The sparse rays of the winter sun filtered through the closed windows of the fifth year girls’ dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower. Four beds were arranged in a circle, leaving room for a spacious maroon rug to lie in the center, complementing the surrounding scarlet and gold décor. The occupants of the beds should have all been still slumbering, enjoying the last hour of dream time available before they would be forced to awaken and face another day of classes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They all should have been asleep, but one was not.

Ginevra Weasley – or Ginny, as she has been called by family and friends for as long as she can remember – sat on the sill of the window closest to her bed, wrapped in a comforter and gazing out onto the grounds of Hogwarts. For the past few years – or, more specifically, since the end of her first year – this had become somewhat of a ritual. Sleep, when it came, was not kind to her psyche. So, more often than not, Ginny would find herself rising with Apollo himself. Over the years, dawn had grown to be her favorite time of day. She had discovered the magic present in the beginning of a new day, especially the peaceful moments before the rest of the world would wake, and reality would slide back into focus.

Ginny sighed as she realized that the other girls would be waking within the hour to ready for classes – too soon for her liking. But in a few days, all three of her roommates would be leaving for their respective destinations – whether vacation sites or homes – for the Christmas holidays. Then she would have the room all to herself, which was something Ginny was much anticipating. Her need for personal space and time alone was one of the reasons she strove so hard to be at the top in her classes, and maintain good standing with the faculty. She knew she was a leading contender for Head Girl in her seventh year, and that such a position stipulated a private bedroom.

Ginny did not like to think of the other factor of her academic success: Tom Riddle, whose ambition – among other traits – seemed have rubbed off on her a bit.

She shivered as snippets of memory from her first year – the confusion, terror, and utter betrayal – returned to taunt her. Almost by instinct, her vision swept over to the lake, and she took a long, deep breath as she felt her heart rate calm a bit. There was some soothing effect that water seemed to have on her, even from this distance. As a child, she would often wander down to the pond behind the Burrow, sitting by the small body of water to read, write, draw, or simply just to get lost in thought while gazing at the water’s surface. Here at Hogwarts, she loved to sit by the lake and watch the wind move ripples across previously smooth planes, unbelying of the enchanted world of merpeople and sea-creatures below.

A movement caught out of the corner of her eye rose Ginny out of her scattered reverie, and she turned to face the disturbance. Her roommate, Theresa Kensington, was stirring, a sure indication that it would not be long before she, as well as the other two girls in the dorm, woke. Ginny threw one last wistful glance toward the lake before silently making her way back to her own bed. After depositing her blanket on the bed, she stopped at her trunk to gather her clothing for the day and her shower kit, before making her way to the lavatory located adjacent to the fifth year girls’ dorm. Although she had access to the Prefects’ Bathroom, Ginny usually preferred to get ready in her dorm. After quickly brushing her teeth and scrubbing her face, she spent more than a few minutes under the spray of a steaming hot shower, to compensate for the blanket she had had to relinquish at the official start of the new day.

Stepping out of the shower, Ginny hurriedly cast a drying charm and threw on her school ensemble – a once-white button-down shirt passed down from some indeterminable brother, a gray pleated skirt from the second-hand store, and Ron’s old robes that he grew out of in his third year. She ran a brush through her long red hair before giving herself a quick once over in the mirror by the bathroom doorway. Ginny sighed a bit dejectedly at the picture she presented, before shrugging it off and entering her dorm room to grab her prefect pin – Fred and George had been so disappointed when that had arrived in the mail last summer. She then headed down to the common room, and, upon finding it blissfully empty, walked confidently out of the portrait hole.

After a quiet “Good morning” to the Fat Lady in the portrait, Ginny made her way down to the Great Hall. She was usually one of the first to arrive for breakfast, although she rarely had much of an appetite. When she reached her destination, Ginny found that, as was usual for this time on a weekday, it was barely filled – a few studious Ravenclaws were talking quietly amongst themselves, one or two Hufflepuffs lay half asleep in their plates, and a handful of grim-looking Slytherins were scattered across the table of the snake house. Ginny found herself to be the only Gryffindor present, but as this was not unusual, she simply took a seat and began to fill her plate. Some days Hermione Granger would be down here, with her nose stuck in some ancient volume or other, but Ginny knew that Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley – her own dear brother – had returned to the common room quite late last night, so she did not expect the older girl to be present too early this morning.

Ah, the “Dream Team,” as Harry, Hermione, and Ron had been affectionately – or not so affectionately – dubbed. The trio was an inseparable unit that worked each year to keep the wizarding world safe.

Yeah.

Right.

It would be more appropriate to describe them as three extremely curious, adventure-seeking teenagers who have a lot of luck – and smarts (Hermione), and power (Harry) – on their side, and manage to foil evil’s plans time and time again. Ginny snorted quietly to herself as she considered the three sixth years in question. She had no real harsh feelings towards the trio, she just found them at many times to be quite wrapped up in their own little world, inadvertently alienating other students, especially ‘little sisters.’

Ginny was quite used to being shut out by now.

Before arriving at Hogwarts, she had lived in the Burrow with her parents and brothers. Being the only girl had limited her social growth somewhat in the house, and she had rarely played with other children, as Molly Weasley had liked to keep her close so as to keep an eye on her. When the boys had played Quidditch or decided to rough-house, she had simply sat alone and watched, as they laughed and fought with each other. This had not kept her from learning how to fly or picking up a few techniques to defend herself – behind their backs, of course. At times, Ron would play with her – usually when the twins had been heavily picking on him – and they would go down to the pond by their lop-sided house, or venture into the small woods to play hide and seek. Ron had been the one to teach her how to play wizard’s chess, and he had been the one who would listen when she felt like being a chatter-box and no one else would pay attention – which, in a house of nine people, happened more often than not. In those years, Ron had been her closest confidant, her best friend, and her favorite brother.

But then the time had come for Ron to go to Hogwarts, where he had met Harry and Hermione – and the rest, as they say, is history. Ginny had spent her first year hoping Ron would acknowledge her as a friend once more, not to mention majorly crushing on Harry Potter; but both had been in vain. She had formed tentative friendships with the other three girls in her dorm, but had ended up feeling left out when much of the conversation steered towards clothes and boys – clothes she could not afford, and the one boy she had eyes for treated her as though she were invisible; and the girls in her dorm had known it. In her loneliness, she had turned to a diary.

The diary.

Ginny shivered and continued to play absentmindedly with the food on her plate as the memories overcame her.

Tom Riddle had seemed to be the perfect friend: he had listened to what she had to say – or write – and had offered advice when it was requested. He had comforted her when the other girls giggled at her faded robes and worn-out shoes, told her stories to take her mind off of how dejected she felt when being ignored by Ron and Harry, and helped her with her homework when she was stuck on a particularly tricky spell or potion. She should have known that it was too good to be true – that someone who actually cared to listen to what she had to say, liked her for who she was, and understood her in ways she had never thought possible, could not be real.

It had started with missing time. She could not remember where she had been during the Halloween feast, and other random intervals; she had woken up with a substance that looked suspiciously like blood on her robes, and feathers surrounding her. When she had told Tom about it, he simply replied that she should not worry. It had taken her too long to stop trusting that damn diary, and when she had finally thought she had disposed of it, who should find it but Harry Potter himself. Valentine’s Day that year, after that horrid singing Valentine – sent by Fred and George for the sole purpose of seeing how red Ginny could get – had been delivered, Ginny had seen the book of her nightmares in the hands of Draco Malfoy, who had picked it up from Harry’s belongings.

In hindsight, stealing the book back had probably not been the best move, but she had been desperate to ensure that the devil in the diary – one of the less colorful references she had devised for Tom Riddle – would not betray her further by revealing her secrets to the boy she had fancied herself in love with. Pathetic, yes, Ginny was willing to concede that much. But she had been only twelve at the time, and was allowed some error in judgment. In the end, her misplaced trust and determination to keep what she had told Tom secret had landed her on the cold, damp floors of the Chamber of Secrets. After having been saved by Harry, and facing a solemn Dumbledore and her worried parents following the incident, Ginny had decided that trust was not something she would ever give lightly again.

Her next few years at Hogwarts had passed relatively uneventfully… for her personally that is. When the Dementors had boarded the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of her second year, it was Tom’s voice, Tom’s laugh that she had heard in the darkness. The escape of Sirius Black had had everyone on edge, and Ginny had managed to gather, from the snippets of conversation she caught before Harry, Hermione, and Ron would notice her presence, that Black was after Harry – not too unbelievable considering he had been thought to be one of Voldemort’s most loyal followers.

Ginny’s third year had brought the Tri-wizard tournament, and with it the Yule Ball and the final demise of her romantic feelings for Harry Potter. While her crush on Harry had lasted for over three years (beginning with her glimpse of him at Platform 9 ¾ in his first year), its end had come swiftly – or so she would like to think – when it had become clear to her that he cared very little for any feelings she may harbor toward him. When he had stated right in front of her that he had been turned down by the pretty Ravenclaw seeker Cho Chang when he had asked her to the Yule Ball, Ginny had thought her heart may never heal from the rip that seemed to tear into her chest. She gave up on Harry Potter ever caring for her as anything more than ‘Ron’s little sister’ that day.

“Good morning, Ginny!” came a very familiar voice, breaking her away from the thoughts that had been consuming her. She looked up in time to see Hermione slide into the seat directly across from her. The elder girl smoothed over her crisp uniform in her seat and tucked a strand of her now-tamed honey-brown hair behind her ear, before helping herself to some toast and scrambled eggs.

“Morning, Hermione,” Ginny replied with a convincing smile. “Late night?” she asked – although she already knew the answer – as she vaguely directed her free hand to the ill-concealed dark circles under the sixth year’s eyes.

Hermione returned a strained smile and replied carefully, “Yes, well, there is so much work to do before the winter holidays begin. The sixth years have seven feet of parchment due in Potions alone!”

Ginny decided to accept this answer for the sake of her sanity, and nodded before returning her attentions to her breakfast, and her thoughts.

While Ginny no longer acted as the living and breathing shadow of the Dream Team, she longed for them to acknowledge that she was not some child, and could help in the fight against Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort. This was a battle she fought with not only Harry, Hermione, and Ron, but with the rest of her family as well. She was the youngest, and the only girl, so the members of her family took it upon themselves to make sure she was shielded from anything having to do with the dark arts. This behavior was even more fervently practiced due to the events of her first year, she knew, but it aggravated Ginny to no end that the others could not see that she had learned and grown from the lessons taught by that experience.

In fact, it was because of her first year that she felt so acutely the desire to be working actively against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. What Tom Riddle had done to her may not have been as horrible as what he had done to Harry or the Longbottoms or Cedric Diggory. But that bastard had been in her head for almost a year, manipulating her into his willing puppet. She wanted to show him that he could not break her – that she was not some helpless little girl anymore. That was why she had been so determined to go to the Department of Mysteries last year with the trio and Neville and Luna – she needed to show them she had grown up and could take care of herself. She needed to show Tom that she was a force to be reckoned with.

And what had happened at the Department of Mysteries? She had been utterly useless. She had been threatened, only to have Harry step in front of her as a protector, and she had managed to get her ankle broken. Neville and Luna had at least aided the mission somewhat with their actions, but Ginny could do nothing but limp around. She couldn’t even save Ron when that brain had been wrapping itself around him! And of course, that had been the day Sirius fell through the veil, never to return.

She had gone to prove herself, and ended up learning that she was not up to the challenge. No one had said anything to this effect, but the following summer at the Order Headquarters had found her once again outside of the loop, a trend that continued well through the school year to this morning.

Ginny set her fork down on her barely eaten plate of food, before gathering up her things and nodding farewell to Hermione. She exchanged quick hellos as she passed Ron and Harry, trudging through the doors of the Great Hall as she exited, both looking in dire need of a few more hours of sleep. Ginny fought away the niggling thoughts invading her mind regarding whatever new mystery the trio was investigating now – probably for the Order – and made her way out onto the castle grounds for a quick walk before she would need to arrive at Greenhouse Five for Herbology.

It absolutely galled Ginny that everyone else in her family, and Harry and Hermione, were notified of, and involved in the goings-on of the Order of the Phoenix. Still, her mother refused to allow her access to Order information, or to have Ginny in any way included in the various missions currently employed. Molly Weasley would listen to no one when it came to this issue: not the half-hearted attempts of Arthur, or Bill or Charlie. Even Dumbledore had tried to persuade her! It had been an early summer morning when Ginny had made her way downstairs after another night of scarce sleep, when she had come upon them: Ginny had hidden herself in the shadows as she listened to Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age, try to persuade Molly to see that Ginevra was growing up, and she needed to be aware of what was going on around her to be able to protect herself. But had her mum listened? Of course not!

Ginny strode swiftly and deliberately through the snow towards the iced-over lake, trying to rid herself of the rage and frustration building steadily within. She knew her mother’s decision influenced, at least in part, the trio’s exclusion of her in their research this year – it was Order business, and she was not authorized access to such privileged information. The three conveniently overlooked how often they had sought out and retrieved information that was to be kept confidential from them, when they told her she could not know what they were researching or doing. Hermione, at least, had the decency to look a bit guilty at the patronization, but Harry and Ron seemed to prefer having Ginny out of the way. If she were thinking more clearly, Ginny would concede that Harry and Ron preferred having Ginny out of harm’s way, but she was not feeling so generous this December morning.

After a few deep, calming breaths enjoyed by the lakeside, Ginny made her way to the Greenhouse for her first class. The fifth year Gryffindors had Herbology with the Ravenclaws, something Ginny looked forward to. When she arrived, Ginny found Luna Lovegood waiting outside for her, absently twirling a strand of her light blonde hair. Although many of her classmates found Luna to be weird – bordering crazy – Ginny found the other girl’s calm, neutral mannerisms quite comforting. They had met during one of Ginny’s visits to the Ravenclaw common room in her third year. Though an invitation had been extended by Michael Corner, the older boy had been running late for their get-together, and Luna had kindly let Ginny into the common room so she would not have to wait out in the halls. The girls had begun as casual acquaintances who, in the absence of other substantial company, grew closer to each other. Now that Ginny knew Luna, she was grateful for the spacey girl, and the humor Luna often unwittingly brought to conversation usually lightened Ginny’s mood.

“Did you know that the Siberian Crupses have been rumored to be migrating north this winter, a behavior totally unlike their normal patterns of movement?” Luna asked in her dreamy voice, without so much as a greeting. But then again, their relationship was comfortable without such formalities. “Daddy said we could go look for them after Christmas Day. It would be quite a story for The Quibbler if we were to find anything on our expedition.”

Ginny bit her lip to keep from smiling and answered in the most serious voice she could muster, “That sounds fascinating, Luna! Now tell me, what is a Siberian Crupse again?” As Luna went into detail about the six-legged furry being that could supposedly breathe fire, Ginny felt her earlier tension ease. This was why she adored her friend so – Luna’s wonder and belief of things wizarding children stop believing in at the age of six was refreshing for Ginny.

The girls made their way to their seats and waited as the rest of the class arrived. Ginny waved as Alessa Rimone – a nice girl she had met through Michael Corner last year – said hello as she passed by to her seat with her Ravenclaw friends. Colin Creevey arrived with another fifth year Gryffindor, Noah Van Clauspen, and they seemed to be talking Quidditch. While Ginny enjoyed the sport – as it would be impossible to grow up with six brothers and not gain an appreciation for the game – she thought it was way too early in the morning to be talking Quidditch, but obviously Colin and Noah felt differently. Colin came to sit by Ginny and Luna as Noah went to save two seats for the other Gryffindor boys that were expected. Ginny smiled a hello to Colin while noticing her dorm mates enter the classroom with the missing Gryffindor boys. Amanda Nolsen was giggling at something Derrick Spinnet had said – the two had been dating for five weeks, as Amanda would smugly tell anyone who would listen. Bradley Ferguson pulled Derrick away from Amanda to sit in the seats Noah had saved, while Theresa Kensington and Kari Wong joined Amanda in her earlier giggling as they took their seats across from the boys. Ginny looked back to Colin, who had also noticed the exchange, and rolled her chocolate-brown eyes as he grinned at her in response.

Colin Creevey was not the mousy little first year who had followed Harry Potter around with a camera permanently glued to his forehead anymore. No, while Colin still enjoyed photography, he outgrew his hero-worship and revealed himself to be not only a great guy, but also a good friend. Ginny and Luna had gotten to know him and his brother Dennis better through the D.A., or Dumbledore’s Army as the group was appropriately titled. Colin was very close to his brother, but after his fourth year, he and Dennis had drifted apart a bit – Colin spent time with Ginny and Luna, and sometimes Neville, while Dennis started to hang around the other Gryffindor third years more often. Ginny knew Colin sometimes missed the time he would spend with his brother, but Ginny saw that their time apart did not hurt their relationship at all – it made their bond all the stronger. If only my bond with Ron were anything like that, we’d have to be the best of friends by now, Ginny thought sourly.

