Chapter 9: Baffled Our Foes Stand on the Shore
"I did," she repeated. "I sent the potion." A mad smile spread slowly across Cho's face. You took it? All of it?"
"Ginny?" Neville asked. "You really didn't send me anything?"
Ginny shook her head. "No, Neville. I'm sorry."
Neville turned to Cho with a frown. "What's this all about?" he asked, closing the distance between them with one long stride.
The sudden movement made Cho flinch, and she raised her arms in a protective gesture. Neville took this for a threat and swatted her knife to the floor so quickly that the movement was difficult to see. He grasped her by one wrist and pushed her against the wall. "What was in that potion?" he said, seething.
If Neville ever grabbed Ginny with such fury she would be frightened out of her wits, yet Cho looked more pleased with every passing second. "It worked," she whispered, eyes glistening, and raised her free hand gently to Neville's cheek. "Oh, it all worked. We have to tell Professor Weasley."
Comprehension slowly smoothed Neville's features, and he released Cho from his hold. "Really, it really did..." He picked up her knife and handed it back to her with a grin, then took her by the other hand and began to lead her away down the hall.
"Um, Professor Weasley's office is back this way," Ginny noted, confused.
"Oh," Neville said, and he and Cho shared a laugh as they turned around. "Lead the way, then."
Ginny walked in front of them all the way to Bill's office. Her spine prickled like when she had to go down in the cellar at the Burrow without a light as she listened to them whispering and giggling behind her. When Neville's reflexes rivaled Harry's, and Cho ignored his anger, there had to be something very, very wrong.
"Bill, are you there?" Ginny rapped on the door. "Bill?" She knocked harder to cover the sound coming from behind her -- an odd, wet smacking noise that Ginny was fairly certain meant that Neville, at least, no longer kissed like a prune.
"What?" Bill pulled the door open. "Er, ahem."
Cho and Neville pulled apart. "Professor Weasley," Cho breathed. "You won't believe it."
"It's amazing," Neville added. "She did it. I didn't think it would work, but she did it!"
Bill clapped Cho on the shoulder. "Well done! Come in and tell me all about it." Smiling, Bill ushered Neville and Cho into his office, and Ginny had to stick her foot in the door to keep him from closing it on her. She chose to sit on the windowsill as Cho and Neville were already occupying the chairs in front of Bill's desk.
"Well, you were right about the tadpoles, Professor Weasley. They sprouted wings, too. And that's how I knew. It was just a matter of waiting until solstice to ready the counter-potion." Cho gripped Neville's hand tightly. "I wasn't sure that I could get him to take it, considering, so I sent it to him anonymously."
Neville looked stricken. "Trevor." He passed a cup of tea to Cho before accepting one for himself from Bill.
"Trevor," Cho affirmed as she declined sugar. "He was the carrier, and you were the victim. I am sorry, Neville. But it had to be done."
Forgotten, Ginny hopped down from the windowsill and moved to pour herself a cup of tea. Finding the pot empty, she went to the fire to refill it from the kettle but Bill waved her out of the way. "We need to use the fireplace."
A moment later, the very wrinkled face of Neville's Great-Uncle Algie appeared in the flames. "Hullo, Neville. You're not going to tell us you've been doing more than snogging that lass you're holding, now?"
Neville blushed beet red, but kept Cho's hand in his. "Hullo, Uncle. Is Gran about?"
"No," Great-Uncle Algie said. "She went to market. What's so important that you'd call on the fire? Owl post not quick enough? Why, in my day we'd have gotten a few with a birch strap for wasting..."
"Uncle, could you please tell Gran something for me? It's important," Neville broke in. Great-Uncle Algie looked surprised to have been interrupted, his mouth hanging open. Neville took this opportunity to go on. "This is my... this is Cho Chang. She and I were assigned to be partners this year at school. Remember, I told you I was in a special class?" Algie made a sound something like harrumph but didn't make any further comment.
"Well, Cho thought that I must have been cursed to be so clumsy. She kept insisting that we find out about different curses, and try different countercurses, and learn about hexes and things. And, then, well, I'm not sure exactly how she did it, but there was a potion," Neville said, his voice rising with excitement.
"Actually, it was Trevor that made me think of it," Cho continued. "It's rare for animals, even magical ones, to suddenly sprout wings. After I hatched some tadpoles for Neville, he told me that Trevor hadn't always had wings --"
"Trevor was a girl, remember," Neville put in helpfully.
