Chapter 15: The Masquerade
Hermione's Halloween Heartbreak?
Hermione Granger, longtime companion and rumored love interest of Harry Potter, has been reportedly consorting with Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater.
"I can't blame her," Hogwarts insider comments. "Potter's been parading the Weasley girl around like he's actually going to marry her when 'Mione's been there for him this whole time. It's insulting, honestly."
While Granger has often busied herself by championing various causes, one can only hope her forgiving nature is not being taken advantage of again, this time by a more polarizing figure. As a minor for most of his transgressions, Malfoy was allowed to return to school to carry out his year of magical probation, but given his dubious track record, and direct tutelage under the former Dark Lord himself, his intentions with the brightest witch of her age remain a concern to close friends.
"He can try and hide it all he wants, making nice with the Golden Girl and her friends, but frankly, I don't buy it. He's a Malfoy, through and through," our insider claims.
Meanwhile, current girlfriend Ginny Weasley is rumored to be adjusting to her newfound wealth very well. Despite turning down numerous endorsement opportunities, Miss Weasley was seen eyeing expensive acromantula silk dress robes in Hogsmeade this month, presumably for Hogwarts' upcoming ball. Rumors of an impending engagement have been unfounded so far, but if our sources are correct, she will likely be receiving a priceless Potter Heirloom very soon. Flip to page 37 for an album of Potter ladies throughout the years and their expensive jewelry collections!
.oOo.
Halloween, 1977
"Have you seen this yet?" Sirius called, holding the envelope in question above his head as he strode into the Head Suite that morning.
"For fuck's sake," James replied, scrambling over the island of their kitchenette to snatch the offending item from Sirius' hand. "Could you possibly get any louder? What if they had been here?" Sirius didn't bother stifling a laugh.
"Have you taken up writing love poems, again? Thought we were past that phase." He snatched a muffin from the spread Lily had evidently received from a House Elf she had befriended. "At least send them by owl, or something, mate. A gesture, you know?" At his friend's steeling expression, Sirius sobered. "They're still sending that rubbish then?"
"Resign or suffer the consequences, same old shite, yeah," James muttered, setting the note ablaze. He ran a hand through his hair, and Sirius watched as the ashes from the latest of many threatening letters fell into a neat little pile on their countertop. "You're keeping an eye on her, aren't you?"
"I'll be stuck to her side like the dashing date I am, obviously," he replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. When James had intercepted the first letter he had gone straight to Dumbledore, who had only and told him that choosing two Gryffindors for the head positions would always be a contentious decision, but James, the de facto leader of the Marauders and son of the well-liked and the wealthy, could perhaps take the lead on inter-house relations better than Lily could.
Thus, while James tried his best to schmooze with the Prefects, Peter had been dispatched to the dungeons to keep an ear out for anything truly nefarious, and when the letters began to ramp up in anticipation for the ball, Sirius agreed to act as her date. Of course, at the time, he hadn't expected his feelings about the girl and her ambitions to be quite so complicated. At first, Lily Evans and her crew appeared to be everything James convinced himself, and Remus only half-heartedly denied: self-important, straight-laced, brown-nosing, status-obsessed. But Lily, in her curious way, had picked apart his misgivings one by one, if through nothing else, her singular and unwavering belief in him (and herself), in how she was convinced that she and all she met were made of something extraordinary. It was a belief that turned students into advocates, and one day, he knew, a Muggle-born into a Minister. If anything was to be made of a displaced heir, she'd know how to do it.
"I still think you should just tell her, mate. Trust me, I know Lily-"
"You know her?" James asked, his voice tight. James had been doing such a good job expressing little more than a professional interest in Lily, Sirius had been almost convinced. "Then you should know she has enough on her plate already." James said, this time softer. "Besides, they're clearly amateurs if they thought Evans would let the sun beat her on her big day." He rolled his eyes. "She's been gone for hours."
Whether he ignored the note of tenderness in James' voice for Marlene or himself, he couldn't say.
"Well, we'd better head down if we expect any breakfast sausage to be left. Remus is already down there."
.oOo.
Halloween, 1999
Ginny Weasley took in a deep breath and bared her teeth, trying to keep her nails from digging into Harry's shoulder as they posed for a picture. Harry turned back to her with an inquisitive eye and she tried to arrange her mouth into more of a smile, shaking her head. She hadn't gotten the chance to talk to him since the article came out that morning, and she wasn't sure how he felt about it. To be honest, she wasn't sure how she felt about it either, other than lamenting to Hermione over why people even read this stuff.
