Magical Theory

Disclaimer: JK Rowling invented these characters and now has more money than the Queen. I invented nothing and have this pack of Life Savers.

NOTES: I’m sorry this chapter took so damn long to finish. I actually ended up making about half of the original chapter the whole chapter just so I could get it out before Hell froze over. I’m a schlub and I suck. It’s all my fault. I’d like to thank Fearthainn and Amy who make me laugh and draw me pornographic stick figures, as well as beta for me when the time comes. I’d also like to thank Liz who betaed last chapter but didn’t do this one but is still cool nonetheless.

When Ginny returned to her dormitory, the first thing she did was collapse on her bed and bury herself in blankets. She found the softness and the familiarity of her blankets comforting. She used to have a blanket that she carried around everywhere when she was a child. Now she longed for those days again, when the scary monsters that lurked in the darkness outside weren’t real and all she needed was her blanket to protect her. It never crossed her mind that the alectos would come after her, rather it was their mere existence that upset her. She had deluded herself into thinking that all the evil in the world, the same evil she had felt up close and personal at Hogwarts, was banished from the world when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished.

And now she knew that it wasn’t. There would always be something out there seeking to hurt and to kill. The world was a big and scary place. On the other hand, her comfy bed was small and soft. Part of her wished she could stay there forever. She felt at peace there. Maybe she wasn’t really safe; she could always accidentally strangle herself with her blankets or something odd like that. But she felt safe, wasn’t that all that really mattered?

Still, there was another part of her that knew she had to get up, go on and do something. She didn’t know what that something was. Whatever it was, she was afraid of it. That’s what being brave was all about. Any fool could rush into danger. It took courage to rush in knowing there was danger. At least, that’s what they had always said in Gryffindor tower, and for some reason, the laughing voices of her brothers and her fellow Gryffindors were echoing in her ears.

The Academy’s hallways were empty this time of night. The cadets were inside studying, sleeping or partying somewhere. Ginny could hear the squeak her shoes made as she walked down the hall. It was unnerving. She wished she could yell at them to be quiet, but that’d be silly. They were still inanimate.

She was about three steps from the library doors when they swung open. She had to jump out to avoid getting a doorknob in the face. (Which wasn’t pleasant. Ginny knew. She’d experienced it once before.) Oliver Wood emerged from inside the library. He wasn’t at all apologetic about almost smacking Ginny with a door. In fact, if he had smacked her he would’ve probably made sure she wasn’t seriously injured and then killed himself laughing. Getting hit by a door is far more pleasant when you’re not the one getting hit.)

“Oi! Weasley!” he shouted. His voice echoed down the empty halls. He wasn’t known for his “indoor” voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Euh...” answered a unnerved Ginny. She pointed weakly toward the library.

Wood looked from her, to the library and back. “Good, good,” he said thoughtfully. She hadn’t told him that she had discovered where Draco was hiding. He just thought she was being her usual studious self, and working hard to crack the case. “Nearly there, eh, Weasley?” he asked.

Ginny didn’t answer besides doing her famous deer-in-headlights impression. Wood didn’t seem to notice. It wasn’t entirely unusual for Ginny to go mute from nerves. He flashed a million dollar smile and continued on his way, whistling a jaunty tune.

* * *

The library was quiet this time of night. The other students were at dinner, in town, partying, or having some sort of life. They certainly weren’t in the library on a Saturday evening, buried in a pile of thick, dusty books. It wasn’t anything terrible unusual for Ginny to be found there, though she wasn’t usually so studious. That was Hermione’s bag. On the average Saturday night, Ginny would be sitting exactly where she was reading a novel or just staring off into space. She liked having the whole place to herself. It gave her time to get lost in her thoughts without being disturbed. For some reason the presence of other people made her nervous. She always felt like they were watching her or judging her.

There was no time to worry about other people tonight. Nor was there time to stare into space. Ginny couldn’t afford to waste time. She was determined to find out everything she could about what had happened to her earlier that day. The only problem was, she couldn’t find anything. She couldn’t find reference to anything called ‘alectos’ in any of the usual places. They weren’t even in the dictionary. For all intents and purposes, they didn’t exist. It was just like Draco had said.

Oddly enough, she hated that he was right. It bothered her more than she had anticipated. She had been so looking forward to wiping that smug smile off his face. She hated the way he looked at her. She would’ve given him a piece of her mind when they had been talking, but at the time the vilest name she could think to call him was “jerky jerk.” That probably would’ve just made him laugh. Jerk.