She snapped out of her thoughts as Colin nudged her shoulder, and looked up to see that Professor Sprout had arrived and had begun lecturing. Ginny took out some parchment and a quill, and began taking down notes – there was a good chance that this material would be on the O.W.L.’s all of the fifth years would be taking at the end of the year…

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Draco Malfoy maneuvered confidently through the halls of Hogwarts, smirking as the students parted to make room for him to pass. He was heading down to the dungeons for Potions after two abysmal hours of Transfiguration with McGonagall. It was not that he did not like the subject, he just found the lessons to be tedious – the tutors his father insisted he have during his summer holidays ensured that he was always well-prepared for the school-year. Draco sneered at the thought of his father, who was still rotting in Azkaban. 'Not for long,' thought Draco. He knew that the Death Eaters would be moving soon to free their comrades from the prison. The Dementors had already left months ago, and the new guards employed with the task of keeping the prisoners behind bars were a sorry replacement. The upcoming holidays presented an ideal time for attack, when people – 'victims,' Draco thought irately – would be gathered together, creating appealing targets.

Draco shook is head slightly to rid himself of the angry and morbid thoughts, displacing a few strands of his platinum blond hair, before placing the cool, unemotional façade back on his pale, pointed face. As he continued down the stairwell, his silver-gray eyes revealed nothing of his thoughts. Less than six months ago, Draco had wanted nothing more than to join the ranks of the Death Eaters, serve Lord Voldemort, and gain power while ridding the world of Muggle filth. When his father had been sent to Azkaban because of the meddling of Potter and his little gang, Draco’s anger and hatred of the Boy Who Lived had reached a pinnacle. He had sworn vengeance, and had made sure Potter knew that it was coming. Of course, the incident with Potter’s little club on the return trip of the Hogwarts Express had only added to the fiery rage that grew beneath Draco’s cold exterior.

But when he had returned home to his mother, who had been all alone in their manor with only house elves for company after the imprisonment of her husband Lucius Malfoy, Draco had been met with a situation he could not have previously conceived. His mother – his beautiful, noble, elegant mother – had not been pining for her husband, or sending threats to the “right people” demanding her husband’s return. Instead, she had been filled with an excitement he had never seen in her before. That summer, without the critical supervision of Lucius Malfoy, Draco had begun to know the woman who had played the part of distant matron all his life. And he had realized that the person he had always seen in the shadows of his father, was not the real Narcissa Black Malfoy at all.

“Draco,” he heard the voice through his mental haze and turned to face the speaker. Blaise Zabini gave him a look that asked where he had just been. Draco slightly shook his head in a negative fashion, and Blaise simply raised a dark eyebrow before turning back to the cauldron and materials in front of him. Without realizing it, Draco had arrived at his seat in the Potions dungeon. He quickly looked up to the blackboard to see what potion was to be made. Draco smirked as he saw it was the Viscerion potion – one he had made over the summer. The potion had many meticulous steps, and the ingredients had to be carefully measured, but Draco found the process of making potions to be an art, and it calmed him greatly. He looked over in time to see the Mudblood scolding Weasel for starting the fire too soon – certain ingredients for this potion had to be mixed before being put to heat. Draco snorted, quietly – as the habit was not considered polite at all – and wondered, not for the first time, how Weasley and Potter had managed to get into N.E.W.T.’s level Potions. Draco would bet galleons that that was a question Snape pondered often as well, as the Professor in question took five points from Gryffindor when Potty added too much root of asphodel, and his potion began to emit a purple cloud.

Potter glared at Snape’s back when the Professor turned to “assist” another student, and Draco could not resist the impulse to throw a superior smirk his way. Potter saw Draco and scowled, before turning his attention to trying to salvage his potion.

“Do you think they let the Gryffs in this class based on ‘special circumstances?’” Pansy Parkinson drawled loud enough for the Gryffindors to hear. She glanced quickly at Snape, who was back at his desk, grading papers and studiously ignoring his students. “Really, think about it. They certainly did not get in on merit, so it must be charity. I mean, Weasley has no money, Granger has no proper heritage, and Potter has no parents,” Pansy finished with a smirk that could only be worn by a Slytherin.

The Slytherins chuckled, as expected, while Draco’s customary smirk graced his face. “If that’s the criteria their using, Longbottom should be in here too,” he drawled.

Weasley and Potter, who were previously being barely held back by Granger, wrestled out of her flimsy grasp to attack the Slytherins.

“POTTER! WEASLEY! What is going on here?” Draco sat back, satisfied, and watched the scene unfold. “Attacking other students? 50 points from Gryffindor, and a detention for each of you,” Snape said with a sadistically pleased smirk on his face. “I will expect you tonight at seven, Mr. Weasley; and, Mr. Potter, tomorrow, same time.”

“But Malfoy – ” the Weasel began, but was cut of by Snape.

“But nothing Mr. Weasley, and 10 more points for your further insolence. Now return to your seats and complete the assigned potion before I decide to have you in for detention every night until the beginning of the holidays!” Snape announced before sweeping back to his desk.

A fuming Weasley – with his face as red as his hair – and a decidedly pissed off Potter returned to Granger’s side to complete their work, as the chuckles of the Slytherins died down. Draco watched how the dumb-arse duo were cutting up their ingredients, and knew immediately their potions would not turn out as desired. Draco smiled – no, smirked – inwardly before returning to his own potion.

As he added ingredient after ingredient, and stirred when appropriate, Draco let his mind wander. While he was no longer certain of his stance toward Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Draco definitely still despised the Gryffindor “Dream Team.” He was, however, feeling less than pleased about his comment regarding Longbottom – it was after all his Aunt Bellatrix that had tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom to the point of mental deficiency. Draco shrugged off the troublesome thoughts and turned back to his memories of the previous summer.

During his two and a half months at home, Draco had grown to know the woman his mother had been before Lucius’ control, the woman she still was, away from that cold-hearted bastard. After his tutoring sessions each morning, which Narcissa Malfoy insisted he continue for his own benefit, the two would have lunch, and then proceed to spend the afternoon together. Some times he would work on summer assignments from the Hogwarts professors, while his mother would sit herself gracefully on a grand piece of furniture in the tearoom, reading a book of poetry. Other times they would spend time in the gardens, where he would help her with her prized rosebushes, or just out on the grounds of the Malfoy lands. Once they had even ridden their old steeds to the quaint village that remained standing as monument to the generations when Malfoy Lords had ruled over the province. That was one of his favorite memories, as he hadn’t ridden with his mother since he was six, when Lucius deemed the activity “unfit for the Malfoy heir.”

Most days, however, they would sit together and talk, while sharing tea and various pastries. Early on, Draco had learned of his mother’s true views regarding Voldemort. While Narcissa Black Malfoy was a proud, pureblooded Lady, she abhorred the senseless and unnecessary violence promoted by the Dark Lord. Draco had sensed that she had been waiting long for an opportunity, out of Lucius’ watchful eye, to speak with him about the harsh realities of Death Eater life.

“I understand that you are your father’s son, Draco,” she had said. “I would expect nothing less from you than to be the man Lucius has been trying to mold since your birth.” She had paused then, and seemed to be gathering herself. “But, you are a Black, as well as a Malfoy, and for that reason I expect more for you than a life as the Dark Lord’s servant.”

And that had been the end of discussions regarding Voldemort and Death Eaters. After her quiet declaration, Narcissa had taken their time together to teach Draco about her ancestors, the Blacks, and their importance in the wizarding world.

Draco had never known much more than some general historical facts about his mother’s family – his family. The Black line, much like the Malfoy line, was a noble one, and could be traced back to the Middle Ages. One afternoon, Narcissa had taken Draco to a room he had never before entered in the East Wing of Malfoy Manor. There, a tapestry hung in tribute to 'The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.' He had listened as his mother spoke of the legacy of the Blacks, which was linked to the very crux of the wizarding world. Draco had seen that at the top of the extensive family tree was Frederick Ellison Black, who was one of the twelve original founders of the Wizards’ Council – the governmental body in power prior to the creation of the Ministry of Magic. Draco had already known of the Council, as the Malfoy line could be traced back to Jacques Anton Malfoy, another one of the original founders.

Narcissa had sometimes repeated historical knowledge he – as the Malfoy heir – had learned at a very early age. He had already known of the twelve founders of the first cohesive, political body created for the wizarding world – separately and secretly away from the Muggle world. After Hogwarts had been founded in the early 900s, and Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor had sought out students to bring to their school, the wizarding community had grown more connected. Hogwarts, the first wizarding school built in Europe, brought together wizards who were scattered all over the continent and isles – mostly among Muggles. Some of the first graduates of the school saw – amidst the blatant persecution of witches and wizards by Muggles – the need for secrecy and a separate society for wizard-kind. The times of Merlin and Morgana – when wizards were properly respected and feared – were over. Twelve Hogwarts graduates – Black, Malfoy, Lestrange, Dolohov, Gideon, Kensington, Lendelle, Bragge, Tucker, Zabini, Muldoon, and Clagg – representing all four school founders, worked together to create a system upon which wizard-kind could thrive.

By studying the political history of Muggles – both the mistakes and progress made – they created the Wizards’ Council, which acted much like Arthur’s Round Table. The twelve Lords of the council were equally powerful, and equally responsible for the provinces they had been designated. Land was not to be fought over and titles would not be gained by bloodshed, as was the custom in the earlier Middle Ages of Muggle history. After a few generations, it was decided that a chief should be named for the council, for representative and negotiation purposes with other magical beings. The balance of power within the council, however – among the twelve Lords – remained unaltered by the changing chiefs, who were chosen by their fellow Lords.

This form of government worked well for centuries. However, in the early eighteenth century, the Muggle concept of democracy spread into the wizarding world, and the people demanded that their voices be heard. The Lords of the Wizards’ Council tried to hold off this increasingly popular political system, but the bloodbath that was the French Revolution caused the Nobles to realize that they could either change with their people, or their people could get rid of them and change on their own. The Wizards’ Council cooperatively disbanded, but the Lords did not lose their titles, and were allowed to keep fractions of their lands. The Ministry of Magic was established in the late eighteenth century – a symbolic tribute to democracy.

And that was exactly what it was – a symbol. The Lords of the disbanded Wizard’s Council were society’s wealthiest citizens, and they played a large part in constructing the new government. If their titles could no longer wield the power they were used to possessing, then their wealth, influence, and positions in the newly developed wizarding society surely would. A few of the Lords took up high-ranking positions in the ministry, while some others ventured into the private sector.

The power and influence of the twelve Houses was not eradicated by the new form of government; in fact, most thrived on it, and the House of Black was no exception. Over the years, the Blacks, much like the Malfoys, amassed great fortunes. Narcissa had taken great pride in sharing with Draco the accomplishments of the members of the Black lineage. Various Lords of the House contributed to the honor of the Black name, including Lord Duncan Black, who acted as Minister of Magic for a short period in the late 1800s. Lord Rembrandt Black was Britain’s first ambassador to the International Wizards’ Confederation. Lord Galahad Black made great progress in the field of transportation with the Floo Network. And Narcissa’s own great-great grandfather Phineas Nigellus Black passed on his title to his son before taking up the position of Headmaster of Hogwarts, the school which had first permitted and cultivated the creation of a world for wizards separate and safe from Muggles.

Draco had been enthralled by the rich history of his family. His minimal prior knowledge of the House of Black, learned from his father’s lessons on the progress of the twelve Houses, could not possibly have adequately encompassed what it meant to be a Black. Much like the Lord of the House of Malfoy, the Black Lord carried great power through societal standing and wealth; and with that power came great responsibility – responsibility for his House, for his people remaining on his ancestral lands, and for the greater wizarding society at large.

On the night before his journey on the Hogwarts Express to his sixth year of school, Narcissa had come to Draco’s room as he sat reading quietly on his bed. The house elves had already packed his trunk and set it by the door, ready to be taken to the private Malfoy coach for the trip to King’s Cross Station the next morning. She had seated herself in the antique chair which complemented his desk, and had looked at him before beginning. When she had spoken, her voice had taken on a tone that had indicated to Draco the importance of what was being revealed. Draco had put away the literature he had been reading, and turned his attention to her. Looking at her, he had seen that her eyes held a sincerity and quiet truth he had never before witnessed, as she shared a last bit of knowledge with him.

“You will be a man soon, Draco,” she had begun quietly, and he had not dared interrupt, or insisted that he already was a man, but had listened intently. “You will come of legal age and graduate as a fully-trained wizard in less than two years.” She had paused, and Draco had nodded slightly, whether in agreement or encouragement he himself had not been sure. “You must understand this, Draco: As much wealth as the twelve Lords of the Noble Houses possess, their power amongst themselves – in their inner Council – has always been balanced, and has always been passed on to the next heir in line.” She had paused again and licked her lips, a nervous tendency she had never dared show in front of her son before. “What most do not realize, however, is that there is a distinct magic underlying the Lord of each house.” Draco had attempted to keep his surprise from showing at this statement. “When the original twelve founders created a separate world for wizards, a raw magic was harnessed from the surrounding elements. Power was gathered from the flowing music of the wind, the deep currents of the water, the burning embers of the fire, and the very life of the land itself. This magic, this power, Draco, is the foundation for the world we live in. This same magic has run through the veins of every House Lord to inherit, and has been passed down innately to the rightful heir of each line for generations.” Here, she had stopped again, and Draco could have sworn that, for a moment, she looked as though she would continue. Instead, she had studied him, with her emotions unusually unmasked, and a look on her face that he could not quite decipher, but had worried him nonetheless. She had shaken her head slightly then, and given him a slight smile, seeming to have come to some decision. She had stood slowly before coming over to where he sat unmoving, and brushed back loose silver-blond strands to lay a sweet kiss on his forehead, reminiscent of his early childhood. “That is enough for now,” she had whispered. “Sleep well, my little Dragon.” And with that, she had left his presence.

Draco had not slept well at all on that night, or any night since, really. His father had never mentioned anything about the magical power his mother had spoken of that night, but he did not doubt the truth in her statement. From the way she had voiced her words so deliberately – and hesitantly – it seemed as though Narcissa had been trying to tell him something more, something hidden just beneath the surface of her story. She had been trying to prepare him for something…

A sharp “Class dismissed!” broke Draco out of his reverie as he bottled up his potion to turn in for grading. He quickly gathered his things and made his way to the Great Hall after handing Snape his vial.

“Where did you go off to Draco?” Pansy Parkinson’s voice floated into his ear as he took a seat between her and Blaise Zabini. Vincent Crabbe grunted, and Gregory Goyle nodded in greeting as Draco settled himself across from them. His former ‘bodyguards’ no longer shadowed him constantly, mostly because they had not been accepted into many of the NEWT level classes he was expected to take. Although Goyle did manage to earn a decent number of OWLs, Crabbe proved himself to be utterly useless in the exams.

“Whatever do you mean, Pansy?” Draco replied as he piled a sandwich and crisps onto his plate. “We had classes together all this morning, and I came here straight from the dungeons after Potions.”

“No. I meant where did you go off to during class, Draco? Your body may have been there, but your mind most certainly was not.”

Draco was starting to grow annoyed.

“Pansy, where I go, whether physically or astrally, as you are proposing, is none of your concern,” Draco bit back.

A look of hurt flashed across her blue eyes, but it passed quickly, and she calmly raised a dark eyebrow and smirked.

“Well, well, someone needs a nap,” she drawled happily. “Did Windholm wear you out last night, Draco baby?”

She smirked as Draco glared at her.

“Hmm… that seems unlikely,” Blaise interjected amusedly, “as my sources place her in the Astronomy Tower all last night. Under Thomas Nott,” he finished with obvious relish.

Draco turned his glare full force onto Blaise. The report of Delilah Windholm’s activities the previous night held no bearing on his mood – he and the fifth year had an understanding, and he had invested little to no emotion in the girl.

“Well, she is ridden more often than a broomstick,” Pansy retorted scathingly.

“Too true,” Blaise consented, nodding, before returning to his lunch. The dark-haired boy smirked when he looked up to see his cousin, Delilah Windholm herself, sitting a few seats away, directing a potent death stare at them, obviously having heard the whole exchange.

Blaise shrugged it off as Pansy gave the younger girl a decidedly evil grin. Draco gave Delilah a small smirk and turned away. Pansy absolutely despised Delilah, and Blaise was not too fond of the girl either. Why, then, did Draco insist on being involved with her? Thinking about it would get him nowhere, so he decided to clear his mind by simply taking in his surroundings.

The Great Hall was filled with chattering students as they discussed their holiday plans. Draco himself would be staying at Hogwarts, as his mother wanted to take the time to get reacquainted with her second older sister, Andromeda, whom she had not properly spent time with since Andromeda’s marriage to the Muggle-born Ted Tonks. Both he and his mother knew that once Lucius returned – and he would – no such family reunion would be permitted. At least, not a happy family reunion…

The atmosphere of the Great Hall was far too jovial for his liking, Draco decided. Nonetheless, he winked at a group of Hufflepuff fourth year girls who were eyeing him hungrily, and smirked as they began giggling and blushing madly. He let his eyes roam to the Ravenclaw table, and pasted on an appropriately seductive grin when he caught the eye of Cho Chang, whom he had had… er-… relations with a few months prior. Draco’s attention was diverted from Cho’s inviting gaze when he saw a flash of red out of the corner of his eye.