"Well it's not like you've given them much of an option, Ginevra. The truth is infinitely more interesting to people than this drivel, and you give the good people nothing!" Hermione announced that morning, looking more amused than outraged as she read the salacious article in Witches' Weekly. "You just have to figure out which truth to tell."
That of course, with a wink and a promise that Hermione would handle it, landed them here, touring the castle with a woman they hated for a spread in a newspaper that, two years ago, had all but wanted them dead. But that was then, she reminded herself as Harry delighted Skeeter with the story about how the castle had stolen his glasses on the first day of rebuilding, only for them to pop up seemingly when he needed them most. This Harry, the one with who was playful and clever, existed strictly in the now.
"They were stolen, were they? You lost them, Har," she interjected, rolling her eyes with what Skeeter would later describe as "unmistakable affection poorly disguised as annoyance." Ginny had to admit, if she had been upset about the misrepresentation of their relationship, or her intentions, Hermione had the right idea. Of course, there was nothing Skeeter could do to realign the delicate balance Ginny had been trying so hard to preserve within the castle, Ron having stormed off from breakfast, Neville hot on his tail.
For his part, Harry had never been particularly keen on the press, but today, on a day where nobody quite knew whether to look at him with pride or pity, he seemed relieved to be talking about something other than himself. No battle, no parents, Hermione had told Skeeter, in exchange for the first press tour of the castle in decades with the Board of Governors and the de facto head boy and girl. Look at what we've put back together, his easy smile told the camera as he toured the grounds with pride, as if he couldn't quite find his glasses to look at how close they had come to losing it all.
Ginny, on the other hand, had always had always had good vision - Seeker's Eye, according to Colin, who had once elicited a promise that he would be the one to shoot her headshots for the Hollywood Harpies. The camera flashed, and it was third year - Ginny teaching Colin to fly one handed so he could take pictures of the crowds at the Triwizard Tournament overheard on his broom.
It flashed again, fourth year- Colin trying to convince Harry to let him take pictures of Umbridge's punishments because if he could only tell the story right, somebody was bound to care.
Colin, sixth year, his body not far from where they were standing, limbs at odd angles, his camera still dangling around his neck-
"One word, Miss Weasley, if you could, to describe how you're feeling?" Ginny paused, looking over at Harry. His glasses were crooked, and she wondered how he could see out of them at all.
"Normal," she replied with a bland smile. A version of the truth. "Although I may need to step out for some fresh air."
.oOo.
Draco Malfoy stood on the parapets, the petrified phoenix heart he had just procured sitting hot against his chest. It was a rarity, and entirely illegal, but he was convinced it was what was missing from the anti-venom potion that he, Patil and Granger had been working on for weeks, but had yet to get quite right. When he brought up the idea the night before, Granger answered his theorizing with her usual perfunctory warnings of risking his magical probation, but, perhaps a little wine drunk, she did not bother to hide the way her eyes glittered in delight. When Draco went to put his wand in his cloak that morning, he found his pocket had been charmed into what seemed like the inside of an endless purse of galleons. More than he could withdraw without arousing suspicion, and enough to cover the contraband.
It hadn't escaped him, of course, that while Padma and Hermione were flourishing in their new roles as researchers and friends, all he had done was lean on the same mistrust and questionable dealings that had gotten his family into this mess in the first place. Spiking a friend's wine with polyjuice-neutralizing potion wasn't something well-adjusted young men did, he knew, but was it so unforgivable, that a man used to treachery and to disrupt the peace would lean on the same tactics to try and preserve it? It was certainly easier than making amends, as his mother had commended him on through a letter when she caught wind of his new company. He wondered if she would still be so pleased when it had the Malfoy name being drug through papers once again.
It wasn't exactly true, either, that he had made amends. Made nice, maybe (or fine, made tolerable). It took Hogwarts, after just one night of battle, a whole year to be put back together. He wouldn't know where to start. Instead, one hand finding the handle of his wand and the reaching towards his breast pocket when he heard footsteps approach, he focused on what he could do. A right answer in return for the one he had been wrong about. A start.
"Malfoy," Ginny Weasley called out when she rounded the corner. "Are you always lurking about? Up to something dastardly, no doubt."