Ginny searched high and low for several hours. It seemed fruitless and she was beginning to become discouraged when she happened upon something in an unexpected place. It wasn’t what she was looking for. At least, she didn’t think it was. There was no mention of any known creatures, but rather, mythical ones: the Furies.

* * *

Draco stared down through the clouds at the cities below him as he flew. All those people down there, they just went on about their lives; they didn’t care about him or that he was in danger. They were safe, and that’s all that mattered to them. He knew that if he had been in their position, and they in his, then he would’ve have cared. He could’ve been happy even knowing someone else was in danger. Things like that had never bothered him when he was younger; as long as it wasn’t about him then it didn’t matter.

The wind whipped coldly around him. Draco didn’t even bother to shiver. He was used to it by now.

It had been a cold day. The air smelled like snow, and the ground was frozen white-solid from the frost. It crunched as he walked briskly across the grounds, looking around furtively for any sign of danger. No one was in sight, yet there was something beside the cold that was chilling his bones.

He tried to force himself to look straight ahead, out at the night sky. He wondered if they were out looking for him again. Or was it too soon? Funny, he couldn’t remember what time it had been when they had attacked. It had been so long since time had any significance.

The ancient grandfather clock in the hallway tolled the hour as he shut the door. He had thought he’d be safe here, his home. Something inside him told him he was mistaken. He had the sudden urge to run. He struggled to get his nerves under control, like his father had always taught him. He told himself that was foolish. He wouldn’t allow himself to be frightened like some squib or Muggle. He was Draco Malfoy, the name itself commanded the utmost respect. Haughtily, he tossed his nose into the air and ascended the stairs for the last time.

Weasley was probably back at her Academy by now. It was stupid of her to come looking for him. She didn’t know what she was getting into. Hadn’t his family caused her enough pain at Hogwarts? Was she really looking for more? Gryffindors were so thick. They’d jump off a cliff if they thought they could get some glory out of it.

There was no question in his mind that was what she wanted. She wanted to get her name in the Daily Prophet. Ginny Weasley – the woman who found the evidence that put all those Death Eaters away forever. Maybe she would get a medal out of it. Everyone would call her a hero, say she was brave. They were all alike. They didn’t care about anything else but their foolish hunt for “justice.”

He wondered if there was such a thing.

There was blood all along the hallway. So much he didn’t think one person could bleed so much. Pools of it so dark he thought it was chocolate at first. And then he saw the footprints. They tracked through the gore toward the bedroom at the end of the hall; whoever had done it hadn’t even bothered to keep their feet clean. The hardwood floors, the rugs, everything was covered with it. Everything was ruined.

The bedroom was worse. It was splattered like ink all over the walls and dripped over the side of the bed staining the green bed black. It dripped and dripped; it wasn’t even dry yet. It had all been timed perfectly so it would be fresh for his eyes.

They could’ve done it easier. The Killing Curse left no traces, no blood. No one had to get dirty. But would the bile rise so quickly in his throat then? Would she be imprinted on the back of his eyelids forever if she just looked like she was sleeping? And more importantly, would he know what they had in store for him when they finally caught up with him?

No, they had wanted to send him a message. His mother’s glassy, lifeless eyes telegraphed that message to him loud and clear. It couldn’t have been more obvious if they had written him a note in her blood.

You’re next, traitor.

Ginny wanted him to go into hiding. So had Narcissa. She thought that she could hide him herself. She didn’t agree with his actions but he was her son. Her only son. She wouldn’t throw him to the wolves. She didn’t want to see him murdered.

Irony sucked sometimes.

“Oh, bloody hell,” he cursed, and grudgingly turned his motorcycle around.

* * *

No one ever made noise in the library, the evil hellbitch of a librarian made sure of that. She made Madam Pince look like a fluffy kitten. Ginny turned her pages quietly, feeling as though the rustling leaves could be heard all throughout the building. Every time she did, she winced, afraid of raising the librarian’s ire. The rumor was she once kicked a boy out for breathing too loudly. Ginny was certain it was true.

The silence made it all the more surprising when Ginny hear a loud crash a few rows away. She jumped out of her skin, wondering who would dare offend the library gods in such blatant display of disrespect.

She got up, with intentions of shushing them, lest she get in trouble as well, when she saw them: the same women she had seen earlier that day. The exact same women. The first thing she thought was, “Didn’t Draco kill them?” The second thing was, “RUN!” which she did.

The women said nothing, only drifted forward with leg-less grace.

Forgetting all about the “thou shalt not make noise” library commandment, Ginny screamed for help with all her might, shattering the quiet as though she had hit it with a sledgehammer. She dashed through the stacks, hoping to lose them in the maze of books.