"Yes," Cho said, "and I remembered something I had read once, about animals being able to carry curses and infect wizards and that wings could be a sign of a carrier animal. Neville said that he didn't think he was terribly magical, but I couldn't see any reason why he would be so clumsy and forgetful. And when I gave him the tadpoles, he at first said that he didn't want them."
"Well, Trevor was the only pet I've ever had, and you bought him just so that I would have something for Hogwarts," Neville reminded his uncle.
"Didn't buy him," Uncle Algie mumbled. "Caught him outside Little Hangleton, last time the old gang went snipe hunting."
Little Hangleton. Ginny's teacup broke into three equal parts as it hit the floor. Bill, Neville, Cho, and Uncle Algie turned to stare at her. "Hot," she explained as she tried to mop up the mess with the hem of her robe. Exasperated, Bill cast a quick charm for the spill and another for the cup.
Cho cleared her throat. "As I was saying, I ran through every possibility I could find, and with each failure I began to believe that Neville had a Magically Transmitted Disease. The only way to prove it and cure it, though, was to have him take a counter-potion. As the curse carrier, Trevor was the key ingredient."
"May he rest in peace," Neville said softly. Cho patted his hand gently, and he gave her a rueful smile. "I used to say Trevor was the best friend I ever had. He was. He gave me another, after a fashion."
***
Ginny didn't even breathe as she set the teacup down. She eased the door open, and slipped out as quietly as she could. Curling her toes inside her shoes, she walked down the hall so soundlessly that she could still hear Cho and Neville on the other side of the office door. Then, she ran. She flew down stairs and around statues. She ducked through hidden panels found during her first year while exploring the castle with Colin, or discovered by accident while lost on the way to classes. If she could run fast enough, then she wouldn't have to hear that voice in her head, see those words imprinted on the back of her eyelids, feel that way again.
You will laugh.
No I won't. I never laugh. Have I ever laughed at you?
She was clattering down the main steps and out the entrance doors, passing a cluster of green-robed boys carrying brooms, out into the rain and damp and twilight. No one could be petrified outside, could they? It wouldn't be her fault if it happened when she was outside.
Ottery St. Catchpole. I always feel silly when I have to write it, much less say it. Still, it is my favorite place in the world, outside of Hogwarts, of course.
I understand how you feel. I never tell anyone where I'm from, either, as it also has an absurd name.
"Weasley," someone said. Draco. "Stop."
I told you mine, so now you have to tell me yours. Please? I promise I won't tell anyone.
The rain was running into her eyes, or maybe sweat had blurred her vision. Either way, she couldn't see. She didn't need to see. She knew the way. She kept going, moving forward, one foot after another, ignoring the pain in her side. Her socks were wet inside her shoes by the time she was past the greenhouses and she slipped and slid over muddy patches.
I suppose I can trust you. You've been so very good at keeping secrets, Ginny. I was born in Little Hangleton. It's one of my favorite places, too, as it happens, because it helped me realize what my future could bring. It was where I first realized how powerful I could be.
Draco was following her, but not trying to catch her, because her pace was slowing and he didn't overtake her though she was sure he could have done so easily. Two more steps, three more. She was on the edge of the forest, protected by the canopy above, treading on the pine needles below. She tripped on the root of an ancient pine and went down, sprawling on her hands and knees. Little Hangleton. Dumbledore had said everything was trapped in the diary, that he wouldn't remember her or know her at all, but she was afraid anyway.
"Weasley," Draco was saying to her, and she couldn't help it any more. One gasp followed another, and then she was sobbing and he was holding her in his lap and rocking her back and forth while she cried and cried. He was stroking her hair and getting his Quidditch gloves caught on the plaits.
Some time later, her eyes wiped and nose blown, she was resting in his arms, too tired to be embarrassed. Draco was warm in that way that boys always are, and she was damp and sleepy. She would close her eyes and she would forget.
"Was it Potter? Because if it was Potter, I'll -- he's been needing to have those glasses shoved up his --"
"Stop," Ginny said. "It's nothing about Harry."
"What could... What happened?"
Ginny didn't answer for a very long time. "Do you ever remember something you don't want to? Something that you wish you could forget?"
"All the time," Draco replied in a far-away voice. "All the time."
***
More and more often Ginny had company in her dormitory all day as well as all night. The professors canceled classes, or showed up very late and let the students leave without bothering to collect assignments, or simply did not show up at all. They walked briskly through the corridors and were seen coming and going from Dumbledore's office at all hours. Ginny was sure that Professor McGonagall had a twin, because she seemed to be everywhere. No sooner would Ginny pass her in a corridor but she would see McGonagall again dressed in warm clothes and on her way out to Hogsmeade.