It was Weasley’s little sister. She had just entered the Hall with her dandy boyfriend right beside her. Draco tried to remember his name, but the best he came up with was “Creaton,” so he settled for referring to the dirty-blonde as Camera Boy, as he remembered seeing the boy carrying a camera in earlier years. The Weaslette and Camera Boy took their seats across from Longbottom, a few seats away from the Gryffindor trio. Draco was a bit surprised, the last time he had checked, the little Weasley had been a Potterette in training. Well, the last time he had actually been faced with her was in Umbridge’s office last year, but he had been a bit too preoccupied with the flying bogies she had expertly sent his way to analyze the mannerisms of the girl. Draco slightly shuddered as he recalled that well-placed hex that allowed the captives of the Inquisitorial Squad to escape, and turned his attention back to the little red head. He wondered what had changed her, before mentally slapping himself. She was a Weasley, and therefore beneath him. Well, not beneath him in the literal sense. 'Although,' Draco thought, as another one of his decidedly dangerously attractive smirks formed on his lips, 'that would be an interesting experience.'

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Ginny picked at her lunch as she listened inattentively to Colin and Neville’s discussion of a new band – The Witch’s Brew – that had been introduced over the Wizarding Wireless Network earlier that week. Colin seemed to like their music, while Neville did not appear too impressed. Ginny herself thought the band’s music was decent, but did not find the topic enthralling enough to add her own opinion.

She sighed and swept her eyes over the students in the Great Hall, and stopped as she caught Draco Malfoy looking at her with a smirk on his face that indicated things did not bode well for her. He gave her a slight nod of his head when he saw her looking back, then turned to speak with the dark-haired boy beside him, whom Ginny recognized as Blaise Zabini.

She turned her eyes away from the sixth year Slytherins and returned her attention to the somewhat boring, but safe, discussion taking place beside her. What was that about? she pondered, confused. I haven’t even spoken to Malfoy this year! What is that slime-ball playing at?

Ginny figured Malfoy was playing one of his Slytherin mind games with her, and she was in no mood. She had had enough of Slytherins messing with her mind to last her a lifetime, and decided Malfoy would not succeed in getting to her.

The warning bell rang and Ginny gathered her belongings, as others around the Great Hall did the same, and headed out. She nodded in farewell to Neville as she and Colin separated from him in the halls, and managed to take a few steps before she was stopped abruptly by a solid, human wall.

Ginny looked up into a pair of deeply golden eyes, and she let her lips fall into a suspiciously Slytherin smirk.

“Watch where you’re going, Weasley,” came the cold drawl of Draco Malfoy from beside her. “Your filth has no place near us,” he sneered.

Ginny felt her face grow red, but before she could force Malfoy to choke on his own words – a feat she was sorely tempted to accomplish – a smooth voice cut in.

“Now, now, Draco. Play nicely,” Blaise Zabini smirked as he smoothed over the nonexistent wrinkles formed on his robes from his crash with Ginny, but his eyes held a glint of warning towards his house mate. Malfoy looked at his friend as though he had lost his mind, which he may as well have, if he was promoting good relations between Slytherins and Gryffindors. Blaise turned to Ginny and continued, “Dear Ginny, you really must learn not to throw yourself at me. I know it’s hard to resist, but I simply do not feel the same way for you,” he gave an exaggerated sigh.

Ginny snorted slightly and raised a single eyebrow – remarkably similar to the popular Slytherin expression – before speaking. “Oh, but Blaise,” she returned in a sugary sweet tone, “how am I to properly deflate your dangerously over-sized head, if I can’t even launch a proper attack?”

Blaise chuckled a bit and opened his mouth to respond when he was rudely cut off by the bellowing of an angry Weasel.

“GET AWAY FROM MY SISTER!” the senior Weasley demanded loudly, as he stomped over to the group, with Harry and Hermione following quickly at his heels.

Ron came to stand between Ginny and the sixth year Slytherins, poised at the ready, like a dog waiting to attack. His face was quickly turning an unattractive shade of red. Harry and Hermione took their positions on either side of him, ready to face the “evil” Slytherins.

“Well, it didn’t take long for your nannies to arrive, now did it, Baby Weasley?” Malfoy drawled smugly. Ginny felt her face grow hot with anger once more. “As fascinating as it is to watch the commoners gather around their helpless,” Ginny bristled as he cast a quick glance her way, “I for one have a class to attend.”

With that, he swept past them, with Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini a step behind him, leaving the trio to wonder what had just happened and why Draco Malfoy was walking away without insulting them. Blaise turned once to give Ginny a look that most others would not be able to decipher, before the look and the Slytherins were gone. Students who had gathered at Ron’s yells began to disperse, seeing as any further altercation at this time was unlikely due to the unexpectedly early exit of the Slytherins.

It took Ron less time than Ginny estimated to remember his anger amidst the confusion caused by Slytherins not acting openly hostile. “Ginny, what do you think you were doing talking to those Slytherins? They’re evil!”

Ginny grimaced as some of his spit sprayed her face during his tirade. She took a deep breath to calm herself – and to keep herself from physically harming her thick-headed brother with a well-placed hex.

“Ron, we just bumped into each other on the way to class. You know, that place where you should be heading right now,” she said in as patient a tone as she could muster. “In that direction,” she finished as she gestured vaguely toward where the trio had arrived from.

“Ginny,” the ever-sensible Hermione cut in, “we were just worried,” she continued in her patient, motherly voice. “The Slytherins are dangerous, and we just wanted to make sure you were safe. There are things you don’t know, so please listen when we give you advice,” she finished sanctimoniously.

“She’s right, Ginny.” Harry just had to put in his two knuts worth.

Ginny grit her teeth together in an attempt to keep from screaming. How dare they preach to her and try to dictate her life? How dare they act as though her ignorance in matters concerning the Order was of her own volition? Colin could see the rage growing behind Ginny’s honey eyes, and laid a gentle hand on her arm. She stiffened, and her gaze became cool once more, though her cheeks were still flushed a healthy pink. She nodded slightly to Colin in gratitude.

“Ginny,” Hermione continued speaking in what she must have thought was a comforting tone – Ginny simply found it irritating. “Ginny, I know that you are upset with us, but we really do have your best interest at heart. If we could tell you what was going on, we would.” The fact that the older girl had focused her vision at some point above Ginny’s head was not helping her case. “But just understand that when we say that those Slytherins are not to be trusted, and to stay away from them, we know what we are talking about.”

Harry nodded in agreement while Ron blurted out, “Just stay away from them, Ginny!”

Ginny calmly raised an eyebrow, and only her clenched jaw and fiery eyes revealed to Colin how upset she was. Then, without uttering a word, she swiftly turned on her heel and began to walk towards her next class, gesturing for Colin to follow her. The trio simply stood dumbfounded for a moment, having been left abruptly for the second time in a span of mere minutes, before Hermione realized the time and hurried the boys off to their own class.

******************************************************************************

Later that evening, Ginny was still silently fuming as she sat on the same window sill she had occupied just that morning. And she knew why she was so upset. She felt betrayed. That horrid feeling that overwhelmed her whenever she thought of her earlier days with Tom Riddle was again coursing through her.

Harry she had learned not to expect much support from in her endeavors to aid the fight against the Dark. Hades, he could barely remember that she had been possessed by the 16-year-old Voldemort for nearly a year. But she could not begrudge him too much, as he did have many of his own issues to deal with.

Ron she had stopped depending on when it became clear that he could not see that she was no longer a naïve 11-year-old girl. He, like all of her other brothers, saw her as the baby, the little girl to be protected. Her parents’ refusal to allow her involvement in anything involving Order business only promoted their beliefs.

No, the betrayal came mostly from Hermione, who, until the previous summer, had been one of Ginny’s best friends. The two girls had grown close during Hermione’s stay with the Weasleys during the Quidditch World Cup. Sharing a room had turned out to be an enjoyable experience for both girls. Ginny had found in Hermione a kind of big sister and confidant, while Hermione had found in Ginny female companionship that was not limited to talk of hair, make-up, clothes, and boys – though the two girls definitely had touched on these topics. Hermione had been the first to learn of Ginny’s decision to give up on Harry, of her meeting Michael Corner at the Yule Ball, and then finally Michael asking her out near the end of her third year. Ginny in turn had listened to Hermione speak of her friendship with Victor Krum and a passing crush she had had on a Muggle boy who lived in her neighborhood.

Ginny had known, in the back of her mind, that Ron and Harry would always come first for Hermione, but she had not thought that the older girl would side with the boys in treating her like a five-year-old. Hermione knew that Ginny despised being treated as the baby, needing to be protected. While Ginny had never truly opened up to Hermione regarding her first year, and its lasting effects on her psyche, Hermione had been observant enough to learn that the experience had affected Ginny greatly. The girls had shared a respectful, genial relationship until about mid-summer, when Ginny had once again found herself on the outside looking in.

On the summer evening when Fred and George and the trio had joined the rest of her family – excepting Percy who was still being a Ministry-arse-kissing git – and various Order members, for the first time in an official meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, Ginny had sat on her bed in the room she shared with Hermione at Number 12 Grimmauld Place and had waited impatiently for her friend to return. When Hermione had finally come up to bed, she had avoided Ginny’s questions and would not look the younger girl in the eye. Ginny had continued to try to coax some information out of Hermione, but had ceased her persistence when the older girl’s silence made it clear that Ginny was not to be entrusted with such knowledge. Over the next few weeks, as Hermione had become more involved in Order business with Harry and Ron, the girls had drifted apart, and their friendship had still not recovered.

Ginny continued to look out of the window, onto the frozen surface of the lake, until she heard her roommates return from dinner. With a sigh, she lifted herself off of the sill, gathered her Arithmancy books, along with some parchment and quills, and made her way down through the common room and out of the portrait hole.

******************************************************************************

Draco Malfoy stiffened in his seat in the library as his eagle owl landed on the table in front of him, a scroll attached to its left talon. He was not expecting any post, so the arrival of this letter unnerved him. Draco carefully relieved his owl of its delivery, and sent the noble bird to the owlery for some food, water, and rest. Draco closed his books and put away the Potions essay he had been working on – he would need to read the letter in a more private setting than the library.

As Draco exited he saw the little Weasley girl walking down the hallway towards his location. He noticed her gaze grow wary as she spotted him, and he smirked. No matter Blaise’s odd behavior around the girl, she was a Weasley, and that fact would always define his view of her. She carefully approached the entrance to the library, where he stood watching her. He stepped aside to allow her passage, giving a deep mocking bow and a sweep of his hand. He almost chuckled aloud as she hurriedly brushed past him. Draco straightened, and watched her enter the library with a glint of amusement in his silver eyes – he loved the power he could hold over others. His self-satisfaction was proven to be too early enjoyed as the little weasel turned to speak to him from just within the confines of the library.

“You know,” she started in a falsely thoughtful tone, as she let her eyes fall squarely with his, “I never pegged you as a gentleman, Malfoy.” Draco simply raised an eyebrow. “Well then, where are my manners?” she questioned with a sickeningly sweet smile. Before Draco could counter with an undoubtedly scathing remark, she lightly lifted the sides of her robes with her hands, and sank into a surprisingly graceful curtsy. Whatever cutting insult had been on his lips was lost as Draco admired her lean form, as her usually awkward limbs straightened delicately. Her lips curved – Is that a smirk? Draco thought – as she said “Good evening, Ferret Prince.” And then she turned and disappeared into the room before he could even form a glare.

Draco’s blood boiled at her reference to the unfortunate incident that took place in his fourth year – it was still a sensitive subject for him. He turned and angrily strode away from the library doorway, cursing the “little red-haired bint” all the way back to the Slytherin common room.

He snarled the password – “Veritas” – and entered the green and silver adorned dungeon. He nodded curtly in greeting to a group of 7th years, before heading up the stairwell to the sixth year dorms. Unfortunately, most of his roommates were present.

“Crabbe, Goyle, get out,” he commanded.

Crabbe and Goyle did not look happy about this order, but they complied, Crabbe grumbling all the way.

Draco then turned to look at Blaise. “I received a letter,” was all he said. Blaise nodded, closed the book he had been reading, and headed out of the room.

Once the door had been closed, and Draco had placed a strong locking charm on it, he turned to the letter. He recognized the seal as his mother’s, before unrolling the parchment. As he slowly read through her message, Draco felt a numbness permeate his every pore. By the time he had finished, he was a sickly pale. He never knew how long he sat there, digesting what his mother had revealed to him.

He was brought out of his musings by a knock on the door. Draco quickly encoded the letter and hid it with a spell that would allow only his eyes to find it again. He then lay back on his bed, a cool, unemotional mask firmly in place. He whispered the spell to unlock the door and waited for the visitor to enter, for he knew none of his dorm mates would return until he signaled for it.

“Draco, darling,” came the seductive voice of fifth year Delilah Windholm. “I saw all of your roommates were occupied in the common room, so I thought you may want to spend some time with me,” she finished with a come-hither look.

Draco shook his head at Delilah’s self-involvement. He took a moment to take in her physical beauty – from her long mahogany locks, her hazel eyes and pouty lips, to her curvaceous young body. “What are you proposing?” he drawled.

Gods knew he needed to do something to get his mind off of the contents of that letter.

Delilah smirked and began to unbutton her blouse. When she finished slipping off her top, she unhooked her skirt and slid it slowly down her long legs. She walked over to where Draco lay watching her, her hips swinging hypnotically, and blanketed her body across his. Draco could only dimly recall his earlier questioning of his involvement with her. 'Ah,' he thought hazily, 'how could I forget the sex?' That was the last conscious thought to cross his mind for the next few hours.

******************************************************************************

Ginny gave a little sigh of relief as she closed her Arithmancy book, and began rolling up the finished scroll she had let dry for a few minutes. After her encounter with Malfoy upon reaching the library, she had gone directly to one of the tables in the very back, near the Restricted Section. She had set to work immediately, not allowing her thoughts to linger on the silver-eyed blonde whom she knew made the hearts of more than half the school’s female population flutter. Ginny was defiantly not one of those girls. Or so she told herself. Repeatedly.

Luna had found Ginny in her little hideaway about an hour into her Arithmancy essay, and had joined her friend at the table.

“So do you have anything special planned for tomorrow?” Luna asked once she saw Ginny’s things had been put away. Luna herself had finished her work a few minutes before, and was now flipping through the latest issue of The Quibbler.

Ginny furrowed her brow in confusion at the question.

Luna, seeing this, gave an indignant huff. “You can’t really have forgotten, Ginny?” She implored. But the look on Ginny’s face must have told her she had, and Luna shook her head and tutted. “Ginny, the celebration of the sixteenth year is a very important event. Some of the old clans hiding in the highlands of Scotland prepare a ritual fire, and dance for the goddess of the moon on such an occasion.” She continued in all seriousness.

Despite Luna’s odd explanation, Ginny realized what her friend was referring to. Her eyes grew wide. “I – I can’t believe I forgot,” she gasped. How could she forget? After all of her mental tirades regarding her family and the Dream Team treating her like a baby, and she forgets her sixteenth birthday? Well, she admitted to herself, she really did not forget it entirely – she knew the date was coming up, but did not realize how close it really was. Piles of homework and frustrations regarding the ongoing war served as heavy distractions. “I really don’t have any special plans,” she recovered quickly, answering the Ravenclaw’s earlier question.

Luna nodded as though she completely understood – and for all Ginny knew, she may – before setting down The Quibbler and leaning over the table towards her friend as though to share a secret. “Well, we must participate in the proper festivities. Your new year of life must begin in celebration for the coming year to be prosperous,” she related wisely.

Ginny just nodded with a small smile on her face. “That would be lovely, Luna. We’ll see what Colin and Neville are up to, and then do something just smashing, alright?”

Luna returned her smile and began to gather her things. Ginny pushed away from the table and lifted her book bag, where she had placed her supplies in a neat pile earlier. The girls walked in a companionable silence out of the library, and through the halls, until it was necessary to separate to reach their common rooms.

“Goodnight, Ginny,” Luna said, her voice sounding tired.

“’Night, Luna. I’ll see you in the morning,” Ginny returned just as tiredly, before heading off towards Gryffindor Tower. Twenty-five minutes later found the fifth year Gryffindor snuggled under the covers of her thick blanket, and waiting for Morpheus, no matter how unkind, to arrive.




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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, and Warner Bros., among others. Only the plot and any unfamiliar characters are mine.

NOTE: Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know what you think.

The next morning found an exhausted Ginny, bundled up in her threadbare robes and Charlie’s old cloak, sitting by the lake. Her warming charm had long since worn off, and – as she was too distracted to recast the charm – her small body was curled into itself to protect her from the cold. Her eyes gazed forward, unseeingly, as she gathered her strength to return to the castle for breakfast.

It had been a bad night.

Since her first year, the nightmares had come frequently. Visions of Tom, the Chamber, and a giant predatory snake would flash behind her eyes. She could feel the chilling Chamber floor and hear his sadistic laughter. She never knew when the worst of these mental attacks would strike. Although dreamtime was often her enemy, she still longed for the oblivion of deep, rejuvenating slumber. Sleep, she found, however, was no longer the relaxing escape it had once been.

