tool in his hand with a critical gaze. It had a handle and three sharp prongs pointing out from the opposite end. When he had grabbed it, he had only been thinking of finding some excuse not to converse with Ginny, and now he had no idea what he was supposed to do with the thing.
It looks like it'd be good for cutting up those roots, he thought uneasily, eyeing the metal tips. Shrugging, he thrust it into the ground and began to drag it back and forth. It was messy, exhausting work, pulling weeds.
Before long, Draco had miles up dirt piled up under his fingernails. His perfectly groomed hair lost its shiny glow and wilted in the humid air inside the greenhouse. Strands of it sunk down over his eyebrows, causing the Slytherin to have to pause and swipe at them angrily.
Ginny once glanced over at him to see how he was coming along, and she nearly burst out laughing at the streaks of brownish-black dirt all over his face. Her own clothes and skin were remarkably clean, thanks to years of experience working in her mother's garden at the Burrow. He actually looks…human for once, she thought with a soft smile, turning back to her own patch of weeds.
The time passed slowly for the two, the strained silence stretching between them like a taunt cord. Any moment it could come to the breaking point and snap. However, Ginny was determined not to be the one who spoke first. She had been through enough embarrassing moments in her life—mainly due to her idiotic brothers—to know that it was best to keep her head down and plod on until it was over.
It seemed that the rest of their detention would continue this way, until one of the supposedly harmless weeds neatly sliced Draco's hand open with its razor-sharp edge. He jerked back with a startled cry and put his hand to his mouth.
"Bloody heck! What was that for?" he demanded angrily, not remembering that he was talking to a plant. Behind him he could hear Ginny's muffled chuckles and the sound infuriated him even more.
Poor Malfoy, foiled by a weed, Ginny thought, grinning mercilessly. If not for the darkly muttered oaths flowing from his mouth and the winces of pain on his face, she would have made a sarcastic comment about it. But her mother had raised her to be better than that and so, even though her entire being balked at the idea of helping him of all people, she tugged off her gloves and walked over to him.
"Here, let me see it," the Gryffindor offered reluctantly, reaching for his arm. Shocked at her actions, Draco snatched his hand back with a snarl. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked warily.
Ginny shook her head at him in exasperation. "Malfoy, I grew up with six brothers. Don't you think I know how to take care of cuts? Give me a break. I'm not going to infect you with some sort of disease or anything. But forget I said anything. Bleed to death for all I care," she replied dismissively, turning her back on him.
Fuming with indignation, Draco settled for staring at the back of her head, trying his utter best to burn a hole through it. Curse you Weasley, he growled. You have no idea how embarrassing this is for me. A freaking plant hurt me for Burgin's sake! And all you can do is laugh at me? I thought you were a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor. Hmph. Even a Slytherin would have tossed me a rag to bind it with or something once they finished chortling to themselves. But no! You have to act all high and mighty and ignore me.
A sharp twinge brought his gaze back down to his hand. By Salazar, it hurt! Those weeds may look innocent, but they burn like Fiendfyre, he thought to himself with a grimace, remembering his last and only encounter with the cursed fire.
Finally he could stand it no more and, having no wand to heal himself with nor any medical knowledge of what best to do, Draco stood in dignified silence and stalked over to Ginny.
Don't you dare say a word, he tried to project with his eyes as he thrust his arm towards her, not trusting his voice at the moment. It was likely that the words would come out wrong and he would end up insulting her again. At the moment, he could not afford to get on her bad side any more than he already was.
She looked up at him with a questioning look on her face. "Yes Malfoy?" she asked slowly, enjoying the growing anger in his eyes. It was so fun to make him mad.
Draco growled something unintelligent and said through gritted teeth, "Fix it Weasley." Snorting at his awkward way of asking for help, she shook her head in defiance. "Who do you think I am? Some kind of Mediwitch? Fix it yourself, you ungrateful prat." Save for the soft snapping and ripping of stems, the greenhouse was silent for a few moments. And then the one word Ginny had never expected to hear from him in her entire life registered in her ears.
"Please."
The Gryffindor slowly turned on her heels, her boots squeaking in protest. "What did you say?" she asked, her eyebrows arched as she looked him dead in the eye. Just as serious, he quietly replied, "You heard me. Now fix it."