One cold March morning Pigwidgeon woke her up, hooting softly. She rubbed her eyes and looked around at her empty room. It was well past the time when she should have been up, but most nights she lay awake shivering under her blankets and then slept late. This morning, condensation covered the windows giving the dormitory a gray gloom even though the curtains were flung wide.
"Pig?" Ginny wondered aloud. "What?"
Pig stuck out one scrawny leg, and she pulled the silver bow with one hand. That proved to be a bit of a mistake, because Pig's delivery had been held together with the ribbon. What seemed to be a thin but incredibly long slip of parchment bounced off the bed and rolled across the floor. Bemused, Ginny got out of bed, curling her bare toes away from the chilly stones, and hurried to pick it up.
It was exactly what it appeared to be. Someone had cut a vertical ribbon from a roll of parchment -- perhaps more than one, as a bit of Spellotape peeked out from the middle of the lot. Then, it had been spiraled around a marble until it was as wide as her palm. It was wasteful. It was scandalous.
It was from Draco.
On the lead end of the roll, in neatly scripted green letters, were the words Things I Do To Forget: 1. fly 2. sleep 3. Quidditch 4. read Bloody Useful Curses. The rest, she noted as she re-rolled the parchment, was blank. Was she supposed to keep it?
Ginny searched her bag for a quill and borrowed a bottle of red ink that peeked out from beneath Rosemary's bed. Biting her lip, she very carefully inked a reply: 5. get chocolate from the kitchens. Ginny blew gently on the parchment to dry the ink and attached the scroll to Pigwidgeon’s leg again. Cradling him in her hands, she opened the window and leaned out to let him go.
Pigwidgeon tumbled end over end, heavy with the weight of the list. For a moment, Ginny thought that she would have to use Wingardium Leviosa to right his upside-down form. But, halfway down, he flapped his wings to pull out of the spiral and disappeared around the side of the castle with a happy hoot .
Ginny looked out over the lawns, finally noticing the scene on the grass below. A set of stands, filled with the black robes of the lower classes, overlooked a strange spectacle. On one side, Lee Jordan led a group of students in navy blue robes. Defense Against the Dark Arts, Ginny remembered. Facing them were students in the light blue worn by the Charms specialists. To the right of the staging area waited the students in the dark gray of the Potions class, the purple denoting Transfiguration, and the mint green for Management and Muggle Studies for Ministry Work. Silver robes, from her own class, were scattered here and there among the rest. Was she supposed to be down there with them? Before she could puzzle out why she wouldn't have been assigned to the activity, a bright flash of light and a horrific boom startled her so that she nearly screamed.
The Charms students blasted bright balls of light at their opponents. The distant sound of dozens of hexes and spells at the same time was blotted out by a sudden cry from the Defense class. Some of their number hadn't been able to avoid a hit and were frozen on the ground or stumbling about, but the rest had raised a glowing shield and were advancing on the Charms class. The Charms students redoubled their efforts, pulling together into a tight vee formation and turning their effort to the shield. They had made several strong hits and the shield was starting to fade when a large bird flew from behind the Defense class.
Not a bird, Ginny realized after a second, but Fred. George must have Catapulted him over the shield, because he landed past the Charms students and sent a multitude of quick charms to disable them. Those he missed were picked off by the Defense students, and Lee and George were clapping Fred on the back when a whistle blew and the Transfiguration students took the field opposite the Potions class.
Ginny pulled the window shut. As worried as she was that she had misplaced a summons to be down on the field with the other students and would probably be receiving a month's worth of detention for forgetting to attend, she couldn't help feeling that another worry was even more important. Why in Merlin's name would they need to have mock battles on the lawn? Weren't they safe here? It seemed unlikely to her that there would ever be so many people fighting in such an old fashioned way -- far more likely to be attacked in ones and twos, or kidnapped from your home, or any of the other things that her parents said had characterized the years before her birth. Either that, or the attack would be a surprise like the Howlers or the Hogwarts Express, and no one could predict when or where those sorts of mishaps would occur.
Ginny donned her cloak and went down to the field. She wandered aimlessly through the milling crowd, passing a tent where Ron, Seamus, Angelina, and some students she didn't know were moving figures about on a small-scale model of the battlefield. Beneath another canopy, Madam Pomfrey directed students in the care of those with mock or real injuries. A new skirmish was beginning on the field, and Ginny clambered up into the stands to watch.