But last night had been different. She did not dream of handsome Tom, or the Chamber. No, she distinctly remembered red, glowing slit eyes and a snake-like face.

Voldemort.

She shivered just thinking the name.

Voldemort had been a main feature of the nightmares plaguing her in the hours before dawn. She did not remember much, but she could distinctly remember his hideous face. At moments, a few flashes would unexpectedly escape from the deepest recesses of her mind, where her subconscious buried images too traumatic to face. The most powerful of these impressions was of a young woman, who looked to be about Ginny’s age. Her face never cleared into focus, but her dark hair could be seen, flowing like a river down her back. There was danger surrounding her – that much Ginny could sense. And she was somehow connected to Voldemort. But Ginny did not know who she was, or how she was to help the poor girl.

Hades, she didn’t even know if the girl was real.

Ginny shook off her thoughts and stood, determined to enjoy the day, despite the previous night’s trials. As she turned to head to breakfast, she saw that she was not alone.

“You do realize that it is below freezing temperatures out here, do you not?” came a silky drawl. “And while I do share your appreciation for these surroundings,” Blaise Zabini continued, his eyes unfocusedly directed at the water’s surface behind her, “I will never understand your ability to ignore the fact that we are in the dead of winter.” He shook his head slightly to emphasize his confusion as he turned his attention to the red head before him.

Ginny gave him a small smile as she made her way to where he had been standing, near the base of an ancient willow. She did not know how long he had been there – he was very adept at escaping notice for some reason. But she did not really care to determine when he had arrived. What was important was that he was there now.

“No ‘Good Morning,’ Sorellina?” he asked, his voice taking on a teasing lilt. She never knew what that name meant, only that, when coming from him, it was an affectionate term.

“Is it ‘good?’” she asked jokingly, though her words were laced with seriousness.

“Of course it is,” he responded, surprisingly willfully. He reached a hand into the left pocket of his thick woolen cloak, before revealing to her a small, wrapped package. “Happy Birthday, Little One,” he whispered, a small, yet genuine smile gracing his lips.

Ginny simply looked at the parcel and tried to comprehend how it had come to this. How had she come to be standing here with an older Slytherin boy – whose resemblance to Tom Riddle could at times be unnerving – yet still feel utterly safe and… content?

She had not always been close with Blaise Zabini. During her first four years at Hogwarts, she had barely known of his existence. She had caught glimpses of him, of course, but tended to dismiss him almost immediately, so as not to dwell on how much his physical appearance reminded her of another Slytherin she had once known. Blaise himself had not been one to draw attention. In his earlier years at the castle, he preferred to focus on schoolwork and kept his alliances within his House quiet. So their meeting in Diagon Alley the previous summer, as well as the easy companionship they had since developed, was all very unexpected.

***

It had been two weeks before the start of term, and Ginny had been going out of her mind cooped up in Grimmauld Place with nothing to distract her from the blatant exclusion she was facing. So when Nymphadora Tonks offered to take her shopping for school supplies, she was more than willing to leave the dark manor for even a few hours. It was to be a short trip, as the Second War had started, and there was constant worry of Death Eater attacks. The trio could not make the trip for some reason or another – a fact for which Ginny was grateful. So it was with the three sixth years’ school lists that Tonks and Ginny flooed out of the Order of the Phoenix Headquarters – after assuring Molly Weasley repeatedly that Ginny would be safe, and that Tonks, as an auror, could provide adequate protection – and arrived in a sooty pile on the floor of the Leaky Cauldron.

After gathering themselves up and cleaning off as much soot as would cooperate, the two had made their way to Gringotts, to collect galleons, sickles, and knuts from various vaults for their purchases. Ginny stopped at both her parents’ vault, as well as Fred and George’s, and made the appropriate withdrawals from each. Her twin brothers’ joke shop had been quite successful, and the boys had made enough money for Ron and Ginny to have new school books for the coming year, although they would still have to make do with their old robes.

After Gringotts, the stops had come and gone too quickly for Ginny’s liking: Flourish and Blotts for schoolbooks; the Apothecary to restock Potions ingredients; the Owl Emporium for treats for Hedwig and Pigwidgeon; Quality Quidditch Supplies for Ginny’s new broom, courtesy of her parents – and, reluctantly, Fred and George – for her prefect award; the last stop had been for quills and parchment.

Ginny had been lingering by some eagle feather quills, pretending to be engrossed in comparing the different brands – anything to prolong her time outside of that stifling house – when Tonks came up beside her and told her to stay there while she ran a quick errand. Ginny watched the older girl’s bright purple hair disappear toward where the Post Owls were kept before continuing to wander through the shelves. It was down one of the aisles in the far reaches of the store that Ginny found herself facing an old enemy – a black leather diary. The book was so similar to Riddle’s that, for a moment, her rationality left her. It was at that precise moment that Blaise Zabini had happened across the young Gryffindor, only to spout some typically scathing Slytherin remark upon noticing her presence.

Ginny, whose nerves had already been addled by the confrontation with a reminder of her horrid experience first year, had not been ready to face a Tom-look-alike. When she looked up to face the owner of the smoothly cruel voice, she felt an immense terror overtake her. Before she could let out so much as a squeak, however, the Slytherin boy had taken a step back away from her, his eyes locked with hers, his shock at what was revealed in her eyes showing plainly. This action snapped her out of her state of alarm, and she started to calm, turning away from the dark-haired boy without comment after realizing he was not the ghost of Tom Riddle. Zabini stood for a few more moments, studying her carefully, before swiftly turning on his heel and exiting the store. When Tonks returned less than five minutes later, Ginny had already shoved the encounter to the back of her mind, and was dreading returning to the Black House.

If it had ended there, if he had not sought her company on the Hogwarts Express after her first Prefects’ meeting, she could have filed the earlier encounter as an oddity and continued on her Gryffindoric path. But he did, and she couldn’t.

September the first this past year had begun as the day usually did among Weasleys – in chaos. By the time Ginny and the trio had arrived at King’s Cross, it was just about time for the train to leave. Harry had gone to find a compartment for them, while she and Ron and Hermione had headed to the Prefects’ compartment. After two long hours – and an extra half hour for the new fifth year prefects – Ginny made her way down the train in search of Luna, Colin, and Neville.

She had been nearing the back when an arm grabbed her and pulled her into an empty compartment.

“Little Gryffs shouldn’t travel all alone in enemy territory,” came the same drawling voice that had assaulted her during her visit to Diagon Alley. Blaise Zabini released his hold on her arm as he languidly set himself on one of the benches inside the compartment. Ginny rubbed her arm slightly – which was not really hurt at all, as he had been very gentle in grabbing her – and remained by the doorway, a wary expression on her face. “Please, do have a seat,” he gestured to the bench across from him. When she did not make to move, he leaned forward in his seat and whispered conspiratorially, “I promise not to bare my fangs as long as you keep your claws retracted.”

Despite herself, Ginny was intrigued.

Keeping her eyes on his form, she slowly made her way to the bench across from the Slytherin boy, and sat down. “What is this all about, Zabini?” she asked in a tone that she hoped sounded much more confident than she really felt. “I don’t see what business you could possibly have with a Weasley,” she continued, with decisively derisive note to her voice now.

“Ah, but you are not just a Weasley,” he replied, and she could see the glint of amusement in his eyes. “You are Ginevra Weasley.” She forced her features to remain unmoved by his comments, although she was slightly curious as to how he had known her first name. He leaned back in his seat, studying her amateurly-composed mask. “You should not underestimate the value of your company,” he finally stated.

She searched his face for any sarcasm or mocking, but could find none. Still, she could not decipher what it was that she did see in his eyes. “Very, well, then,” she decided to play along. “What can I do for you, Zabini?”

“Please, Ginevra, call me Blaise,” he said, seeming satisfied with her willingness to cooperate with his ‘game.’ “I insist,” he cut in when he saw her start to object.

Ginny sighed inwardly – she did not trust this boy, and she knew that he had to be up to something. He was a Slytherin.

And she hated being called Ginevra.

“How about a compromise,” she proposed. “I will call you Blaise, if you call me Ginny.”

“Alright… Ginny,” he gave a small smirk, nodding once. Ginny feared for a moment that she may have made a terrible mistake. “So,” he continued nonchalantly, “tell me, what do you do when you aren’t following Potter and his sidekicks around like a shadow?” And that confirmed it.

Ginny stood, shaking her head at the sheer absurdity of the situation – not to mention her idiocy in thinking a Slytherin could be anything but cruel – and made her way to the door. Escape, however, was not an option, as the older boy had moved quickly to stand firmly in front of the doorway. Her wand was in her robe pocket, but she hesitated to draw it against him.

“Now, now, Ginny,” came his smooth drawl, “I only wanted to talk.” She simply glared at him. “I apologize for my comment, it was uncalled for,” he seemed to slightly regret his little barb. “However, I really don’t know much about you besides the fact that you are a fifth year Gryffindor, a Weasley, and one of Potter’s little hanger-ons,” he made ‘Potter’ sound like some vile creature. Ginny was unmoved. He relaxed his position a bit, seeming to realize by the look on her face that this tactic would not get him what he wanted. After a few moments of consideration, he stepped aside. As she made to pass by him, he lightly laid a hand on her arm, making her pause. “I have no desire to harm you or yours, Weasley,” he stated seriously. “You simply…” he paused, searching for the correct term, “intrigued me at our meeting in Diagon Alley.” He moved back into the compartment, as she continued to stand at the doorway, her back facing him. “I assure you that not all Slytherins are the evil-doers you have imagined. We are not all Death Eaters. We do not all bow and kiss the hems of some twisted creature,” he spat, passion clearly rising within him. Ginny’s back grew rigid, but she still did not turn to face him. He sighed loudly then, seeming to lose some hope. “I simply wanted to know,” he said quietly, “what I could have possibly done to trigger that look of terror from you that afternoon.”

Ginny heard him slump into his seat and, after pausing for only a moment, continued her exit. It took her less than ten minutes to locate Luna and Colin – Neville was later found to have been sitting with Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas – and she hid herself with her friends for the rest of the train journey. Zabini’s words, however, were never far from her mind.

It had been two weeks into the school year when she was faced with the dark-haired Slytherin again. After a particularly messy Potions class with Snape, Ginny and Colin were cleaning up their work station – after an unexpectedly early dismissal from the Potions professor – when Draco Malfoy swept into the room imperiously, Blaise Zabini stepping inside behind him. While Malfoy made his way straight to Snape – most likely to discuss something to do with the Slytherin quidditch team, of which he was captain – Blaise stood near the doorway, taking in the classroom. He caught Ginny’s eye, before she quickly looked away, blushing.

Ginny had spent a lot of time considering what the elder boy had said, and had come to the conclusion that he was right: Not all Slytherins were Death Eaters. 'Just like not all Death Eaters were Slytherins,' she thought wryly, recalling a particular rat by the name of Pettigrew. She tried hard not to be prejudicial, not to let her Gryffindoric mentality judge before an adequate evaluation had been performed. She liked to think she was open-minded, and, while not as far gone as Hermione with S.P.E.W., she tried not to think of any beings as inferior.

But the Slytherins tended to make things so difficult. They formed a united front to the other three houses, constructed with harsh words, cruel humor, and the more-than-occasional well-placed hex. But, she admitted, this was most likely linked to the united front the other three houses tended to form against them. She had considered what it would be like to be a Slytherin – after a short scare with the sorting hat in her first year, the idea had been planted in her head – and she decided that perhaps the Slytherins acted as they did because of the perception the other houses had already formed of them. After carefully looking over the situation, Ginny found that neither the Slytherins, nor the other houses, could be identified as the cause of the hostilities. But they all certainly perpetuated it: the correlation between the Slytherins’ nastiness towards the other houses, and those houses’ nastiness toward Slytherins was real. She had come to the conclusion that it was a vicious cycle – one she refused to be a part of.

“Colin, do you think you can take care of the rest of this?” she asked quietly, sparing a quick glance back at Zabini. “There is something I need to take care of,” she finished, looking her friend in the eye.

Colin, who had been privy to Ginny’s predicament with the Slytherin – due to a fair amount of coaxing and cajoling on his part – nodded swiftly and gave her a small smile. “Sure, go on. I’ll catch up with you in Transfiguration,” he said, just as quietly, returning immediately to the task of cleaning up.

Ginny quickly gathered her things, cast a quick glance around the room – noting that Snape and Malfoy were still deep in discussion, and most of her classmates had already finished and left – and headed towards the doorway. She paused when she reached Zabini’s position, and looked up at him.

“I thought about what you said.” She almost whispered the admission. “I think maybe you were right… maybe we could talk some time.” Upon seeing no visible reaction from him, she quickly covered, “That is, if you want to. We don’t have to,” she knew she was beginning to babble. “Actually, forget about this,” she decided, making to walk away from the still un-moved boy.

A hand on her elbow put a stop to her exit. She looked up to see Zabini, looking at her with what was clearly amusement in his eyes. After quickly glimpsing at the front of the room to ensure that Snape and Malfoy were occupied, he led her outside of the class room, and stopped a few feet away from the dungeon entrance.

“There is no Potions class next period,” he responded to her unasked question of why he had stopped them in the middle of a well-traveled hallway. “And the other Slytherins should all be in class,” he provided, when she still looked uneasy. Ginny nodded slowly, and waited for him to continue. He took a few moments, and then smirked. “So you’re willing to give a big, bad Slytherin a chance, eh?”

Ginny groaned, frustrated, and beginning to reconsider her decision.

“No, no. Don’t look like that. I was simply teasing,” he cut in on her decision-making review process. “You really should work on your sense of humor,” he shook his head, as though it was a true tragedy that she could not comprehend his joke.

“I grew up with Fred and George as brothers, I think my sense of humor is as honed as it’s going to get,” she returned dryly.

“Touche,” he conceded. “I remember the Weasley twins. That swamp of theirs was truly brilliant,” he complimented sincerely. “That hag Umbridge was atrocious. It was quite… satisfying to see her toad face turn all red like that,” he chuckled slightly.

Ginny looked at him, surprised with the revelation that not all of the Slytherins supported that wretched witch. But when she thought about it, she could not recall seeing Zabini anywhere around the horrid woman, or her equally horrid Inquisitorial Squad, last year. “Yes, well, you should have seen her after the centaurs had finished with her. The slightest noise sounding like hoof beats, and she would jump for cover,” Ginny giggled slightly at the memory of Umbridge in the Hospital Wing at the end of last term.

Laughter – true laughter – bubbled up from the older boy. Ginny simply stared at him in awe. “Ah,” he managed to calm after only a few unruly moments, though he still held his side with one hand. “I must admit, I would have paid galleons to see that,” he smiled, shaking his head slightly.

Ginny could do nothing but smile back.

“So,” he continued, when she failed to supply conversation, “perhaps we could meet again, when we have more than five minutes to hold a discussion,” he pointed to the wizard’s watch on his left wrist. “As it is, I must be collecting Draco and making my way to Arithmancy.”

Ginny scrunched her nose up a bit at the mention of the Ferret, but she nodded to his suggestion. “Colin should be coming out at any moment,” she agreed, “and we need to hurry or we’ll be late for Transfiguration.” As if on cue – which Ginny decided was probably true, as she knew Colin had a pair of her brothers’ extendable ears – Colin came out of the Potions room, books in hand.

Ginny smiled at him and waved him over when she saw him pause a few feet away from the pair. “Colin, this is Za-- … Blaise,” she corrected at the Slytherin’s raised eyebrow. “Blaise this is Colin,” she finished making the introductions.

“Hello,” Colin gave a short nod of his head in Blaise’s direction.

Blaise returned the nod, and the greeting, before facing Ginny again. “Well, Ginny, perhaps I will be seeing more of you?” he questioned. At Ginny’s nod in affirmation, he smirked and said, “Good. Then I had better get Draco and head to class.”

“Malfoy and Snape seemed about finished with whatever they were discussing when I left,” Colin supplied helpfully.

Blaise turned to Colin, and Ginny could not for the life of her read the look in his eyes. “Thank you,” he said with a smirk as Colin’s face took on a definite pink tint. After giving them each a nod of the head in farewell, he disappeared into Snape’s classroom, and Colin and Ginny headed up to the Transfiguration classroom.

After that, Ginny and Blaise had managed to come across each other all around the campus. While the weather was still friendly, their meeting place of choice was by the lake. Later they would meet in the Astronomy Tower, or the Room of Requirement. Sometimes Colin would join them, but more often it was just the two of them. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were so wrapped up in whatever Order business they were working on that they barely noticed her absence. She and Blaise would sit for hours and discuss almost anything and everything. They talked about their classes, their interests, their goals for the future. They exchanged philosophies and opinions. Their personalities, they found, were quite compatible. The topics they steered clear of were their families, their houses, and the ongoing war with Voldemort – not because they were on opposing sides, but because neither one found those topics to be enjoyable.

They had become great friends – a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, a close friend of Harry Potter’s (loosely speaking) and a close ally of Draco Malfoy’s. But nothing romantic grew between the two. And, really, that was how they both wanted it.