"I've had my fill of homicide on the roof of this castle, if that's what you're asking."
"Oh please," she replied, "it was half-hearted at best. Everyone knows you don't have the spine to make a decision like that."
Anger flared and then tempered as he looked at her expression. She hadn't been crying, but perhaps close to it, before they crossed paths, and he was impressed by the speed at which she pivoted to contempt. He didn't care to know how quickly it could switch to something more dangerous.
"Well I never finished my lessons, you know," he decided, thinking back to the article from that morning. "Dark Lord's tutelage and all."
Ginny looked at him, eyes wide, and then she laughed, a sharp and bitter bark that she cut off just as it became harder to distinguish from a sob. He turned away, trying to decide if he could leave, but he'd never hear the end of it from Granger if she found out. Plus, the two of them were very high up.
"Ah, fuck, I'm sorry," she said finally after collecting herself, voice hoarse from the cold.
"What for?" It was his turn to be surprised.
"About what I said. And the article. About following you too, at least some of the time. But some of it, I think, was justified."
At this, Draco grimaced. Neither she nor the article had been exactly wrong in their assessments, but things were different this time around.
""Look, Weasley, I don't know what sob story Granger told you-"
"She didn't tell me a sob story! I mean, she did, but that's not why…" Ginny turned towards the grounds, tucking strands of hair that had come loose from the wind back into her bun. Behind her ear was a scar Draco recognized from sixth year, after his father had been disgraced and the Carrows took to using him as target practice. "I remember what he was like. Tom, I mean."
It took Draco a moment to understand what she meant. When he did, he felt as though he had been struck.
"Have you gone mad?"
"Have I gone mad?" she asked. "Harry's in there doing the song-and-dance for Rita Skeeter and Ron's practically running a home for wayward junior Death Eaters, Hermione spends all her free time with you, and you're asking me that question?"
Fair enough, he thought, his stomach in knots as he thought of a rumor that it has been his father who introduced a first-year Ginny Weasley to Riddle. In the moment, he wasn't sure which of the men he hated more.
"Look Malfoy, you and I survived a war in this castle, but this, pretending like everything's supposed to be normal like you and I haven't done terrible things for a terrible person..." She took a single, shuddering breath before reigning herself in. "I just don't want him to control me anymore. Either of us."
Briefly, Draco imagined flinging himself from the parapets. His blood would probably be the brightest thing about him, if he even bled, of course. Perhaps he would just dissolve into the landscape.
"It's all I know," he answered finally, honestly. "Come on, Weasley," he said, cocking his head towards the dungeons. Perhaps he didn't have it in him to make amends, but potions…
.oOo.
Halloween, 1977
When Hermione realized that she was to skip her classes the day of the ball, she had hoped it would be because she and Alice and Mary were having a spa day, or that they'd lace each other up into their dresses and spend the entire afternoon curling their hair and setting up decorations. The things, she imagined, that well-liked, well-adjusted girls did before a big dance. Instead, she was woken up at an obscene hour by a swarm of little bells, that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere and followed her about.
"What are these?" she asked Lily, despairing, when she finally got a hold of her. Lily had only smirked and told her to pick one up, and Hermione was horrified to hear sobbing on the other end. She spent the rest of the day running across the castle at top-speed, at the beck-and-call of the bells and the crises on the other end. From dress repairs to last minute break ups, Lily, apparently, was the woman to call. It was beginning to make sense, the way the professors turned a blind eye to her truancy. Lily took on twice the responsibility anyone else in the castle did, and, according to Frank, who had admonished her gently when she came to lunch in a huff, was to act doubly delighted to do so. The real Lily, in a surprising show of generosity, coached her through it, telling her which unmarked notebook held her beauty charms, which girls had friends she could hand off to her friends and which she would have to take under her wing as she trekked from task to task.
"Why are you helping me?" Hermione asked, bewildered and exhausted.
"It's not for you, you half-hearted Apate incarnate," Lily spat. "It's for them." If Hermione never learned anything else about Lily Evans, perhaps this would be enough. "If you can find it in your heart to stay in Pandora's Box a night more before trying to murder them, anyways."
"Bloody hell, Lily!" she said, and the two girls laughed.
It was this kindness, the shift in how Hermione pieced together Lily's ambitions, and Hermione's sleep deprivation, that made her patience run especially thin when she finally faced off with the Head Boy.