Harry was in a crowd of Ministry Work students. Ginny watched his head turn from side to side as the students argued and gestured, unable to decide on a course of action. In contrast, the purple-robed huddle of Transfiguration students across the field -- including Draco, Blaise, and Neville -- sprang into action, running full force at the disorganized Ministry group. Draco looked happier than she had seen him in weeks as he led the charge, waving his wand to send out a volley of curses. They had the Ministry students backed into a corner of the field when Professor Sinistra sent a Darkness Charm over them all.
Ginny tapped her foot nervously on the stands until a glare from the student in front of her stilled her fidgeting. All she wanted to was see what was going on. She began to mutter under her breath finite incantatem, finite incantatem, until finally the field reflected light as usual. There was not a single student still standing; all had been felled by curses that ran the gamut from the Jelly-Legs Jinx to the Blindfolding Charm. Harry reached out a reluctant hand to help Draco up, but Draco ignored it and stalked off. Ginny sighed uneasily before getting up and heading back toward the castle.
"Miss Weasley! There you are!" Flitwick hurried to catch up with her. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I forgot to let you know that you were to spend the morning with Madam Hooch. It's all my fault, and I'm sure they'll be nearly done. Why don't you run along and see if you can catch them at it out near the gates?" Without waiting for an answer, he scurried off.
Left with nothing better to do, Ginny walked slowly back toward the castle. In the distance, Hermione and Justin were fencing rather clumsily and Madam Hooch helped Lavender aim a volley of arrows from her wand at an overstuffed target.
Before she reached them a flurry of owls was allowed through the gate by the house elf on duty. Each one carried a yellow tube, the kind that held special editions of the Daily Prophet. Ginny had only seen them once before when the Minister of Magic had died suddenly on her sixth birthday and a special edition had been printed.
One tube bounced to the ground at her feet, addressed to The Weasley Children, Hogwarts School. She tugged at the cap but couldn't break the seal. Frustrated, Ginny ran over to Hermione who was already on the back page of her copy. "What does it say?"
Hermione held the paper out and summarized the contents for her. "All overseas Ministry of Magic officials are to return immediately. Gringotts has recalled all of its employees to London and all magical research has been suspended so that the workers can concentrate on finding out who is responsible for a series of attacks. Last night there were seven fires lit in Diagon Alley, two Ministry officials murdered, and twelve petrol stations in Muggle London were blown up." Hermione's expression was dangerously close to a sneer. "I can't wait to hear the Ministry's explanation for all of this."
***
"Gather 'round, students." Professor McGonagall beckoned to students milling about in front of the Three Broomsticks. Levitating a basket onto a bench, she began to instruct the Integrated Magic class. "Be sure not to touch your Portkey directly. Use a handkerchief if you have one. We don't want anyone going early. You and your partner are to explain to me the significance of your rubbish in the Muggle world, how you were able to set the location, and then use your Portkey. The house elf on duty has been instructed to allow you back in through the Hogwarts front gates, so if your settings are a bit off you will need to walk around. If you have erred and set your Portkey for the Hogwarts grounds, it will not work at all and you will need to recalibrate it."
With that, Ginny stepped forward and gingerly picked up the small rectangular box with one linen-covered hand. According to Draco's research, the shiny paper inside was called tape even though it wasn't sticky, and the thing was supposed to play music although it had never done so in their presence.
Ginny stepped to the back of the group of students. For some reason, Draco was late. Blaise was missing from the class as well. Draco had seemed so interested in Portkeys, and it was odd that he would miss the opportunity to try his own creation. In fact, he had completed most of the Arithmancy and spellwork himself and on top of that had seemed to actually enjoy it. Ginny was sure she couldn't have managed on her own. Even Hermione was looking her and Harry's final product doubtfully.
A sudden pop gave the students a second's warning before Charlie Weasley Apparated into the middle of the mob, upsetting the empty Portkey basket.
"Charles Weasley," Professor McGonagall huffed before a small smile lit her face. Charlie greeted his brothers with punches on the arm, and asked McGonagall if he could borrow Ginny. "Last time I went to Bill's house it was dark, and I think I'm done Apparating for today." This earned Charlie a laugh from the students, and McGonagall waved Ginny off.
With a little skip, Ginny fell into step beside Charlie, slipping her Portkey into a pocket. "I can't believe you're here! I didn't know you were coming!"