***

As she looked at him now, swathed in a thick cloak to keep away the December cold, Ginny saw what it was the other girls giggled about when his name was mentioned. He stood tall, at a good 6’4” at least, with broad shoulders. His dark hair and golden eyes were complemented by the healthy olive glow of his skin. His recent participation as keeper for the Slytherin quidditch team only toned his already well-formed muscles. He really was quite handsome, she admitted to herself. Beautiful, really, but not to the angelic perfection that Draco Malfoy emanated. Malfoy, she had learned earlier, was on old childhood companion of Blaise’s, but it was not until recently that their relationship was shown outside of the confines of the Slytherin common room. His friendship, or alliance – Did Slytherins have friendships? – with the Slytherin Prince only heightened his own reputation: Hogwarts girls found him just as irresistible as his fair-headed housemate – and together they were an eye-catching pair – while Hogwarts boys admired, feared, and loathed him.

Ginny slowly reached out to accept the gift he so fondly presented. Her fingers were a bit numb, even within the confines of her thick gloves, so her various attempts at unwrapping the parcel proved fruitless. Blaise chuckled a bit as Ginny failed for the fourth time to undo the green and silver – How Slytherin, she thought sarcastically – trimmings.

“Wizards have wands for a reason, you know?” he teased, truly enjoying her predicament.

Ginny let out a small huff, retrieved her wand from her cloak pocket, and recited the proper spell to banish the difficult wrapping. She put her wand away, and closely examined the carved oak box that sat on her hand. There seemed to be the lettering of a language she could not identify on the top of the box, and the sides were adorned with carvings of beautiful mermaids.

She looked up to Blaise, who shrugged slightly. “I know how you’re fascinated with the water,” he stated simply. I didn’t tell him that, vaguely ran through her mind. Ginny felt the burning of tears behind her eyes as she smiled back at him – no one in her family had ever picked up on her love for the water, but this boy had in four months. “Well,” he said, seeming to grow uncomfortable with the wetness that was surely showing in her eyes, “go on. Open it,” he urged.

“Open it?” Ginny asked incredulously. “You mean there’s more?”

Blaise scoffed lightly. “Of course there’s more! Did you think I would only give you a jewelry box for your birthday, with no jewelry inside of it?” He smirked that smirk that Slytherins seem to have been born with.

With an excited little squeal that drew a genuine laugh from the older boy, Ginny lifted the top of the jewelry box. The inside was lined with royal blue velvet, and nestled in the center of the smooth fabric was a beautiful necklace. Ginny slowly lifted the precious metal by the clasp, and studied the unique design of the pendant. It was a tear-drop shape, with a smooth, multi-toned surface. It almost looked as though there was liquid within the stone, from the way the light hit it. Ginny had never seen anything like it before. The chain and clasp were made of cool platinum, and she noticed a small engraving where the teardrop met the metal. It was of two interconnected spirals, with clockwise rotations from their centers.

Ginny looked up from the gift to find Blaise eyeing her nervously. She almost laughed aloud at seeing the usually-composed Slytherin unsure of himself. “I love it,” she smiled. She stepped forward and gave him a big Weasley hug, which he returned after having stiffened for a few moments from surprise at the gesture. “Thank you so much, Blaise. It’s beautiful!” she gushed happily, finally releasing her hold on him.

He pinked a bit, and shrugged modestly. “It’s nothing much, I just wanted you to have it, ‘Lina,” he said, using the shortened form of his nickname for her. She was sure she looked as though she were ready to burst into happy tears when he quickly suggested that he help her put it on. She handed him the necklace in consent, and turned, lifting her long red hair off of her neck so he could work the clasp with little trouble. She felt the cool metal of the chain fall against her skin as he finished, but surprisingly, the pendant was actually quite warm. She felt a peacefulness overcome her as she turned to face her friend.

“Really, Blaise, thank you.” She looked down and fingered the pendant. Blaise chuckled and lifted her chin with an index finger.

“Don’t you think its time we get out of this gods-forsaken cold and go in for some breakfast?” he half pleaded, gripping his cloak tighter around him. Ginny laughed lightly and grabbed his arm as they made their way back to the castle. Upon reaching the doors, they both seemed to have come to the realization that the Great Hall would be quite full at this time. So as not to start any arguments between their houses, Blaise insisted that Ginny enter the hall first, while he followed minutes later.

******************************************************************************

“Where have you been, Blaise?” Draco Malfoy was not in a good mood this morning, and he was determined that the rest of Slytherin would suffer because of it.

Blaise rolled his eyes slightly as he took a seat beside the blond boy. He nodded in greeting to Pansy, who was positioned on Draco’s other side, before replying. “I had business to take care of,” he said curtly, making it clear that Draco should watch his tone and his comments.

Draco, however, was in no mood to play well with others today. “Business? With whom, the little Weasley bint?” He was still smarting over their interaction last night outside of the library.

Blaise’s eyes grew dark and his voice was decidedly frigid when he replied. “What I do with my own time, and who I spend that time with are none of your concern, Malfoy,” he bit out.

Draco looked at his old friend and realized he had better start cooperating. Blaise may have a tendency to seem quiet and book smart, but he could be vicious if made an enemy. “Right,” he nodded, the closest to an apology as Draco Malfoy ever came. “It was a long night, you know,” he said in what was to pass as justification, as he gave a weak smirk.

“Oh?” Blaise questioned, playing along. He had known Draco far too long not to be able to see through that expression. His eyes were weary, and he did not exude the immaculateness that he usually possessed. His hair was a bit ruffled, and Blaise noted that the area around his eyes was a bit darker than the rest of his skin. He remembered Draco receiving a letter last night. “Anything interesting happen?” he drawled, but Draco could see the serious query in Blaise’s eyes.

Draco shrugged slightly, and far more elegantly than a teenage boy should be capable of. “The usual,” he responded indifferently, indicating that he did not wish to discuss what was bothering him at this time. Blaise nodded thoughtfully and returned to selecting his breakfast, leaving Draco to deal with his troubled thoughts on his own for now.

It truly had been a long night for the fair-haired Slytherin. After receiving the letter from his mother, not even Delilah’s ministrations could take his mind off of his situation for more than a few hours. After the younger girl had returned to her own room the night before, Draco had signaled to his roommates that they could return upstairs, before putting on his robe and a cloak and heading out of the common room. He wandered around most of the night, being careful not to get caught by Filch and Mrs. Norris, or any of the professors. He had finally found himself in the Astronomy Tower in the early hours of the morning, and watched the sunrise from the tallest tower of Hogwarts. He had realized he was sharing the view when he glanced down by the lake, and saw a black bundle with unmistakably long red hair, contrasting starkly with the white snow. 'Weaslette,' he had mentally sneered down at her, though she remained oblivious to his glare. He had relaxed after a few moments and simply took the girl in.

She had grown, these past few years, he admitted to himself. But she was still small, with awkward limbs, and she was not what one would categorize as beautiful. Her eyes were big and brown, and her lips full, and she had a pert little nose, with a more than healthy spattering of freckles. But she still looked like a child for the most part. Her face had yet to mature, and her body definitely had a lot of catching up to do. Draco smirked cruelly. Even Granger was hot next to the baby Weasley.

Still, there was something about the little red head that drew him in. 'Probably that horrid red hair,' he scoffed mentally. 'Who could miss her when she looks like her head is on fire?' But it was not that, and he knew it. In fact, her hair had begun to grow a bit darker since the end of the summer. It was still that horrendous Weasley orange, just a bit darker. He remembered first meeting her, at Flourish and Blotts before his second year. The anger in her eyes had been what caught his attention about her, the way the emotion highlighted the gold flecks in her irises. She had been so small, yet fierce and fiery, that after that he could not help but notice the girl when he passed her. He found it disgusting how she followed Potter around like a puppy-dog her first few years at Hogwarts. When she was around scar-head, the light within her visibly diminished, and that irked Draco for reasons he could not identify. He had spent the past few years ignoring her mostly, and really had not even been sure what her name was until Blaise had used it the day before during their altercation in the hallway.

And that was something else. Blaise. What was he doing with the little Gryff, anyways? He should know better than to demean their house by associating with such filthy commoners. Draco sneered. Blaise had always been a good ally and friend to him in Slytherin house. Although Blaise’s father and grandfather, the current Lord of the House of Zabini, were not Death Eaters, his uncle – his father’s elder brother – had been, before he died in the first war. Agostino Zabini had been well-respected in Voldemort’s inner circle, and was second to only Draco’s own father, Lucius, in the hierarchy. Agostino Zabini’s sacrifice, as well as the senior Zabinis’ pureblood pride, were the only things that kept the Zabini men safe from the dark mark. As it was, it did not look as though that leniency would continue to be granted for much longer in this second war.

Draco had shaken his head slightly – wanting to rid himself of thoughts of Voldemort and Death Eaters – and stood from the cool floor of the Astronomy classroom to make his way back to his dorm quickly to shower and change before breakfast, when he saw the second figure leave the castle and head toward the small bundle by the lake. Draco had watched the boy – who was unmistakably Blaise Zabini – stop several feet away from the young girl. He seemed to have been waiting for her to notice his presence. Draco had almost snarled as he turned swiftly from the scene below, and made his way out of the Astronomy Tower and to the Slytherin dorms. After preparing himself for the day, he had made his way to the Great Hall for breakfast, where he ignored Pansy’s chattering as he waited for his traitorous friend.

Now, he realized he had not approached the topic with Blaise as tactfully as he could have. But, then again, what more could be expected when he had had no sleep the night before? Draco put down his fork, and pushed away from the table, intent on heading to his first class early so he could have some time alone to think – as though he had not had enough of that already. He signaled to Crabbe and Goyle to stay, and told Blaise and Pansy he would see them in class, so they knew not to follow him.

As Draco made his way to the exit, he unconsciously glanced quickly at the Gryffindor table. Ginny Weasley was sitting by Camera Boy and Longbottom again, but this time a blonde Ravenclaw he knew was referred to as “Loony” had joined them. Draco shook his head slightly as he left the Great Hall, and headed straight to the main doors of the castle. Why should he care who Ginny Weasley was sitting with? 'I don’t!' he adamantly stated to himself. Draco stalked all the way from the Entrance Hall to Greenhouse Six, where his Herbology class would be meeting that morning.

He entered the Greenhouse and took his seat, waiting for the rest of the class to arrive. He could not understand the pull he felt towards that little girl. She was a child, really. If he needed any more proof of that, he could just look at their encounter in the hallway after lunch yesterday. Someone was always present to look after her, take care of her, to protect her. Even if the Dream Team had not shown up, Draco suspected that Blaise would have gladly filled the role. Although, he reluctantly admitted to himself, she seemed to have been handling the situation just fine on her own, before her buffoon of a brother and his other halves had come onto the scene.

Oh, how he despised Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. Harry Potter, who was Gryffindor’s Golden Boy; who broke countless rules and was rewarded for it; who could catch the snitch without even really trying, while Draco spent hours upon hours of his free time honing his skills. Then there was the elder Weasley at Hogwarts, who was the trusty side kick; who acted first, and thought later, if ever; who had all the tact of a giant purple hippogryff. And of course, Hermione Granger: the muggle-born who was said to be the cleverest witch of their generation; who always managed to be at least one point ahead of him in their classes; whose damn know-it-all attitude could get on his last nerve.

The Dream Team. More like Draco’s living nightmare. In earlier years, their petty fights were something he had looked forward to. But recently, especially since his time with his mother the past summer, he could not be bothered with their small bickerings. He knew what they thought of him – he knew they expected him to be a little Death Eater in training. It was what they wanted, so they could despise him that much more, so they could bring him down with his supposed “master.” But Draco refused to give them that satisfaction. He would be better than they expected, than they could ever suspect. That was why he refused to stoop to the senior Weasley’s level yesterday in the hallway – he was a Malfoy and a Black, and did not need to stoop to the Neanderthalic levels of a Weasley.

Draco came out of his mental rant as he felt Blaise and Pansy take their places on either side of him, and Crabbe and Goyle positioned themselves nearby.

“Pansy, Blaise,” he greeted.

“Really, Draco, what has gotten into you?” Pansy questioned quietly. “You never come to Herbology early – you hate coming at all!” Then she turned to pull out her books and began to mutter quietly, and he only caught snippets: “… so vain… aversion to dirt… worse than a girl!”

“Pansy,” came the sharp reply, which quickly shut the brunette up. “Are you quite finished, then?” Draco continued in what was clearly mock sweetness veiling a surmountable amount of anger.

Pansy just nodded, realizing the seriousness behind Draco’s tone. But before Draco could lay his anger out on her, Blaise stepped in.

“That is enough, for now,” he stated; and so it was done. “We will continue this at another time, when class is not about to begin.”

Pansy rolled her eyes at Blaise’s classroom etiquette – he could be as bad as Granger at times! Draco kept quiet, but looked up to see that Goyle was eyeing him suspiciously, obviously having heard their exchange. Crabbe, thankfully, had been too busy playing with the carnivorous plant that they would be working with this morning to pay any attention to the three. Draco looked away from Gregory Goyle, and instead focused on organizing his supplies for the start of class – he knew that the larger boy was a lot more intelligent than many gave him credit for.

Herbology with Professor Sprout passed by quickly, and then Draco enjoyed a two hour nap in History of Magic, before the bell signaled that it was time for lunch. Draco turned from the corridor where the History of Magic classroom was located, intending to head to the Great Hall, when he was stopped by both Blaise and Pansy.

“Go on to lunch, boys,” Pansy cooed to Crabbe and Goyle. “We have a Potions project to work on now. We’ll see you in the common room later tonight.”

The two boys nodded, and headed towards the Great Hall, while Blaise, Pansy, and Draco took a route that would lead to the dungeons. They said nothing as they traveled, though they managed to intimidate a fair portion of the student body on their journey: the Slytherin trio really could seem quite imposing. When they reached the empty Slytherin common room, Draco headed straight to his green dragon-hide wing-back chair, and threw himself gracefully onto it.

There was a moment’s pause, then: “A Potions project?” Draco drawled mockingly, looking to his two closest confidantes in Slytherin for an answer.

Pansy and Blaise quickly exchanged a glance by the common room entrance, where they still stood, before making their way to the couch placed across from Draco’s chair. After Blaise quickly cast a silencing charm to ensure that their conversation would remain private, he began.

“We are not here to play games, Draco,” he replied seriously. “We know there is something bothering you, and we only wish to help.”

“Really, Draco, if you can’t come to us with a problem, who can you turn to?” Pansy intoned. “I thought we agreed long ago, when we forged our alliances, that we would help each other through whatever obstacles came,” she said quietly.

Draco said nothing, and he would not look at them.

Blaise sighed. “Very well, Draco. You know where to find us when you are ready.” He stood and went to leave, but turned back to where his friends were sitting when he neared the stone wall entrance. “Remember this, Draco. We made a pact, on our blood, that we would support one another; that there would be no betrayal tolerated.” He paused then, and Draco finally met his eyes. “I know we were children then, and we have changed much since that agreement was made. We were not even Slytherins then. And though we are Slytherins now, in a house that has been warped to see friendship as a weakness, I assure you that I will not be the one to break our bond.” And with those words, he left.

Pansy looked at Draco, who was still staring at the spot where Blaise had stood a few moments before. “Draco,” she said quietly, moving to sit on the arm of his chair. She took one of his large hands in both of her smaller ones and tried to reach her friend. “I know you have been acting differently since the beginning of this term. But it is something more now – I can see that, and so can Blaise,” she said in a soft tone that any Gryffindor would have been shocked to hear coming from this normally venomous Slytherin.

Draco let out a quiet sigh and turned to face the girl he had known his entire life. “When I am more certain of what it is I face, you will be the first I turn to,” he said quietly, seriously.

Pansy nodded, with a small smile on her face. She let go of his hand, and stood. “Well, enough of this Hufflepuff behavior,” she drawled, “I am simply famished, and I insist that you, Mr. Malfoy, walk me up to the Great Hall for my meal.” She smirked as Draco shook off his troublesome thoughts, and stood obediently, ready to escort her.

Realizing half-way to the Great Hall that Crabbe and Goyle would be suspicious if they arrived for lunch after their “Potions project” excuse – Goyle much moreso than Crabbe, admittedly – Draco and Pansy made their way to the kitchens. When they arrived, it was to the disturbing scene of their missing third party laughing – laughing! – with none other than the youngest Weasley.

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Ginny’s mood had deteriorated throughout the morning after she had left Blaise at the castle entrance. So when she had run into her Slytherin friend – not literally, this time, thank the gods – after dropping off her Potions homework to Snape in the dungeons, she was glad to take him up on his offer for lunch and some birthday cake in the kitchens.