"Is that Evans up there?" he shouted from outside her room. The two were, as tradition had it, responsible for giving a tour to the Board of Governors before the ball, and, as it was for any enterprising young woman, it was imperative that Lily made a good impression on the wealthy and philanthropic.
"Just one second," Hermione whispered to Mary, who was closest to the door. Frank had mercifully come by armed with notecards, and the two were running through talking points.
"We're getting ready, Potter," Mary replied blandly, and although they had been rushing in and out of the room the entire hour, it was abundantly clear that Mary, sewing needle in her hand and sequins covering her pajamas, was making no effort to get dressed. "A little privacy, would you?"
James sputtered, and Mary, unimpressed, opened the door wider. "If you're sticking around then, do you want to lace me up?"
"Into what, your trainers?" Hermione stifled a giggle when behind her, Alice whispered an incantation, and Mary's robes began to transfigure into a gown. "Oh, I suppose I didn't need the help after all. Are we done here?"
James, at least, had the decency to look impressed by the skill involved in the spell before scowling and tiptoeing over her. "Oh for fucks sake—Evans! " He called.
"Lit the place on fire already, have you? And without me, on top of it?" Sirius asked, strolling past Mary out of the room.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm always down for a little mayhem, Prongsy, you know that. Much more fun than whatever Head Wanker shite you're about to do. See you at the dance, Madame," he said, giving Mary a little bow and strolling off.
"I'm coming, damn it!" Hermione said, stepping out as Alice tugged a few strands out of her bun. "Sorry Potter, dress robes take a little longer for witches."
"They literally do not, Mary just fucking showed me— you know what, whatever, are you ready?"
If the situation weren't so fraught, Hermione would have found it comical, the way James quieted down when she finally came down the stairs. Lily chose (or Frank has chosen for her) a set of rich dark dress robes, around her waist was a plain dark green ribbon cinched with the scarab brooch Augusta Longbottom had sent. It was a classic but otherwise unremarkable choice, at least, until the charm they had worked in came to life, dark green threads splitting from the ribbon and running down the course of the dress, before settling into a gossamer-thin scarab detail. She looked pretty and clever, and most of all, pragmatic. Hermione supposed that was the point.
"A lovely choice, Lily," he said finally, clearing his throat. "Can we just get this over with?"
.oOo.
Next to Lily, who smiled warmly and and seemed to know all the right things to say, James Potter felt a little bit like a fool. Dressed in a three piece suit to complement Marlene's flapper costume, he knew they would make a perfectly irreverent and handsome pair. With the Board of Governors, however, his costume was not doing him any favors. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, who were stepping in for an ailing Abraxas, looked particularly disgusted with his choice of Muggle-inspired attire.
"What was it that you were looking to do after graduation Mr. Potter?" Lord Fawley asked as Lily rattled off the history of a portrait she had helped the school acquire over the summer.
James blinked, coming back to earth. What did he want to do? He and Sirius had talked about becoming Aurors, but that's what every graduating Gryffindor would say. Except for Lily and her friends, of course. What was that program they were always going on about? "Well, there's the Young Wizard's Wizengamot Fellowship, of course," he said. Next to him, he could feel Lily tense.
"Taken an interest in matters of the state, have you Potter? That's wonderful my boy! You remember Charlus back in the day, don't you?"
"Remember him? How could we forget? Still holds the record, although young Shacklebolt's come close. Tell me, son, how'd he do it?"
At this, James smiled. He had heard many-a-tale of how his father had managed to sneak his broom into under his invisibility cloak, and would whip past the other fellows to be the first to deliver new rulings to the press.
"Oh It's hardly a trade secret anymore, but it'd be easier to show you."
.oOo.
Hermione stood on the Quidditch Pitch and stewed. What a lovely witch you've become, Miss Evans, the stodgy old men had said. Such a far cry from your rambunctious years, do you remember the letter she wrote to us? You must have been just a third year then, but didn't you know it all?
"I'm certainly indebted to my Hogwarts education, sir," she grit out between her teeth. Frank had warned her the men were traditional, but this was nearly impossible. She'd have to have Alice teach her how to fly, so she could knock Potter off his broom for putting her in this position, or at the very least, not be stuck with Narcissa Malfoy. The two women stood in the cold, ignoring each other in impolite silence.
Just as Hermione was working up the nerve to just leave, Narcissa turned to her: "So he fancies you, then?"
"Potter?"