Charlie's smile faded. "I'm moving in with Bill. There was... an accident... at the research facility. The dragons just went wild one night. Burned down half the camp. A lot of injuries." Charlie shook his head. "We were going to be recalled to London anyway because of the war, so we took the dragons to a camp in Nigeria --"
"We're at war?" Ginny stopped in her tracks.
"Aren't we?" Charlie asked softly. "Percy could have died, and now... these aren't pranks or accidents. What's going on, what's happening, it's crazy. I'm going to stay here with Bill and see if Dumbledore can use any help. I've resigned my position, in any case, and I wish I could convince Mum and Dad to come to Hogsmeade too."
Sober, Ginny and Charlie turned into the narrow lane that led to Bill's cottage. Charlie knocked on the front door, but Bill was apparently still at Hogwarts. "Don't you want to leave that?" Ginny asked, motioning to his rucksack.
Charlie considered this for a moment. "Nah, I'll bring it along for now. Let's hurry up to Hogwarts. There are some people I'd like to see."
Ginny left Charlie outside Dumbledore's office reluctantly. She was supposed to help Professor Sprout transfer some Giggle Plant seedlings to larger pots before lunch, according to the note she had from Professor Flitwick. It was the only thing on her schedule this week apart from an essay on the uses of Moke toenails in potions, so she supposed she should go.
Professor Sprout was nowhere to be found, but a tray of Giggle Plants was squeaking softly and wiggling from side to side. In half an hour, Ginny had separated and thinned nearly all of the curly, vine-like stems into small pots that were now considerably quieter. Wiping sweat from her brow, she searched beneath the long tables for more pots -- three or four more should do it, she decided.
No more pots were to be had in greenhouse one or greenhouse two. Greenhouse four yielded a small stack of terracotta pots after a brief tussle with a Bracelet Vine, and Ginny was balancing the pots on one arm when she noticed a soft, breathy noise. She froze and held her breath, trying to locate the source of the whisperlike, windy sound. Strange noises in greenhouse four were usually a warning, in her experience.
The noise seemed to be coming from the far end of the room beyond a number of hanging vines and vicious-looking, toothy plants, although the gentle tap of rain on the roof made it difficult to tell. She was tempted to dismiss it. The memory of a Dog Bush biting her on the ankle in this greenhouse last spring was still vivid in her memory.
Ginny craned her neck, trying to see which plant was making the noise. It would be easy to leave, but it sounded so much like crying. She set the pots down on the floor and tiptoed to the back, ducking beneath the hanging vines and trying not to disturb any of the slumbering plants.
Tucked in the back corner was a Harmony Palm. Its broad fronds sprouted from a trunk almost as tall as Ginny and folded over to touch the floor. Only the reddish crown of Blaise Zabini's head was visible through a gap in the leaves. Hesitating for a second, Ginny pushed aside a heavy, rubbery leaf and crawled underneath.
Blaise looked at her with red-rimmed eyes and then turned her head away. The Harmony Palm made a distressed rustle and wrapped a leaf around Blaise, patting her gently.
"Blaise? Is everything all right?" Ginny asked cautiously.
"Is everything all right?" Blaise mimicked. "Of course. I come here all the time. Water the plants and all. Salt agrees with them." She sniffed and straightened her back.
"If everything is all right, why are you crying?"
"Why should I tell you? What would a bloody Gryffindor know about it anyway?"
Ginny held her tongue with great effort. Clearly, Blaise had nothing to say to her and wouldn't accept any comfort she could give. She leaned her back against the trunk of the tree, though, just in case. Blaise was acting like Percy when he was mad, and when Percy was mad it was a matter of waiting until he was ready to talk. Ginny decided she had made the right comparison when Blaise finally began to speak in a voice thick with tears.
"Slytherins are ambitious, and I'm a Slytherin through and through. My one ambition is to stay alive. I don't have any Gryffindor blood. I'm jealous. I'd give anything to have the bravery or loyalty you lot are always being lauded for. If I had even a little, maybe I could have said something." Suddenly, and to Ginny's great surprise, Blaise was sobbing brokenly with her head in Ginny's lap.
"I grew up with him, you know. Went to his birthday parties when he had them at the Manor. Played with him in my garden when he was in England. Had a crush on him when I was a first year. I can't believe he's dead."
Ginny's blood ran cold. "Who?"
Blaise was quiet and still.
"Who's dead, Blaise?"
Blaise sat up and turned her head away. Ginny grasped her shoulder, frantic. "Who?"
"Draco," Blaise replied, not looking at her.
Ginny dropped her hand back to her lap. She couldn't feel it anymore.