The morning truly had been horrid. First had been breakfast, spent with Neville, Colin, and Luna, who had snuck over from the Ravenclaw table. The four had quietly deliberated what to do in celebration that evening, and decided on butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Actually, breakfast had been rather nice, but Ginny’s first class effectively dampened her spirits. Snape was much too gleeful when he informed her that she had landed herself detention with him that evening, for having forgotten her finished Potions assignment in her dorm room that morning. That had been after he had taken off ten points. Next, in Transfiguration, when she had been called upon to turn a dove into a flower, she somehow managed to turn it into a snake instead. The situation only turned uglier when the snake slithered off of her desk and roamed free on the floor. That was another fifteen points Gryffindor could have done without losing. Then, when she had gone to grab her potions homework from Gryffindor Tower to turn in before Snape could knock off more than one letter grade, she had apparently walked in on what was supposed to be a secret meeting of the great Gryffindor trio. Ron had sputtered a bit and demanded to know what she was doing back at the Tower, while Harry and Hermione hid whatever it was the three had been looking at. Ginny had calmly explained the situation with her Potions homework, and quickly made to get the scroll, cutting off Hermione in mid-lecture. But that was not what hurt the most. No, it was the fact that it was obvious that none of the chosen three – neither her long-time crush Harry, her ex-best friend Hermione, nor her brother Ron – seemed to remember that today was her sixteenth birthday. So, really, time with Blaise was exactly what she needed now.

What she did not need was Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy barging in on her birthday lunch.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Malfoy seemed truly peeved about something. “Why it’s the little Weaslette, and, of course, my dear friend Blaise.” If Ginny didn’t know any better, she would think that Malfoy was upset that Blaise was spending time with her.

Wait. She didn’t know better. She knew that Malfoy wouldn’t want Slytherin House demeaned by having one of his housemates being friendly with a lowly, common, filthy, muggle-loving, Gryffindor Weasley. Ginny felt her temper start to rise as her rage at the egotistical blonde boiled. She was stopped from spitting out a scathing remark, however, by Blaise, who placed his hand on her arm, and caught her eye. Still holding her gaze, he addressed Malfoy, who had stopped to stand with Parkinson a few feet away.

“I suggest, Draco,” he stated clearly and smoothly, “that if you wish to dine here today, you place your order with the house elves and seat yourself far away from us.”

Ginny looked up in time to see Malfoy leveling a cold glare at the dark haired boy. She shifted uncomfortably – she did not want to be the cause of any rift between them. Though Blaise had never expanded on his relationship with Malfoy to Ginny, she knew the boys were close, and had been for years. Those relationships were precious, and she refused to damage theirs – even if it was Ferret Boy’s pig-headedness that was the obvious problem.

“You know, I really should go to the library to do some work before my afternoon classes,” she excused, getting up from where she had been seated across from Blaise. She was stopped from fully standing by Blaise’s tightening grip on her arm.

Parkinson seemed to have realized that a temporary cease-fire was the best option in this situation, so she cut in. “Oh, no, that won’t be necessary. We all obviously need nourishment, so we will all sit and enjoy a quiet meal like the civilized witches and wizards we are.” She shot a glare at Malfoy when he snorted, most presumably at the thought of a Weasley being civilized.

Ginny hesitated, but as Blaise’s grip on her arm had not relaxed, and he was looking at her in way that promised dire consequences if she were to walk away now, she sat back down. Parkinson took the bench space beside her. The three looked up to see a clearly livid Draco Malfoy, though Ginny thought this reaction was a bit extreme for the situation. Perhaps there was something else going on…

But she did not have time to ponder the possibilities as Malfoy strode purposely over to the table, placed himself rigidly beside Blaise, and snapped his fingers for the house-elves to begin attending to him. He quickly gave his order to an excited little elf, and then promptly continued to ignore his table mates. Parkinson added her order to Malfoy’s, as Blaise and Ginny had already given their meal requests, and the elf informed them that their food would be brought out momentarily.

An uncomfortable quiet descended upon the table as the four waited for their food. That is, until Parkinson noticed Ginny’s newly acquired jewelry.

“Where did you get that necklace, Weasley?” she questioned directly, as Ginny flushed slightly. “I think I have seen one like it before, but it can’t be the same…” she trailed off, looking to Blaise for an answer.

“It is the same,” he replied shortly to her questioning gaze, obviously not willing to share any more information. Pansy blinked, then turned away.

Ginny was stopped from asking what her new necklace was the same as, by the house-elves, who chose that moment to arrive with the food and pumpkin juice. The four students commenced eating, and the silence that followed now was much less stifling than had existed previously. The quiet was broken, however, when the elves returned to clear away their lunch plates and replaced them with chocolate cake and milk.

“What’s with the cake?” Parkinson questioned. “Not that I’m complaining,” she quickly added at Blaise’s raised eyebrow.

Blaise smirked and explained to Ginny: “Pansy is a chronic choco-holic,” he grinned.

Ginny giggled a bit and said, “What self-respecting girl isn’t?” She paused for a moment, then scrunched her nose a bit. “Well, except for Hermione. How she eats that sugar-free crap her parents insist on her having is something I will never understand.”

“Well she is a mudblood,” Malfoy cut in after having remained quiet and uninterested in his companions for the better part of their time in the kitchens.

Ginny glared at the blonde boy. “I don’t see what being muggle-born has to do with it. Her link to muggles does not make her less of a person,” she seethed. “Have you seen those oafs Crabbe and Goyle that you hang around? They’re pureblooded, but honestly, they resemble trolls more than humans!”

Parkinson let out a light laugh, and Ginny and Malfoy turned to look at her incredulously.

“What?” the Slytherin girl asked, smirking slightly. “She does have a point there.”

Blaise cut in impatiently: “Could we eat the cake, and then discuss politics, please?” His fork was poised, ready to attack the gooey chocolatey goodness sitting on his plate.

“Ah, poor Blaise,” Ginny cooed mockingly. “How thoughtless of us to keep you from your widdle tweat.” She simply smirked when he glared at her. “Cake it is then,” she said, lifting her fork. She, Parkinson, and Blaise happily dug into their desserts.

“Did she just smirk?” Malfoy seemed to be a few minutes behind.

“You really should eat your cake, Malfoy,” Ginny said helpfully, ignoring his question. “Blaise is almost done with his piece, and I don’t believe he is above forcibly taking yours.” After glancing at Blaise to ascertain that she spoke the truth, Malfoy picked up his fork and took a small, elegant bite. Ginny just rolled her eyes and continued eating.

“You never did say what the cake was for,” he remarked after another small bite. Ginny was ready to strangle him for his damn etiquette.

“It’s Ginny’s birthday,” Blaise supplied, as Ginny was too busy glaring at Malfoy jealously over his table manners to respond.

Malfoy started, and looked up. Ginny quickly looked away, blushing slightly.

“Oh, really,” he drawled, causing the fine hairs on the back of Ginny’s neck to prickle. “And how old is the little Gryff turning today? Ten?” He smirked when Ginny shot him her most vicious death stare.

“Six - teen,” she bit out slowly, her fiery gaze still fixated on the Ferret before her. She fed and encouraged the rage, so as to keep the hurt buried within. Her age was something that had worked against her, her entire life. She was the youngest of her family, and therefore usually thought of last, as well. It was also used quite often as a reason to exclude her. Also, although her birthday was early in the school year, making her numerically older than her classmates, physically she was far behind in maturing compared with the other girls in her grade. Malfoy’s comment stung more than she was willing to allow him to know. Surprisingly, it was Parkinson, not Blaise, who tried to smooth things over.

“Of course you’re sixteen,” she said practically. “You are a fifth year this year, are you not?” At Ginny’s slight nod in confirmation, Parkinson continued, “Really, Draco, where have you been? You should have known that,” she said, leveling him a gaze that Ginny could not read.

Malfoy reacted to Parkinson’s accusation of ignorance rather well. That is to say, he scowled at her, stood abruptly from the table, and stormed out of the kitchens.

“Well,” Blaise chuckled a bit a few moments later, savoring his last bite of the sweet chocolate cake. “That went well.”

******************************************************************************

Draco was pissed. And not the kind of pissed that results from partaking in too much Ogden’s Firewhiskey.

Lunch with the Weaslette had been a bad idea. When he had first seen her and Blaise in the kitchens, he felt something decidedly dark within him stir. But he had shrugged it off as a delayed reaction to his mother’s letter, and followed Pansy’s suggestion of cooperation, with the self-stated stipulation that the only way to have a civilized meal with a Weasley was to ignore that Weasley. So he had, throwing Blaise and Pansy on the blacklist as well. But then Pansy had asked about the necklace. Now he realized that it must have been Blaise’s birthday present to the little Gryff. It was obviously an important piece of jewelry, if Pansy’s reaction to seeing it on Weasley was any indication. He himself had not been able to recognize the pendant, but he had decided then that something must have been going on between Blaise and the female Weasley, if the bloke was giving her jewelry. Draco couldn’t identify what it was about the situation that irked him so. He did not approve of Blaise’s relationship with the girl. He admitted, reluctantly, that he would not have had such a problem if it had been Pansy doing the befriending instead. But that did not mean that he was in any way jealous of Blaise, or that he wanted or liked Ginny Weasley. Because he wasn’t, and he didn’t. At least that was what he told himself.

So, really, their lunch had progressed as peacefully as it could have been expected to. That is, of course, until he simply pointed out, in true Malfoy fashion, that the little Weasley looked young for her age. The look she had given him should have frozen his insides; instead it made him burn. Pansy’s pathetic mediation simply aggravated the strange fire that had built inside of him under the gaze of Ginny Weasley’s bright eyes. So he did what any self-respecting Slytherin would do when he saw that the odds were against him: he executed a flawless exit. As he made his way to his first afternoon class, he shook his head slightly: That Weasley girl was trouble.

******************************************************************************

Seven o’clock found Ginny Weasley being stared down by a sinfully gleeful Snape, while Harry Potter glared at the Potions Master from his position beside her. After a long afternoon of classes – with minimum point deductions, thank the gods – and a light dinner with Colin and Neville, she had made her way down to the damp, drafty dungeons for her punishment, only to find that she would be serving it with Harry, and for the most hated professor at Hogwarts.

“Two young Gryffindors in detention,” their professor drawled in mock surprise. “Well, I am sure that these putrid-coated cauldrons will keep you very busy for the rest of the night,” he said, gesturing to two teetering piles located at one corner of the Potions dungeon. “Oh,” he paused in mid-turn to his desk, “and no wands.” He held out his hand, and Ginny and Harry dutifully handed their wands over, though Harry looked like he really wanted to say something about it. Ginny sighed as she saw her workload, and realized that her friends’ decision to delay their Hogsmeade outing until she had finished with her detention had been in vain.

Harry smiled weakly at her as they made their way over to the piles. “So what did you do to get the privilege of being stuck in detention with Snape?” he asked quietly, glancing back to make sure the Potions Master was not paying attention to them.

“Forgot my homework,” Ginny replied just as quietly, though she had already told him earlier that day, before lunch, about what had happened.

“Right,” he nodded, the memory seeming to have come back to him. “Ron and I were trying to shut Malfoy up,” he provided to her unasked question. She nodded in understanding. “Ron served down here last night, while tonight is my turn.”

The two got down to work, scrubbing the cauldrons the muggle way, and with minimal conversation. Two hours later showed barely a change in their piles. Ginny was starting to suspect that Snape had charmed them to be never-ending. She started on what she was sure had to be her fiftieth cauldron when the dungeon doors opened and Draco Malfoy strolled in.

He paused, for a moment, when he spotted Ginny and Harry. And then he smirked at them, and continued on this path to Snape.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape looked up. “What can I help you with tonight?”

Malfoy stopped just short of Snape’s desk. “I wanted to discuss some things with you regarding the game coming up against Ravenclaw after the end of the holidays,” he provided.

Snape nodded and gestured for Malfoy to go on into his office, the entrance to which was just off to the side of the Potions classroom. Ginny watched as Malfoy disappeared into the office. Snape stood and addressed the two detainees.

“I suggest you both concentrate on leveling those piles of cauldrons,” he sneered as he walked toward the adjoining room. “I won’t be too long, so don’t even think of skiving off.”

Ginny turned away from the closed door to Snape’s office to see Harry directing a glare where the professor’s form had last stood.

“He’s not there anymore, you know,” she smiled slightly.

Harry turned a bit pink, and glanced at her, before turning back to the cauldron he had been working on. “Yeah, well, I just can’t stand him,” he excused with a shrug.

Ginny nodded, and they both continued to scour through the piles of cauldrons. After another ten minutes of intense washing, she heard Harry sigh.

“So,” he started, “Ron said that you’re not coming back to Order Headquarters for Christmas this year?”

Ginny’s hands stilled for a moment, before she continued brushing through the grime-coated mess of the cauldron in front of her. “Yeah,” she answered nonchalantly, careful not to look at him. “Colin and Dennis are staying as well, because of Dumbledore’s warning, so I thought I would stay and keep them company.” That was not all a lie. Dumbledore had made an announcement at breakfast over a month ago, warning students of the danger from Voldemort and his Death Eaters, especially to muggle-borns; he advised that Hogwarts was the safest place they could be. But most parents wanted their children home for the holidays in these dark times, so many were still leaving the safety of the castle for Christmas. Others, like Colin’s parents, understood that it was best if their children stayed at Hogwarts. Ginny did want to spend the holidays with Colin. She also specifically did not want to spend her break with the Dream Team – one summer of intense exclusion was enough.

Harry put away the cauldron he had just washed to dry, then wiped his hands and walked to where Ginny was still working on a particularly stubborn spot on her cauldron a few feet away.

“You know, Gin,” he said quietly, “we really would have liked for you to come.” He smiled sheepishly. “I know things get busy while we’re here, but we could have used the holidays to catch up.”

Ginny looked up at Harry, and started when she realized just how close he was. She could see clearly into his emerald eyes, and her breath caught as remnants of her old crush came to haunt her senses. She quickly shifted her gaze back to her work and prayed to every deity she could think of that the cursed Weasley blush would not make an appearance. She was saved from actually having to say anything in her condition by Draco Malfoy, who conveniently – or not so conveniently – made his exit from Snape’s office at that moment.

******************************************************************************

The sight that met Draco in the Potions dungeon after he left a rather confusing meeting with Snape was something he had been unprepared for. But he quickly recovered from his momentary… shock?... at finding Potter so close to the little Weasley. And damnit, the little brat was blushing! Draco plastered on his trademark smirk – guaranteed to make the blood of any Gryffindor boil – and made his way over to the pair.

“Well, isn’t this cozy?” he drawled, successfully keeping the rage he felt out of his voice. “And here I thought detention was supposed to be a punishment,” he mused. “Though,” he amended, “I can see how snogging each other would be a chore for either of you.” He brushed off the glares sent his way.

Potter stepped away from Weasley, and gave Draco a cold look. “There is nothing going on here, Malfoy,” he spat the name. “What would you know, anyway? You probably have to pay a girl to snog you!” He gave a triumphant grin, seeming pleased with his insult.

Draco simply rolled his eyes slightly and directed his silver gaze to the little red head. “Looks like Potter still doesn’t want the baby Weasley. I wonder why…” he pretended to think on it as the Weaslette continued to try to ignore him and focus on the cauldron in front of her. Her stance of non-response aggravated Draco. He stepped as close to the girl as he could without touching her, drawing his wand simultaneously to keep Potter at bay. He felt her stiffen as he whispered lowly in her ear, so his voice would not carry to Potter. “It’s probably because there are so many other girls in this school that actually possess the… assets… that a guy looks for.” When she continued to studiously ignore him, he went in for the kill. “Just look at Granger – now she has a nice body, for a mudblood. I’d bet galleons that Potter’s shagging her,” he finished with a pleased smirk as the girl dropped the cauldron she had been trying to wash. As she bent down to pick it up, Draco looked over at Potter, who was standing a few feet away, seething. When the little Weasley had recovered the wayward cauldron, she continued to scrub, still refusing to look at him; and Draco was fuming because of it.

“Aw,” he said in a mock sympathetic tone, louder now so that Potter could hear clearly, “did I hurt your feelings? Maybe you can ask Potter to snog you as your birthday present.” Weasley froze at his statement. Finally, he thought, a response. But after casting a quick glance at Potter to make sure that he would not be making any moves to attack, he realized why she had reacted. Her stiff back and the look on Potter’s face said it all. “Tsk, tsk,” he drawled, shaking his head slightly with a smirk on his face, “and I thought little Gryffindors were better friends than that… Now if Potter forgot that today was your birthday, does that mean the rest of the Dream Team did as well?” he smirked, though deep inside a small part of him wondered angrily how the idiot Weasel could forget his own sister’s birthday.

Potter’s glare answered his spoken question, though Draco had already been pretty certain of the answer. He turned to look at the Weaslette, who had gone back to cleaning the cauldrons and ignoring him. If asked later, he would never be able to explain what made him do it, but at that moment he did not want the little red head stuck in the Potions dungeon with scar-head, scrubbing an endless pile of cauldrons all night, on her sixteenth birthday. He made his decision quickly, and before he realized it, he had pointed his wand at the Weasley girl’s pile and said “Scourgify!” He returned her surprised look with a piercing one of his own, and then swept out of the room, taking a moment to sneer at the slack-jawed Potter. He headed straight to the Slytherin dorms, and then up to bed. Sleep depravation, he decided, was making him do crazy things.

******************************************************************************

Ginny stared at the spot where Draco Malfoy had exited the room for at least a minute after he had gone. She turned to her pile of now sparkling clean cauldrons, then turned back to the door once more, trying to comprehend what had just happened.