"What do I care of James Potter?" Narcissa scoffed, her upper lip curling in disgust. "I'm talking about your date."
This time, it was Hermione's turn to scoff.
"He's going as a favor to me, is all."
"Still so naive?" She said, and Hermione tried to place whether she sounded more impatient or unkind. "Things are changing, Evans, he can't go running around cutting ties and making enemies of Orion and Walburga Black. You should know better."
Was that what this was about? Sirius trying to emancipate himself?
"I didn't tell him to do that, firstly, and secondly, I don't see how either of us have a say in the matter. If anything, you should be talking to Marlene, or Sirius himself, frankly, unless he doesn't want anything to do with you now that you're not a Black."
"Don't be mistaken, Evans. Family might not mean anything to your kind, but to me-" she said, voice catching briefly. "To us." She corrected, clearing her throat. "I'll always be a Black, as should he, so just tell him I said to choose wisely, alright?" And, as an afterthought, she added: "and you as well"
"Fine, I'll tell him," Hermione replied, more out of surprise than anything else. "But I hardly have a say in the matter, do I? Not all of us are Sacred 28." At this, Narcissa rolled her eyes.
"You have more of one than you think. These men," she said, ring sparkling as she waved towards the men on brooms overhead "it's only ever been about a means to an end."
That, she knew, was true. The Half Blood Prince had made it past their purist picket fence, and of course, there was Voldemort himself. it had always been more about power than purebloods, but what a way to do it, Hermione thought grimly.
"You know I can't," she replied, suddenly saddened by the promise of upcoming brutality that would put a stop to Lily's machinations.
Narcissa looked at her with an inscrutable expression before reaching out to Hermione, tucking the strands of hair Alice pulled out back into her bun.
"Then quietly, Lily, "she said, a soft hand lingering on the side of her face. "Choose quietly."
Just as quickly as it had begun, the moment was over, and Narcissa did not spare her another glance.
.oOo.
"Taken an interest in the state, have we?" Hermione asked crossly as she and James took their final walk through the Great Hall before the doors opened. With the help of the Marauders, the sky had extended to just above their heads, starlight and rolling fog descending from the enchanted ceiling, leaving the hall beautiful and eerie.
"I'm sorry?"
"That was a shite thing for you to do, Potter. You don't give a damn about that Fellowship and we both know it."
"Last time I checked you don't have a monopoly, or frankly, even a claim to the Wizengamot, so I don't know why you're getting so pissy."
"I don't have a claim? Because why, I'm a Muggle-born?"
"That's not what I meant, Evans. It's just easier if you have a seat on the counsel."
"Do you even hear yourself talk?" At this point, it was clear that James was beginning to backtrack, insisting that Lily could handle a little bit of competition as his face began to redden, but it was too late. Hermione was already livid. "It's hardly a trade secret" she mocked from earlier. "For fuck's sake, Potter. They're going to choose you over me regardless of whether you deserve it, and you're playing a fool if you try and pretend otherwise." At this, Hermione stopped, realization cutting through the red haze of her anger. "This is why I can't stand you, isn't it?"
"Is that a question?" James asked incredulously, throwing his arms up. "And you know what Lily? Fine, you're right. They did like me better, but it wasn't because I'm a Potter, it's because they didn't need anything from you."
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you're fucking intolerable, and the only time anyone can stand you is when you're doing things for them! That's why Frank has you running ragged across the castle, isn't it?"
"I'm only running ragged because I've been cursed with the most entitled Head Boy in Hogwarts: A History! And if I'm so intolerable, why is it that I'm going to the ball with your best friend, and you're going with fucking Marlene, who looks about as hot for you as she is for Binns, by the way."
"Oh please, you think you've converted him, or something? Shown him the errors of his ways? Come off it, Lala, he's my best friend. I had to beg him to go to the dance with you."
At this, Hermione's face began to heat up. If that was true, then she had made no progress at all in Operation Get-Lily-and-James-Together. As if this argument hadn't made his disdain for her clear enough. Plus, Sirius' uncomplicatedly comforting company was the one easy thing...
She thought of something cruel to say back, but as the clock struck 8 and the students began to pour in, she cut herself off. If she couldn't make any progress on her own goals tonight, she'd be damned if she let James ruin Lily's efforts. Instead, she plastered on a smile and put her hand in the crux of his elbow, feeling smug as he looked at her with an expression of mild horror.
"Showtime, Potter."