"At least, he will be."
Ginny pounced on this bit of information. Grabbing Blaise's arm, she jerked her around to see her face fully. "What do you mean?"
Blaise looked frightened. "I shouldn't tell you anything. They'll find out and it'll be me next. If my parents come for me, Dumbledore won't be able to stop them taking me away. There's nothing he can do --"
"Tell me. Now."
"Lucius Malfoy came to take Draco home this morning. I saw him." Tears began to spill from Blaise's eyes once more. "Draco was supposed to be spying. He wasn't doing it right, though, and if he's going home, then there isn't any use for him anymore. Every family has to give back what it received. He'll be killed. You do know why people have been disappearing, don't you?"
"I think so." Ginny was surprised to hear the words slip from her mouth. Now, she had to believe that Lord Voldemort had returned. This was war. "Where's Malfoy Manor, Blaise?"
Blaise snorted. "You can't go there. Lucius will kill you straight away. You're a Weasley, and he'll make sure an accident happens."
"He tried to kill me once before," Ginny said grimly. "It didn't take."
***
Draco forced himself to stand up. He unstrapped two brooms, one wrapped in paper, from his trunk and walked to his wardrobe to put them away. He felt as if he was walking through treacle. Everything was slow motion.
Even his thoughts felt thick and heavy. One plodded through his brain over and over: where was Dumbledore? Filch had come to his room, and sent him up to meet his father at the front gates. As soon as he reached the carriage, house elves appeared with his things and his father wouldn't wait for him to tell Snape that he was leaving. He had promised to write his Head of House as soon as they reached home.
Draco had to assume that he was keeping that promise, as he had gone immediately to the library and sent Draco to his rooms. Wasn't Dumbledore supposed to know everything that went on at Hogwarts? If he had made a fuss, would Filch have been able to reach Dumbledore in time? Why couldn't a teacher have happened by and seen what was going on?
He was banging his head against the wardrobe, he realized. He forced his feet to move back to the bed where his trunk waited. He unsnapped the fastenings and opened the lid as Lucius came in.
"So, all this time you've been studying to be a house-elf ? I had a feeling you were wasting your education." Lucius sniffed and flicked his wand to close the trunk and lift it into the air. He levitated it through the door and down the hall.
He hadn't said to follow him, but Draco knew that he was expected to do so. He was tempted to take his broom or charm his shoes because he couldn't seem to make them move fast enough. By the time he reached the library, Lucius had his trunk open on the floor and was rummaging through it.
"Things I do to forget," he read from the small roll of parchment that he took from the top layer of the trunk. "Fly, sleep, Quidditch, read Bloody Useful Curses -- I wondered where that got to -- get chocolate from the kitchens, play tricks on Filch, Exploding Snap, Arithmancy, watch a sunrise..." Lucius raised an eyebrow. "I had no idea you were so sentimental." He pulled the roll through his fingers, skimming the next few feet before tossing the whole idly into the fire.
Next to go were his Quidditch robes. Draco's books and robes were lumped together in a pile on the floor and his Potions supplies were carefully examined before they were placed back inside his cauldron. His finely crafted set of scales was the last item to be inspected. Lucius ran a hand quickly over the bottom of the trunk and froze as his fingers detected an odd lump. He peeled back the fabric where the two pieces of silk that lined the floor of the trunk overlapped and drew forth a small card.
"What, may I ask, is this?" Lucius turned the card around, and Draco recognized the photo of Ginny and Harry that he had found in the sleeve of the robe Ginny had used to repair her broom during the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match all those months ago.
He had almost forgotten he had it. It made him feel slightly ill to look at it because of the way Ginny was looking at Harry like he was some sort of prince. Most of the time her back was turned, though, and that made it easier to imagine that it was someone else fawning over Potter. Luckily, it was turned now.
"It's a picture of Potter," Draco replied evenly.
"That much is obvious," Lucius snapped. He threw the photograph onto the fire and it made a shrill, high sound as the flames licked at its edges. Draco knew that it didn't feel pain -- it was just part of the enchantment, but he couldn't help wondering if Ginny would sound like that if she screamed. If his mother would have sounded like that if she could have screamed.
Lucius stared into the fire with his hands clasped behind his back. Draco mimicked his posture as was his habit of many years now, eyes on the marble slab beneath his feet. Some part of him thought that this spot should be impossibly stained, that it should bear some mark of his mother's death. It could not be such a beautiful thing, a winter gray with thin rivers of black running through it. It could not be clean of the senseless cruelty that it had borne.