With a hesitant nod, she took his hand and, ripping off a small corner of a spare handkerchief she had stashed away in her pocket, dabbed at the cut. Trying not to wince at the pressure, Draco stared off into the distance with a stiff expression on his face. It was clear that he found his current situation distasteful, to say the least.
He's not the only one, Ginny mused with a shake of her head.
The sensation of his pale, flawless skin against her rougher hand sent odd tingles shooting up her arm and infused her cheeks with an unwelcome warmth. The sheer smoothness of his palm astounded her. He was a Quidditch player like her and yet her own skin paled in comparison to his. Maybe he baths in goat's milk every night or something, she mused absently as she dabbed one last time at the cut.
Stupid Malfoy, getting himself hurt by a bloody plant. If it wasn't for him, I wouldn't be touching a pure-blooded bigot, Ginny thought darkly, her face heating up with every passing second.
Draco noticed her expression and, misinterpreting it as disgust, sneered at her scornfully. "What? Afraid to touch your superior? Don't worry, I'll be sure to decontaminate myself after tonight," he said arrogantly, the words flowing out of his mouth from mere habit.
It was strange hearing himself saying something he no longer wholly believed in. True, he still detested muggles and their strange ways, but he did not fully know where he stood on the issue of blood-traitors. The War had opened his eyes to the horrors of humanity, and he found that he could no longer look at people the same way as before.
Yes, muggles were a barbaric race at best, but so too were wizards. Take the Dark Lord, for example. His cause was right and just, and yet he stooped to using the vilest methods to achieve his goal. Others like Bellatrix and her dolt of a husband actually took pleasure in hurting their fellow brothers. Suffering and fear was what fed them. Without it they were nothing.
It was all so confusing for Draco. On one hand, his parents had raised him to believe in his own superiority. That belief had sustained him through his darkest hours and given him hope that it would not be for naught.
However, in the middle of the night, when his mind wandered lazily through shifting layers of half-truths, he found himself wondering if everything he had been taught was a lie. He had seen so much in his life, so many terrible things. Blood had been spilled at his feet, willingly or not.
But what made him pause the most was that when he saw how hard his enemies fought, how much they believed in their cause, he realized that his side was wrong. People were people, not matter the blood-type. Muggles were muggles and wizards were wizards. Half-bloods had a foot in each world, but was that really their fault?
If it had been up to him, Draco rather thought that he might have changed who his parents were. He might love them but he also hated them for helping to make him who he was. What would it have been like if he had been born to a muggle family? Although the thought made his stomach churn in disgust, it also made him think.
Would he have been any less of who he was now? How would he have looked at the world? Would he have been any more selfish and conniving than he was now? What really made a person who they were? Their surroundings? Their family? Their stations in life? Or did they forge their own character by the choices they made?
It was enough to send a shaft of ice shooting straight at Draco's heart. This is crazy, he thought with an inaudible gasp. Muggles are vile! Despicable! And the idiotic wizards who side with them are even worse! No, he realized slowly. That is what Father says. And I am not my father—not any more at least. He no longer controls my thoughts and actions. I am my own person and my thoughts reflect that. I…am changing who I am, even though it scares the heck out of me.
Ginny noticed that Draco had gone silent, his eyes dull and unfocused. Curiosity rose within her and begged to investigate, but she pushed it down sternly. Now was not the time to ask him any questions. Why, she did not know. Some part of her seemed to sense that he was mulling something over in his head, something important. Whatever the reason for her suppositions, she remained quiet and went back to gently cleaning the cut on his hand.
"There, all done," she remarked cheerfully a few moments later, having tied the last knot on the bandage. Draco blinked at her dumbly and looked down at his hand in confusion. "What?" he asked numbly, finally coming out of his daze. Shaking himself, the Slytherin tipped his head at Ginny slowly, a thoughtful frown on his face.
"Thank you," he forced out. "Really. Thanks."
After shooting him an odd look, Ginny hesitantly replied, "You're welcome Malfoy. Um, I'm just…going to get back to work I guess." And then, for the first time in far too long, Draco smiled. "Yeah. Me too."