.oOo.
Halloween, 1999
[Ginny's POV]
It was easy to forget how excruciating of a day, of a year, really, it had been, when Ginny listened to Harry talk about it. To be fair, after growing up under the Dursley's thumb and then Voldemort wanting him dead, it really had been the best year of his life, and Hogwarts, the closest thing he had to a home. He threaded through the crowds after the perfunctory speech, and now the two were dancing, the first time alone they had gotten in what felt like ages. The Great Hall was glittering in shades of gold and silver, opulent and elegant in a way that made Ginny both breathless and uncomfortable.
"We could just leave, you know," Harry whispered with a conspiratory grin. If he noticed the smooth skin over where her scar had been mere hours ago, he didn't mention it . "Drop out even. You and I, our brooms." He stretched his left hand out in front of them, the right still around her waist, framing the scene. "We'll go to the coast. Learn to sail. Visit Zabini, even, if you still want a party."
"After all of this? Potter, don't tell me you've changed your mind."
"I hadn't made up my mind about anything in the first place, Miss Weasley, except how stunning you look in those robes," he teased. "And I just thought I owed you an out, if you needed it. Are you upset about this morning?"
"About the article? No," she answered honestly. Harry loved her. "It's all rubbish, anyways." She put her chin on his chest, looking up at him. "You're not upset about Malfoy, though, are you? I should have let her tell you, things have just been so…" she trailed off, unsure of what to say. It was as if the last threads holding together the frayed middle of a rope, threads that became more and more strained as Hermione pulled away. She'd be damned if Draco Malfoy were the thing that sent them hurtling apart.
"You have nothing to apologize for." He gently untangled a lock of hair that got caught in the necklace Luna had insisted she wear to protect her from wrackspurts. "If anything, I should have been the one to tell Ron."
"She told you, you mean?" Ginny frowned. Perhaps her instinct on keeping Malfoy and the rest of the Golden Trio apart was in an abundance of caution. Still, she hadn't forgotten the way Harry looked the last time the three squared off, wild-eyed and angry and somewhere far away.
"No, but you don't think I needed Witch Weekly to tell me to take care of my own, do you?" he asked, pausing after a twirl. "She is my best friend, you know."
Ginny closed her eyes, feeling her cheeks flush as she curious onlookers peered over their dates' shoulders to get a glance at the Golden Couple, eager for a sign of trouble in paradise. As if I could ever forget, she thought bitterly. She knew what they thought of her, how she was the woman standing in between a love story for the ages, how she could have sworn even McGonagall looked disappointed when Harry and Ginny had returned to school together. She wouldn't give it to them.
"They don't know you," she started to say, more for herself than for him before she was suddenly struck by the other part of what he had said.
"Take care of something, Harry?"
"Mhmm. Apparently contraband has been making its way into the castle, and they might have made a break in the case today," Harry said, a twinkle in his eye. "So you don't have worry about another thing tonight, I promise."
Of the thoughts racing through her head, that perhaps Malfoy deserved it, that Harry couldn't bear to see Hermione come to the dance with someone else, or frankly, it wasn't her problem to deal with, the one clearest was a picture of Hermione's laboratory. Notes scribbled on every spare piece of paper about memory charms and love and the deepest types of magic. She put a hand on his cheek.
"Oh, Love," she said, finally, strained. "You've no idea what you've done, do you?"
.oOo.
In the end, it wasn't Ginny who relayed the message. It was Ron Weasley himself, who caught her by the shoulders as she tore through the castle in her gown, shouting for Hermione down every open corridor.
"Harry's done Malfoy in, but he's been helping her with potions - her parents," she panted "we've got to get to him, and the lab-Ron, if they get rid of her work, she'll never forgive us."
"Gin!" he interrupted, hands on her shoulders. "I know, I heard. Nobody's left the castle, so they've probably got him for questioning, Headmaster's Office, maybe? Did you see McGonagall in the Hall?" She looked at him, panicked and bewildered, and Ron added: "They're looking for some package. Parkinson saw the Aurors raid his room."
"And she came to you?" Ginny laughed incredulously at first, but as her brother promised that Hermione was taking care of it, Peony's instincts made more and more sense. Of all the people in this castle who could understand Ginny's precarious position, it was Ron, caught in the same narrative she asked for no part of and trying to make sense of love after the war. He looked at her for a long time.