Draco wanted to ask if he was to be next. He wanted to pull out his wand and kill him, kill himself, kill Voldemort. Instead, he heard himself say, "Did it hurt?"
Lucius didn't act surprised by this question and did not give any answer Draco could have anticipated. "Terribly. I should have known he would take her back. He was always one to dangle presents before me, to tease and toy with me. Damn my weakness, I will allow it ever."
***
Lucius Malfoy, age twenty-three, walked into The Seven Veils and sat down at the counter. A casual observer would say he sauntered into The Seven Veils and the barstool came at his bidding. He doffed his carefully tailored cloak, folding it over one arm, and nodded dismissively as he was served a goblet of his favored wine. Finally, he pushed himself around on his seat to scan the room for fetching but experienced witches to spend the evening with, as was his habit these past five years when his social calendar left him the rare dull moment.
In the far corner of the room, a man at least two decades older than himself was sitting rigidly upright next to the fire, the light playing over his saturnine features. Lucius found himself studying the figure carefully, and when the enigmatic patron looked back at him with wide blue eyes he could not look away. Curved red lips curled in a devilish smile, and the unknown man rose slowly to his feet.
Lucius felt his chest tighten as the stranger walked up to him. He was coming closer, and now one could see the way his hair curled just so over his forehead. Closer, the way the plain robes hung open because the button was missing, stray threads hanging from the button hole. Closer, the way the man's height forced Lucius to tilt his chin up a fraction to meet those piercing blue eyes, those eyes that didn't waver, until the man was past and walking out the doors into the snow.
Lucius grabbed up his cloak and practically ran after the retreating figure. What would he say? What should he do? The street was empty, but the many passers-by had churned up the snow on the path with their shuffling feet. Picking a direction at random Lucius scrambled ahead, slipping on patches of ice. Ten steps, twenty, one more-- he rounded the corner, and he was there, leaning against the brick wall as if waiting.
Lucius stopped abruptly, trying to cover the way his breath was coming fast and shallow. From running, he told himself. "Who are you?" he inquired as forcefully as he could.
The dark man smiled angelically.
They were a pair, one fair and the other dark. They would rush in from entrances to the Muggle world, from visits to other countries, breathless with laughter after causing accidents that would remain unexplained, setting fires that would be pinned on the wrong arsonist, disrupting communications between lovers. Petty mischief for the elder. To Lucius, though, the thrill was addictive. He had played his share of devious pranks in the past, but this last half-decade without the convenience of school as an outlet for his mischievous side had been less than satisfying. Yet, on the occasion that he ventured outside the magical boundaries alone, nothing could interest or satisfy him.
The first time they had touched a Muggle, Lucius nearly threw up. Nearly -- if nearly can describe the way he swallowed down the bile over and over through the long hours as they experimented with ever darker curses and hexes. He must not show emotion; it would only get him hurt. His gambit paid off.
Months later, they were sitting in the library at the manor, one of several estates that Lucius had inherited not long after he finished school; his parents had reared him with casual disinterest late in their own lives. Two wing-backed chairs faced each other before the fire and between the two men lay the body of a young witch.
Lucius had wanted to object when she had been pointed out to him. They had never turned on their own, not even on Muggle-loving fools. But the plain little woman, lost in Knockturn Alley, was no match for the devotion he felt. Now a heavy, disquieting satisfaction lay in his bones.
The question came. "Will you follow me always?"
"Always," Lucius whispered in agreement. "All the days of my life."
The man in the other chair was struck by a sudden thought. "You will die, though I will not. You cannot follow me in death."
"I don't want to think about that."
"Perhaps you could have a child, someday. One strong, tall boy that will grow up just like you. One with such a sharp, pointed face and eyes like ice. I would keep him with me, as I kept you."
Lucius felt something spill over inside his heart. "I would do it for you alone."
Later that night the first of Voldemort's men was branded with a skull and serpent. For his loyalty, a plain witch woke up beautiful, with no memory of who or where she was. She would have no questions until her son was nearly two years old. For his gift, a dark man gained a raw, red sore along the line of his jaw. Every time he shared a dark part of himself he lost a little of his ability to hide the true form beneath.
***
"Up four, over three, just past the gargoyle holding three snakes," Ginny muttered to herself. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know how Blaise knew to locate Draco's bedroom from the outside. There were no lights on that floor, so it seemed safe enough to try the window.
It was locked.