She was startled out of her shocked trance by Harry, who had walked up beside her and coughed slightly to get her attention. She looked up, but he would not meet her eyes. “Um,” he stuttered, and Ginny had a good idea of what he was going to say, so she stopped him.

“It’s okay, Harry,” she cut in quickly, not really in the mood to talk to her old crush at the moment, “We’ve all been busy these past few weeks.” She forced out a light laugh. “Even I forgot until Luna reminded me last night,” she admitted. Harry looked like he wanted to say something, but Ginny truly did not want to hear it. “I am going to go ask Snape if I can go now.” With that, she swiftly turned and walked away, leaving Harry still trying to the get his words out.

She knocked lightly on the door of Snape’s office, where the professor had remained after his short meeting with Malfoy.

A curt, “Come,” answered her knock, and she opened the door slightly, casting a quick glance around the dark room filled with odd jars, and then entered. Snape was sitting at his desk, with what Ginny recognized as a pensieve in front of him. Her wand lay next to Harry’s on the far edge of the desk. “What is it, Ms. Weasley?” he asked when she stopped to stand before him.

Ginny took a deep breath and gathered her Gryffindor courage. “My pile of cauldrons is all clean, Professor, so I was wondering if I could be dismissed now?”

Snape looked truly surprised for a moment, before the ever-present scowl returned to his face. “There were many cauldrons assigned to you, Ms. Weasley,” he said carefully. “How did you manage to clean them all so quickly?”

Ginny shrugged slightly, and decided that the truth was the best answer available. “Malfoy cast a Scourgify charm on them,” she responded directly. The shock on Snape’s face lasted much longer this time. “Professor?” she asked, when he had not spoken for more than a few moments.

“Very well, then, Ms. Weasley,” he recovered, lowering his gaze to shuffle some papers at one side of his desk. He was no doubt trying to figure out what had led his star pupil so awry. “You are dismissed. You may take your wand.”

Ginny quickly thanked the Potions Master, grabbed her wand, and exited the office. She grabbed her things from the classroom, and waved slightly to Harry, who was still working on his immense load, as she left. Ginny used her walking time to think about what had transpired in the dungeons earlier. Harry had come up so close to her that she couldn’t help but react the way any girl would to a cute boy that she liked, whether romantically or not. But then Malfoy had said all of those horrid things, and Harry had distanced himself from her as he always did. When Malfoy had whispered in her ear, she had had to strain to keep a cool shiver from running down her spine at his closeness. But the things he had said, things that she knew could be true, but refused to accept… She had kept her eyes on her work because she refused to let him see the hurt he had caused in them. She would not give him that satisfaction.

And then his personality seemed to shift completely, and he had cast a charm to lessen her work. She did not understand why he had done that, if he hated her as much as he claimed to.

“Ginny!” The red head was grabbed around the waist and twirled around. When her attacker set her down, she noted dazedly that she had made it to the Entrance Hall – Gryffindor Tower was straight forward, up seven flights of stairs, two turns to the right and one to the left. She shook her head slightly to be rid of the dizziness caused by the over-excited hug, and smiled up at Colin, who was grinning down at her. “Ready to go to Hogsmeade?” he stage whispered, looking around to make sure that no one was loitering and listening to their conversation. “We were just coming down to check on how much longer you would be in detention.”

At his use of we, Ginny noticed that Luna was standing a few feet behind the tall boy. “Hey, Colin, Luna,” she smiled. “I just got out, so we can go now,” she answered Colin’s question.

Luna nodded, and then said, “Neville wanted to come, but he apparently has a huge Potions assignment due by the end of the day tomorrow that he has been having trouble finishing.”

“Hermione was helping him when I left the common room,” Colin added.

Ginny nodded in understanding and the three made their way to the statue of the one-eyed witch on the third floor. Being Fred and George’s sister definitely had some perks, such as knowing the secret passages out of the school. The three climbed stealthily into the tunnel, careful not to leave any evidence for Filch or Mrs. Norris to find, then walked with their wands lit to the basement entrance of Honeydukes. The store was thankfully deserted, as it had closed at nine, so the three were free to make their way out of the candy shop with minimal trouble. As they walked the darkened streets of the village, Ginny noticed how quiet it seemed. But that was to be expected, as the wizarding world was now under the threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. No one was safe. There were actually fewer Hogsmeade visits scheduled this year, and they were much more heavily chaperoned. But Colin, Luna, and Ginny were three members of the D.A. – they could take care of themselves if anything were to happen on their little excursion. Or so they believed.

As it was, the three made it without incident to the Three Broomsticks, where they claimed a booth in the back and asked Madame Rosmerta for three butterbeers. When the pub matron arrived with their order, she gave them a knowing smile, and told them not to return to school too late. They promised the elder witch that they would be careful, and paid her for the drinks.

Colin raised his glass first. “To Ginny,” he said solemnly. “Happy Birthday, and many happy returns.”

“To Ginny,” Luna responded resolutely, while clinking her glass with Colin’s, then Ginny’s.

“Thanks, guys,” the Birthday girl just blushed and her smile was radiant.

Ginny and her friends spent another hour in the Three Broomsticks, while each indulged in a second butterbeer and a shared plate of chips. The trip back to the castle went quickly, and Colin and Ginny walked Luna back to the Ravenclaw dorms before heading back to Gryffindor. It was almost midnight by the time they reached the Portrait of the Fat Lady, and definitely past curfew. That did not, however, ensure an empty common room. In fact, the common room was currently occupied by one fuming red head and his two annoying best friends. Colin and Ginny froze just inside of the portrait hole, and the Gryffindor trio stood to face them.

“Ginevra Weasley, just where in Merlin’s name have you been?” Ron nearly bellowed, his face clashing with his hair. Ginny noticed Hermione quickly cast a silencing charm so their discussion would not wake the rest of Gryffindor Tower.

“Out,” came her simple response. Ginny just rolled her eyes at her brother and made to walk to the stairway leading up to the girls’ dorms, before Ron roughly grabbed her by the arm to stop her. Colin quickly stepped forward, his wand already pointed at Ron’s head. Ginny shook her arm away from Ron, and rubbed the spot where she was sure a bruise would appear in the morning. She backed away towards Colin, whom she gestured to lower his wand. He was not happy with that request, but complied.

“Ron,” she began, her voice icy, “if you have something to say to me, then say it. But do not stand there and presume you have the right to manhandle or yell at me like a five-year-old.”

His face only grew more flushed. “If you didn’t act like a five-year-old, I wouldn’t have to treat you like one!” He shouted, ignoring her request. “And I can yell at you if I want, you’re my little sister!”

“I’m my own person, and I refuse to take this crap from you any longer,” she spat back. “And as far as acting like a child, I think you’re the only one in this room that qualifies for that description!”

“Maybe we should all just calm down a bit,” Hermione cut in soothingly, casting a nervous glance up the stairs.

Ron ignored her and continued on his rant. “What were you thinking roaming around at night?” his decibel level was still much too high for Ginny’s liking. “You could have been hurt! These are dangerous times, Ginny!”

“And Hogwarts is the safest place in the wizarding world to be,” she cut in.

“True, but were you in Hogwarts all this evening, Ginny?” Hermione questioned astutely.

Ginny nearly snarled. Nearly – she was much too controlled to let that expression reach her face. Ron jumped on Hermione’s suggestion and continued his supremely disturbing imitation of an angry Molly Weasley.

“Where were you, Ginny? I suggest you start talking now, before I send an owl to Mum,” he threatened. Ginny was unmoved. She knew there were some problems with the post, but that did not excuse the fact that she had not received any birthday greetings from any other members of her family. She assumed they would lump it together with Christmas, as they usually did. But that did not negate the hurt-turned-to-defiance at the moment. Let Ron write to Mum, she thought bitterly, then I can ask her why she forgot my birthday.

When Ginny still kept quiet about her whereabouts, Ron decided to interrogate her accomplice. “Creevey,” he ground out, and Colin took a step back while raising his wand back up.

“C’mon, Colin,” Harry spoke for the first time since Ginny and Colin had returned to the common room. “That’s not necessary,” he stepped forward and put a restraining hand on Ron’s shoulder. “We were just worried about Ginny,” he explained.

“Then perhaps you should treat her like the sixteen-year-old girl she is, instead of a little lapdog that you think answers to you. Who made you the authority around here, anyways?” Colin sneered back. Oh yes, he was definitely over his hero-worshipping stage.

“Ron and I are prefects –” Hermione started.

“So am I,” Ginny cut in irately.

“Well we’re older --” was Ron’s patent defense.

“Bullshit.” Ginny was starting to become really aggravated. “You did much worse when you were fifth years and younger.”

“Fine, then,” Hermione seemed quite peeved, if the coloring of her face and the pursing of her lips were any indication. “If you won’t listen to us, then perhaps you will listen to Professor McGonagall.”

That was enough!

“Maybe you should stay out of situations and conversations that do not concern you! Just because you are Ron’s friends does not give you the right to interfere in my life.” Ginny could not resist responding scathingly. She ignored the older girl’s stricken look, too caught up in the moment, and too relieved to finally be releasing the pent up anger, hurt, and feelings of betrayal that had been building within her since the summer. “And the last time I checked, neither of you were Weasleys! So stay out of this,” she bit out, focusing her glare on Harry and Hermione. This was not what she needed right now. She did not need the Dream Team to ruin the end of what had already been a long, confusing, and draining day.

Ron took a step toward Ginny, his features warring between rage and disbelief. Colin lifted his wand more threateningly against the older Weasley, but that was unnecessary as Ginny had drawn her own wand on the taller red head. “Please,” she said in a calm, cold voice, “take one more step towards me so that I can show you just how helpless,” she spat out the word, “I really am.”

Ron paused in his attack, and Ginny used the opportunity to slip over to the door leading to the girls’ dorms, keeping her wand trained on the trio, as Harry and Hermione had moved to stand by their friend. Ginny saw the tears the older girl was holding back, but at the moment she was beyond caring. She nodded goodnight to Colin, who had also used that time to get to the door leading to the boys’ dorms, and swiftly turned and made her way through the entrance and up the spiral staircase. It had been a long day. And she needed sleep, badly.




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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, and Warner Bros., among others. Only the plot and any unfamiliar characters are mine.

NOTE: Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know what you think.

Draco groaned softly as the morning sun hit his eyes. He wondered vaguely where his bed hangings had gone as he squinted slightly and turned to bury his face in the smooth encasing of his pillow. It had taken too long for sleep to claim him the night before, considering he had not slept for almost thirty hours previously. But his thoughts had been plagued by the same worries that had haunted him since the arrival of his mother’s letter. This time, however, they were joined by an image of one very annoying little Weaslette.

He was rudely interrupted from his attempt to slumber by a pillow that had been thrown at his back. He did not have to turn to identify the culprit: only one person in Slytherin was bold enough – or stupid enough – to throw anything at him.

“Go away, Blaise,” he mumbled into his pillow. He had sneaking suspicion that his friend may have had something to do with his missing bed hangings.

“Get out of bed, Draco,” his friend returned sternly. “Today is the last day of classes before the holidays.” When Draco still refused to rise, he coaxed, “You can sleep all through the break.” He heard Blaise sigh, then heard his footstep leave the room and fade away. Draco carefully opened one eye to see that he was now alone in the room. He pulled himself out of bed, noting absently that his drapes were not missing, but had simply been pulled back.

Forty-five minutes later, a very well-groomed, though irate, Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall for breakfast. He stalked directly over to the spot reserved for him at the Slytherin table, between Blaise and Pansy, who were already seated. He nodded to those he – or his father – considered worthy of acknowledgement as he took his seat, and then proceeded to help himself to a large cup of coffee. He noticed Pansy eye him curiously for a few moments, but she said nothing as he cast her a pointed look. Blaise remained wisely quiet as well. Delilah Windholm, however, did not seem to have gotten the message to steer clear of Draco that morning.

“Draco, darling,” she cooed, placing herself directly across from him, squeezing in between a grumbling Crabbe and an obviously annoyed Goyle. “I missed you last night,” she continued suggestively, as he felt her foot travel up his calf under the table. He controlled his reflexes enough to keep from jumping at the unexpected physical contact. He was in no mood for her this morning.

“Delilah,” he said in a strained drawl, that she obviously misinterpreted as being from pleasure instead of aggravation, as she smirked seductively. “Perhaps it would be best if we finished this later,” he said meaningfully, ready to do just about anything to rid himself of this headache at the moment.

She nodded, understanding, and stood. “Until then, baby,” she reached over and pecked his lips with a small kiss, before leaving to sit with the other fifth year Slytherin girls.

“Until then, baby,” Pansy drawled in his ear, mocking the younger girl.

“Enough, Pansy,” Draco sneered, though it was weak in his apparent state of distress. She simply smirked before returning to her breakfast.

Draco had to stop himself from rubbing his face in frustration – an awkward habit and sign of weakness that no Malfoy could afford to show in public. He really could not wait for this day to be over. He quickly surveyed the room, and sneered when his eyes landed on Gryffindor’s heroic trio. He looked away quickly, though not before noticing that the littlest Weasley was absent. He then proceeded to mentally slap himself for noting on the whereabouts of a Weasley. Draco quickly drained the rest of his coffee, and stood; he reasoned that the sooner the day ‘began,’ the sooner it could end. Pansy and Blaise had already finished their meals, so they joined him in heading to their first class.

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While, unknown to Ginny, Malfoy, Parkinson, and Blaise sat through their last Ancient Runes class before the holidays, the fifth year Gryffindor was trying valiantly to stay awake in History of Magic. After a restless night, and an early morning spent evading the Dream Team, she was exhausted. Last night her lack of sleep had not been due to Voldemort or the Chamber. Instead, her own guilt at having caused the pain she saw in Hermione’s eyes played a large part in keeping her awake until sunrise. She really was too soft, she scolded herself. Yet she could not help it – she was not frozen enough inside to enjoy the pain of others; excluding Voldemort, of course, whose cruelty and lack of conscience had been the cause of so much death and destruction.

She was more hesitant to identify the other factor of her sleepless night: a particular blond ferret.

Ginny let out a silent sigh and repositioned herself so that her posture was not conducive to sleeping. Professor Binns was lecturing about some goblin rebellion or other, and she struggled for the next ninety minutes with her drooping eyelids. Finally, the ghost professor seemed to have wrapped up his lecture, and he announced that there would be an assignment due a week after the Monday that they returned to classes following break. He continued to speak over the groans of the few students who were awake enough to have understood what he had said.

“I have decided to tell you about the assignment now, so that those of you staying at Hogwarts over the holidays may use the library to complete this essay early over break.” Ginny sat up slightly and poised her quill to take down the assignment. “I expect three feet of parchment,” he continued in his monotonous tone as the groans grew louder, “detailing the livelihood and achievements of any great wizard or witch from the Middle Ages. Obvious choices would be Merlin or Morgan Le Fay, from the earlier Middle Ages, or any of the four Hogwarts founders or the twelve founders of the original Wizards’ Council, from the later Middle Ages.” Ginny saw Theresa Kensington give a smug smile and lean over to whisper to the other two Gryffindor girls in the class. “These are all acceptable choices, but you are encouraged to choose a lesser known magical person.” The bell rang then and class was dismissed.

Ginny made her way to a surprisingly uneventful Care of Magical Creatures, and then headed back to the Great Hall for lunch with Colin. The two had avoided discussing what had transpired in the common room after their return, as Colin knew that Ginny would come to him to talk when she was ready. Lunch was strained: Colin and Ginny sat with Neville, only a few seats away from Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Ron had a reddish tinge the whole meal, and Hermione and Harry seemed to be keeping him from saying anything. Poor Neville did not understand the tension, but tried to make the best of the situation by babbling on about the coming holidays, and keeping silence at bay by questioning nearby students of their plans. After that, afternoon classes breezed by, and before Ginny knew it, evening had come, and most students were excitedly packing their trunks to take with them on the Hogwarts Express the next morning. Hoping to avoid the Gryffindor trio and her giggling dorm mates, Ginny decided to take a short trip down to the lake before dinner. As she walked the powdered grounds by the iced lake, bundled up in her ratty second hand robes and cloak, protected by the strongest warming charm she could conjure on herself, she could not keep her thoughts from returning to the night before.

Perhaps she had been too harsh with Harry and Hermione. Perhaps it was only the trio’s worry for her that caused them to treat her so badly.

'And perhaps Draco Malfoy is really a cuddly little kneazle underneath that cold, hard exterior!' she thought sarcastically.

It was ridiculous of her to make excuses for the actions of others. She admitted that her own behavior with Hermione may have been a bit extreme. Though, really, Ginny had only spoken the truth as it was portrayed to her.

She was forced to file her internal diatribe away for another time when she heard footsteps crunching on the fresh snow. She turned, ready to greet Blaise, when a smooth drawl reached her ears, sending an unnatural flutter through her stomach.

“Fancy meeting you here, Weaslette,” Draco Malfoy smirked.

“Malfoy,” she nodded slightly, her eyes instantly wary. She sighed when he simply stood there, watching her, with that infuriating smirk of his still in place. “What are you doing out here?”