But when she looked up, one of them was standing directly in front of her. She had no time to ponder how bad guys always seemed to do that. The woman reached out with thin, bony, almost skeleton-like hands and grabbed Ginny’s upper-arm.

Ginny felt the pain rip trough her arm. She wanted to scream but found that the sound stuck in her throat and it only came out like a combination of a cough and a groan as she fell to the floor of the library. She lay there, staring at the ugly pattern carpet of the library, thinking about how if this was going to be the last thing she’d see before the abyss descended on her, someone could’ve at least rubbed the stains out of it.

* * *

While she was out, Ginny dreamed about home. The Burrow. Her little hole in the ground, where she was safe from predators under her fluffy duvet and mother’s watchful eye. It gave her the feeling of being wrapped in something warm and made her stomach feel tingly, the way it did when you were truly relaxed.

Or when you’re barely conscious and need to throw up because someone kicked you in the gut. Whichever.

The first thing she noticed when she woke was the pain. It was sharp and constant and spread throughout her arm. She knew, without even trying, she couldn’t move it. The only way she could think to describe it was with lots of violent, creative swearing. The kind her twin brothers used when they were angry. And drunk. And out of hearing of their parents.

The next thing she noticed was Draco.

He was standing over her, unsure what to do with her now that he was there. There were dead, of course. He had become quite proficient at killing them. Lucky for her he had arrived in time. “I almost didn’t come,” he said, stonily.

Unsure how to take this, Ginny didn’t respond. She was grateful he was there. He had saved her life. Somehow, throwing her arms around him and weeping for joy was not the right course of action. He rather looked like he wished he hadn’t bothered at all, but was being forced to, like a schoolboy learning his lessons.

She looked down at the stained carpet and tried not to think about the pain in her arm. Funny how when one bone was broken you couldn’t remember that there were hundreds of other ones. “I thought… I mean… They were after you.” She wasn’t accusing him of anything, sending them after her or getting her in danger. It was more like she couldn’t fathom why they would want her.

“The Dark Lord gave orders to kill anyone who tried to help me,” he said simply, then added, more thoughtfully: “They’ve done it before.”

He didn’t care to elaborate any further. And Ginny, more worried about her arm, didn’t care to press him.

She winced. “My arm,” she said, “I think it’s broken.”

“Oh,” he replied, actively unconcerned.

“I need a Healer,” she announced through clenched teeth.

“No!” he shouted a bit too loudly. “No healers. They ask questions,” he explained, in a slightly more reasonable tone. “Like, ‘What’s your name?’ and ‘Gee, how did this happen?’”

Ginny sighed. “You don’t have to go. We have an infirmary here at the Academy. I’ll tell them I fell on the way to the library; they’ll fix me right up and I’ll be ready for Auror training tomorrow. Good as new.”

Draco made a sour face. “Actually… about that…” He hesitated, thinking about the alectos, his mother and the time he’d spent on the run. “See, they’ll be back. And we have to run or they’ll catch us. And they’ll kill us, which probably won’t be pleasant. So you should call up your Professor or whoever and tell them you won’t be in class, well, ever again.”

“What?!?” she exploded, only to remember that she was in horrific pain. “No, see, I’ve been training and I’m almost finished with school. This is an assignment. I had to find you. I’ve found you. Now I have to take you to Wood and then it’ll all be over and I can become an Auror. Like my brother.”

“Listen,” he hissed, “Unless you want this Wood fellow to become a target too, I’m not going anywhere but away. And if you’ve got a lick of sense in you, despite your questionable breeding, then you’ll go too.”

It was the urgency in his voice, not the crack about her family, that made Ginny want to cry. She had seen the assassins up close twice now, and she knew in her heart that he was right; that he was trying to save her for some reason she didn’t quite grasp. But she didn’t want to leave her life, her school and her family behind to go on the run with Draco Malfoy, who she didn’t even like. She didn’t want to be a target of murders. She didn’t want her life in danger. But she didn’t want to put Wood, or anyone else’s life in danger either.

Draco glared at her.

“All right,” she said, her voice barely a whisper, “but you have to promise me you’ll help me think of a way to stop them.” He opened his mouth to say something; she cut him off. “I know you don’t think they can be stopped. Just promise you’ll try, because if I have to spend the rest of my life running scared without ever being able to see my family again, I’ll let them kill me.”

* * *

Draco and Ginny belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros and various other corporations. They are being used here without permission and/or affiliation with the above. None of the authors listed here make any profit from these stories.