Ginny tapped gently on the glass and flew back a few feet, watching the grass below for the Attack Gnomes the Malfoys were rumored to have. Blaise said they would raise an alarm and that they had a painful, if toothless, bite.
The window opened. "Oh no. No, Weasley, you didn't." Draco, still dressed at midnight, was leaning out the open window. "Go away right now."
Ginny flew directly at Draco as fast as she could and he sprung back, giving her room to land on the narrow windowsill. Setting her broom on the ledge, she climbed into the room. "Come with me."
Draco glanced toward the door. "I can't. Father will kill me if I run off," he said with a rueful half-smile.
"Blaise says he'll kill you if you stay."
Draco's eyes darkened. "Maybe. Maybe not. Just go, before someone finds you here." He walked away from the window to light a candle on his bedside table.
Ginny took a deep breath. She was tired from flying for hours and was very close to whining or begging, but she knew that Draco wouldn't want to hear either one. She stepped forward, reaching one arm out. Her hand connected with Draco's chest as he turned around and she rested it there. "If we hurry, we can be back at Hogwarts before dawn."
"Are you deaf? If I go back to Hogwarts, he'll just bring me back here again. Why fight it?“ He ran one hand through his hair. “I'm tired of all of this. I just want it to be over. Anyway, I can't Apparate. If I try to leave some other way he'll catch me before I'm off the grounds." Draco batted her hand away and stepped back.
"Then run," Ginny said, her words coming quick and hot. "Run until it's all over. Hide. It's not your job to save the world." Draco didn't reply, so she pressed on. "Do you trust me?"
Draco made a soft noise of disgust. "Do I trust you? You have too many freckles, too many brothers, and too little money to be --"
"Do you trust me?" she asked again, her voice like flint.
"Yes," he whispered.
"Then meet me in the Integrated Magic classroom." Ginny caught his hand and flipped their Portkey out of her handkerchief. A deep thud shook the room when he grasped it reflexively, and a gust of wind blew around her head and out the window. Ginny crossed her fingers that he had double-checked his Arithmancy.
The sound of heels on a stone floor snapped her out of her reverie. Someone was coming, and they were coming fast. Ginny ran for the window, and reached for her broomstick -- but it wasn't there. She squinted in the dim light, frantically patting the windowsill and then the floor with the idea that it must be right under her nose and simply invisible in the darkness. She only felt cold stone, and heard the footsteps approach. Anxiously, she stretched out a hand and grasped her wand. "Accio broom."
A handful of twigs flew through the window. Suddenly queasy, Ginny leaned over the windowsill. There, forty feet down, was her broomstick, and she heard an echo of her mother's voice. If you leave your broom in the window, sooner or later it's going to fall out. The gust of wind from the Portkey must have blown her broom off the ledge, and now it was in three pieces on the ground. Her mind worked frantically. There was no way down.
The footsteps stopped outside the door. Quickly blowing out the candle, Ginny threw her cloak over a chair and dove headfirst into the bed, curling up on her side just as it opened. Pretend you have every right to be here.
Ginny swallowed deeply and tried her sleepiest voice. "Draco? Is that you? I know we said we should wait, but I'll be fifteen in a few weeks..." She let her voice trail off as she sat up. Sliding out from under the covers, she stood up and noticed that there was not one, but two shadows blocking the light that spilled from the portal. As the taller figure walked toward her, Ginny felt her knees buckle and she had to wrap an arm around the bedpost for support.
Still, Ginny spoke first. "Hullo, Tom."
Tom Marvolo Riddle reached out one hand and took Ginny by the chin, turning her head from side to side. "You're dead. You died in the Chamber of Secrets. I killed you."
Ginny didn't answer.
She couldn't have. She stared, mesmerized, at the face of the boy who had tormented her for months, the face that was so much older and harder and more beautiful than she remembered. He was standing so close that even in the half-light she could see his chest rise and fall with each breath. A rough ridge of scar tissue ran diagonally down his forehead, along the side of his nose near one red eye, and over the corner of his lips. On one side of the divide was a pattern of weeping sores and silvery, scaly flakes. But, on the other side, there was the smoothest, clearest new skin, the most sensuously curving lips, the most beautiful, intelligent blue eye topped with a shock of dark hair.
Tom rubbed his thumb over her lower lip, then slid his hand around to the back of her head, grasping her by the hair at the nape of her neck and tilting her head back. Then, he wrenched her in a tight circle and marched her, wincing, out of the room.
***
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Thanks to thecurmudgeons for beta reading this chapter. Last updated: June 1, 2003
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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.