"Don't know why you didn't think of it, frankly," he said, but his teasing lilt was soft, and he swept her into a hug. "You dealt with just as much as any of us, Ginny. You don't have to set things right by yourself."
Ginny couldn't remember the last time she cried, and was grateful Ron pretended not to notice as he held her shaking frame.
"You're alright, Gin. She'll come back," he whispered. "She'll come back."
.oOo.
Halloween, 1999
Back in second year, Lily and Peter often found themselves awake late at night. They would tuck themselves into a far corner of the Gryffindor common room, sufficiently out-of-place and mousy that the seventh years let them be, and play chess. "The thing with you, Lily," he would tell her years later during their falling out, "is that you're always on the offense. You're setting yourself up to lose that way. You'll never win all the time."
It was hard, she wanted to tell him, not to feel like she had to prove herself at every turn, a Muggle-born in a class with some of the most privileged peers the school had welcomed into its halls in recent years, in a world that was increasingly hostile to her kind. It was just in her nature. He, the reigning chess-champion, had been right, of course. Lily lost the argument, but she had gained a valuable piece of information, and if Peter had been half as intelligent as he thought, it was an insight he would have kept to himself.
She looked forward to telling him so when she had him thrown into Azkaban, or, set her kitten loose after him, or, perhaps, if push came to shove, she took him out herself. Perhaps she'd have him chop off a finger, first. A little distasteful, a little too-brute force, she knew, but a girl could dream. In order to win that battle, of course, she had to live through the day, which meant spending the witching hour drinking what she was almost positive was laced elven wine.
It was a calculated loss - it wasn't Veritaserum, of course, because she had burned the castle's stores the moment she arrived and as the new potion's apprentice, all orders went through her. Based on the depleting stores of newt's tail, the slightest taste of knotgrass, and the copies of Sev's potion texts Draco had in his room, Lily had her suspicions as to what the two had spent the week holed up in her office trying to make, and a trip to the apprentice office disguised as Hannah Abbot, from whom she had plucked a hair when she came to pick up her dress, confirmed it. The two of them had brewed an anti-polyjuice potion and slipped it into the wine.
It stung, she had to admit, that Draco used Sev's (and by extension, her) notes against her. Still, she really had been asking for this, she reasoned, when she sought out the best and brightest for her own silver trio. If she was looking for friends who led with their hearts over their heads, she should have stuck to the Weasleys. She closed her eyes, trying to ward off the faint pang of sadness with a more potent despair - thinking of her friends back home. What did you learn from this? Frank would ask, and ever the gentleman, leaving the implication unsaid: how can you use this?
So, the two people she liked best in this wretched world were suspicious enough of her to slip her an experimental potion. It didn't bear as the best news. But they were smart enough, and irreverent enough, to pull it off. In a world where everyone sported their own wartime wounds, Lily was unwilling to push anyone but herself. But, it seemed that in their quest for both truth and innovation, Padma and Draco hadn't quite lost their taste for danger. That, she could work with.
The answer came to her almost too easily, when Draco whispered about a friend of a friend, or an enemy that owed him a favor, and what he swore was the missing piece to a potion she'd need to if she was ever going to take on Voldemort herself. Of course, he had gone and got himself caught.
A part of her wanted to leave the boy to rot. It was his fault he got caught, not hers. What kind of Death Eater was he? The answer, of course, was hardly one at all, and he was in this predicament largely because she had taken advantage of his guilt about an assumption he hadn't been exactly wrong about. Still, he slipped her a potion, he got caught, and she was the one who had to pay the price?
Not for the first time, the Lily Hermione so desperately wanted her to be didn't seem so far off. The things we do for love, she thought ruefully, stopping her trek when she came up to the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
"Forgive me," Lily whispered to the snake wrapping itself around her neck, hand trembling before plunging her wand into its side.
.oOo.
The Halloween Ball had been cursed since the same holiday took the lives of James and Lily Potter, this was clear, Lily thought, stumbling as Neville dragged her through the doors of the Great Hall. Her vision was blurry, catching glimpses of velvet and tulle, but the rest of her senses were on fire. The sound of McGonagall screaming for the mediwitch. The taste of blood she swore was in her mouth even though she felt it trickling through her fingers as she clutched at her neck. And, as she fell to the ground, the strangest sense of something deep within her singing.
Back in their rooms, Hermione and Lily's runes began to glow.
.oOo.
A/N: She lives!