He shrugged slightly, and raised a single pale brow. “What are you doing out here?” he returned the question. Ginny rolled her eyes, then answered with a shrug of her own, though not as graceful as the older boy’s. “I simply came out to enjoy the weather,” he said sarcastically.

“It’s freezing out here,” she replied tersely.

“Oh?” he looked amused. “Are you cold now?” She scowled at him. “Great thing, magic,” he shook his head slightly at her feigned ignorance.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ginny was already sleep-deprived because of this boy, but his presence now was simply irritating her. At least, that was what she assumed that fizzling feeling, making its way through her system due to his closeness, was: irritation.

“Manners, Little Weasel,” Malfoy tutted mockingly. He took a step towards her, and Ginny had to stop herself from taking an instinctive step back. She remained un-moving as he bent down to whisper in her ear, reminiscent of the previous night. “Is this how you treat all the lads who save you from a night’s detention in the dungeons” he questioned, “or am I just special?”

Ginny took a deep breath – trying to ignore how his scent made her slightly dizzy – and turned her head slightly to give her response. “You’re just special,” she answered, forcing a sarcastic tone, layered with mock sweetness. Malfoy stiffened, and backed away from her. He then turned to make a swift exit back to the castle, but not before sending her one last sneer. Ginny released a sigh of relief as Malfoy’s form drew further from her sight. His closeness had wreaked havoc on her senses, and she spent the next ten minutes staring out onto the frozen surface of the lake, trying to gather herself enough to go in and face what was surely waiting for her at dinner.

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Draco strode quickly over to the Slytherin table and took his seat. His face was a calm mask, but behind his silver steel eyes was a good amount of anger, annoyance, and confusion. He ignored Pansy and Blaise, who simply raised a dark eyebrow and turned away from the Slytherin Prince, as he filled his plate half-heartedly for dinner. As he ate sparingly – a Malfoy does not ‘pick at his food’ – he thought over his earlier interaction with the Weasley girl.

He had been on his way to the Great Hall from meeting with McGonagall regarding a Transfiguration assignment due after the break, when he had looked out of one of the hall windows to see the little red head walking towards the lake. His decision to follow her had been impulsive, much like his ridiculous act of kindness the night before in Snape’s dungeon. He still blamed that action on his lack of sleep, ignoring the little jolt he felt inside, when he remembered the surprised look she had directed his way; usually, her eyes were filled with anger, malice, annoyance, or some other negative emotion when she looked at him, but last night, those had been absent. He refused to evaluate why her opinions of him should affect him in any way.

He had stepped out into the cold unthinkingly, casting a quick warming charm, before making his way up behind where she had stopped by the lake. When she had first turned, his breath had almost been knocked out of him by the light he saw in her eyes. She must have been expecting someone else, though – 'Probably Blaise,' he thought bitterly – since her eyes had become immediately guarded, and degrees cooler, when she had realized it was him. He had been so angry that the happiness had left her gaze that he tried to provoke her. A plan which, he admitted now, had failed remarkably. When he had felt her hot breath on the side of his face, it had almost been his undoing. And so he had found himself – a Slytherin, a Malfoy, a Black – retreating once more; all because of one little girl.

The same little girl that had just entered the hall, and was now making her way to sit with Camera Boy – Draco made a mental note to learn his name – and Longbottom at the Gryffindor table. Draco focused one of his most intense glares on the girl that had kept him from sleep the night before, and had stirred such turmoil within him during the waking hours.

“Draco,” Blaise tried to get his friend’s attention. He followed the blond boy’s gaze, and smirked slightly when he identified the source of Draco’s troubles. “You know,” he began, amusement coloring his tone, “she won’t burst into flames simply because you will it.” He held back a chuckle as Draco turned his deadly gaze from the Weasley girl onto Blaise. “You should know by now that that look does not work on me. I was simply saying that concentrating so much focus on the girl, through a death glare from across the hall, will accomplish nothing.”

“So what should I do? Go over to the Gryffindor table, where she has an army to protect her, and force her into a duel?” he asked in mock-seriousness.

“Or perhaps a more Slytherin approach?” At his friend’s raised eyebrow, Draco scowled.

“Are you saying that you would be… supportive of any plans I make to put the little trollop in her place?” Draco questioned carefully, as he knew she was a friend of Blaise’s, or at least a close acquaintance.

Blaise paused for a moment, seeming to think the situation over. Then, with an eerily satisfied smile that Draco should have been very wary of – and would have been if he had not been so distracted by watching the smallest weasel turn red as her brother gestured wildly while speaking beside her – Blaise nodded.

“Good,” Draco said curtly, and quickly left the hall, having watched his target exit only moments before. His attention was focused on catching the little brat, so he did not see the satisfied smirk on Blaise’s face, or the curious look that Pansy shot at her dark-haired friend.

“Draco,” he was stopped by a sultry voice on his way to confronting the youngest Weasley. He paused, annoyed, to face Delilah Windholm.

“What is it?” he asked, in a patient tone that his breeding required in such situations.

“Well,” she smiled seductively as she stepped closer to him, “I’m leaving in the morning, and you did say that we would get together later. And this is later,” she giggled. Draco was not fooled. Delilah was as cruel and conniving as the next Slytherin. He knew the ‘bubbly temptress’ was simply an act she played to get what she wanted.

“Not now,” he answered, turning and looking to his right, and then left, to ascertain where the red head had gone.

The little smile was wiped off of Delilah’s face as she stepped over to place herself in front of him once more. “Yes, now, Draco,” she said, the frigidness in her voice matching the coldness of her eyes. Draco looked down at the girl, seething at her audacity in telling him – him! – what to do. Her assumption that they would be together just because she wanted it was one that he would have to eradicate… eventually. He glanced up and down the hallway once more, and, upon finding no trace of Ginny Weasley, he made his decision. He smirked at the fifth-year girl before him, before leading her back to the Slytherin Common Room, and then up to his dorm. She seemed pleased with her success, with the power she thought she held over the Malfoy heir. He would let her believe what she wanted for now. As they took part in the ritual they had practiced many times before, Draco let his mind wander. And this time, when flashes of a small red head invaded his mind, he did not try to force the images away. He would deal with Ginny Weasley later. And he would make sure that Delilah Windholm never forgot the true power of Draco Malfoy.

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Ginny was hidden in a corner of the Astronomy Tower when Blaise finally found her a few hours after dinner.

“What happened?” he questioned, obviously knowing that something was bothering her.

Ginny did not turn or say anything in acknowledgement, but she scooted over slightly to allow him room to sit beside her. There was silence for a few minutes, but it was far from uncomfortable.

And then Ginny began to speak.

She started with her family, and their over-protectiveness. She told him about her first year, and how that experience had just supported her family’s belief that she would always need to be taken care of. She left out the fact that Tom Riddle bore a striking resemblance to her friend, as the tale alone was upsetting enough. And then she spoke about the D.A., and what had happened at the Department of Mysteries. She spent a good amount of time letting out her feelings about her exclusion the previous summer, while being careful to keep any details of the Order she did know – such as the location of its headquarters – out of her story. And then she went on to describe what had transpired the night before, as well as the confrontation that had occurred at the Gryffindor table over dinner, earlier that evening.

Ron had come out of nowhere, it seemed. She had been expecting to face the Dream Team when she first arrived at dinner, but as they had been peculiarly absent, she had enjoyed the company of Neville and Colin. Ginny had been talking quietly with the two Gryffindor boys regarding nothing of consequence, when her brother had barreled over to her, sans Harry and Hermione. He had called her a selfish brat, among other things, and angrily told her that she had had no right to say what she had to his two best friends. He had then proceeded to list her faults, beginning with her mistake first year. Thankfully, he had not been yelling this time, but enough of the Gryffindor table heard what he said about her setting the basilisk loose on the students – a fact which had been kept very quiet from the rest of the school. She had felt her face flush in hurt and anger, as she turned to look at her fellow Gryffindors. They were looking at her as though she had just been declared Voldemort’s heir, which very well may have been how they interpreted the information. She could not sit there a moment longer, under their accusing gazes, and had stood to rush out of the Great Hall, leaving a still fuming Ron with an even angrier Colin Creevey.

Blaise listened to what she said, voicing no judgments. When she had finished, a new silence descended upon them. Ginny was slightly worried now. She wondered if it had been wise to confide in the older boy. They had always steered clear of topics such as their families and Voldemort.

Finally, Blaise broke the silence. “I see now why Creevey sent me to find you.” The comment seemed directed more at himself than to her.

Ginny looked over at Blaise for the first time that night. “Was he okay?” she questioned. She had already confided in Colin, Luna, and Neville about Riddle and the diary, but being reminded of his petrification by the basilisk in first year always got to Colin.

Blaise shrugged slightly. “He seemed more angry than upset when I spoke with him. That Ravenclaw you hang around – Lovegood – she was trying to stop him from going to hex Weasley.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Personally, knowing what I know now, I’m tempted to do more than hex the bastard.” He smiled at her slightly as he heard her sigh in relief. “What,” he asked teasingly, “did you think I’d stop spending time with you because you were manipulated by an older dark wizard when you were eleven?”

Ginny tried to return his smile, but failed. So she settled for leaning on her strong friend. “You should have seen the way the other Gryffindors looked at me, Blaise.” She sniffled a bit, as the memory assaulted her, and he wrapped his arm around her in a comforting embrace. “They think I’m evil, I saw it in their eyes.”

“They’re Gryffindors, Ginny. They think everyone who isn’t just like them is evil,” he finished gently, though she definitely caught traces of sarcasm in his voice.

“You know,” she admitted hesitantly, “the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, before I insisted that I was meant to be a Gryffindor. It was even seriously considering Ravenclaw before it gave in to my pleading and put me where my brothers were.” Her face was almost buried in his chest, so she did not see the look of surprise pass swiftly across his face, or the unreadable emotion in his eyes that lingered long after the look had passed. “I wonder sometimes – okay, a lot of times,” she corrected with no prodding, “if I really would have been better off in another house. At the time, the idea of being the first Weasley not sorted into Gryffindor was too terrifying. I mean, what would my parents have thought if I broke the tradition? But now,” she admitted, still not looking up, “I think it would have been for the best.” Her confession was followed by a beat of silence, before Blaise decided to share an admission of his own.

“I was hoping to be in Ravenclaw, like my Madrina, my godmother,” he said, tightening his grip on Ginny as she shifted closer into a more comfortable position. “But my family had their own expectations for me, much like yours did. The men of my family have been Slytherins for generations, back to Domenico Aurelio Zabini, one of the first students educated at Hogwarts. He was chosen to come here by Salazar Slytherin himself. After him, an endless number of Zabini Lords could cite Hogwarts, and Slytherin House, as their alma mater.”

“Will you be a Zabini Lord, Blaise?” Ginny questioned curiously. She really did not know much about the Lords of the Wizards’ Council, and it would be fascinating to hear the history of the twelve founders from a direct descendent. Of course, she could probably have gone to Theresa Kensington, but Ginny wanted to be spared from having to endure the conceitedness of the girl.

“No,” he answered, and he did not sound the least bit disappointed. “The title – and all of the land, wealth, and responsibilities it entails – has always been passed down to the eldest son. My Nonno, or grandfather, is the current Lord of the House of Zabini, but my father had an elder brother, who had his own son before he died,” he explained. “My cousin Dorian graduated a few years before I came to Hogwarts. He was a Slytherin, of course,” he added unnecessarily.

“Blaise,” Ginny sat up, clearly excited about something. Blaise eyed her warily, slightly disconcerted by her swift change in attitude. “You have to help me with my History of Magic essay. We have to choose an important witch or wizard from the Middle Ages in wizarding history, and write a three-foot essay. Can you tell me about your ancestor?” she questioned eagerly. Blaise eyed her oddly for a moment, before nodding hesitantly.

“If that is what you want,” he stated, “I could help you over the holidays. You are still staying, right?” he questioned.

“Of course I’m staying. There is no way I could spend the next two weeks anywhere near Ron!” Blaise frowned slightly, clearly regretting having brought the topic up, when her happiness visibly diminished at the reminder of what had happened at dinner.

“Come on, ‘Lina,” he stood, then offered his hand to help her up. “Let’s go see if the house elves have any more of that chocolate cake left,” he suggested with a mischievous smirk. Ginny laughed lightly at his obvious addiction as they made their way out of the Astronomy Tower and toward the kitchens.

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Draco considered his reflection in the mirror. It was Christmas morning, and he had already opened all of his presents – his mother had outdone herself this year to apologize for his having to stay at school. But he truly did not mind having had to stay at the castle: The first few days of the break had passed uneventfully. Draco had watched two morning ago as the carriages made their way from the school towards Hogsmeade Station, where the students would board the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross Station. He had then spent the rest of that day doing some of his holiday schoolwork, practicing quidditch and playing chess with Blaise. Yesterday had gone much the same as well, although he had sent his gifts to his mother with his eagle owl Aries in the morning.

He quickly ran his fingers through the loose, soft strands of his hair, and brushed the front of his casual black robes to rid it of any microscopic lint. He then turned to head down to the common room to meet Blaise and go for a walk on the grounds. The boys made a quick stop at the kitchens for some coffee and scones, and then continued out of the castle after the light meal.

“Shall we play a round of quidditch later?” Blaise asked.

“Sure,” came the unenthusiastic response. At his friend’s arched eyebrow, Draco elaborated. “Perhaps if we had a few more players…” he trailed off as a white blur crashed into the side of Blaise’s head. The two Slytherins stood perfectly still for a few moments, snow dripping down the taller boy’s face, before both turned face the culprit, who turned out to be a little red head who was obviously struggling to hold back laughter. She looked up at the boys, and Draco saw amusement turn to excited fright as she turned and began to run. He barely had time to register what had happened, when Blaise took off after the younger girl, a nice big snowball in his hands. Draco watched as the much taller Blaise easily caught up with the young Gryffindor and attempted to pummel her with his ill-formed weapon. Ginny Weasley had apparently been in a lot of snowball fights, however, as she expertly dodged the attack, and turned to flee once more. But Blaise proved to be too fast and too strong for her, as he overcame her and they tumbled to the ground.

Draco leisurely made his way over to the pair, ignoring the unusual feeling that was growing inside of him at seeing one of his best mates so close to this girl that still haunted his nights. He approached them just as Blaise was helping the now-snow-covered Weasley off of the ground. As she looked up at him, he was satisfied to note – as much as he tried to deny it – that the excitement and happiness did not desert her eyes.

“Weasley,” he said in quite a civil tone, “is there something you needed, or do you make it a habit of throwing things at unsuspecting civilians?”

She rolled her eyes at his formal stance, and replied, “Colin and I were having snowball fight when I spotted Blaise,” she turned to the dark-haired boy then and gave him a sweet smile that caused that unusual feeling growing inside of Draco to peak up, “and decided to invite him to play.”

“And what an invitation it was,” Blaise stated wryly, though the amusement in his eyes was clearly showing. “Where is Creevey anyway?” he questioned, looking around a bit. Ginny shrugged slightly, but a spatter of snow hitting her in the stomach answered that question. She let out a little squeal and pulled Blaise to stand in front of her as a shield.

“So,” she asked urgently, “are you guys in or out?” Draco kept his surprise at her including him in her invitation from showing on his face, but he was sure Blaise saw it anyway. His friend gave him a questioning look, to which Draco answered with a slight shrug, before he was shoved roughly into the snow by his smirking housemate. As Draco looked up in shock, Blaise gathered some more snow in his hands and took off, presumably to go attack this ‘Creevey’ person. Creevey… hmm… and then it clicked – Camera Boy! So that was his name…

He was kept from pondering this discovery for too long by a tap on his shoulder. “Are you just going to lie there all day, or do you plan on actually getting Blaise back for his little stunt?” the littlest Weasley questioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He studied the girl for a moment, in her old cloak, and with her hair pulled back. Her face was flushed from her running, and her eyes were so bright that the gold flecks were prominent. She raised an eyebrow when it took him more than a minute to respond, and smirked slightly as he shook his head to clear it of the image of her amused face. She offered her gloved hand to him to help him up, and, after a moment’s consideration, he accepted the assistance. He ignored the tingle he felt, even through the thick wool and dragon-hide, at being in physical contact with the girl.

He turned to ask her where he could find Blaise, when she hit him with a snowball she had apparently been hiding behind her back with her other hand. He stood, stunned for moment, before sending her one of his best glares. She simply shrugged and gave him a small smile.

“What did you expect me to do when you offer such a tempting stationary target?” She must have seen the calculating glint in his eyes, for she then immediately turned and ran off again. Draco gathered some snow in his hands, forming a packed ball, before running off after the girl.

This, he decided, was war.

******************************************************************************

“Did you have to use your wand to send twenty snowballs at me at once?” Blaise complained as he, Malfoy, Colin, and Ginny sat down for some hot chocolate in front of the fireplace in the kitchens.

“Yes,” came Malfoy’s simple response to Blaise’s lament. He smirked as Blaise cast a few drying charms on his clothes and hair.

Ginny held back a giggle at the memory of Blaise, the human snowman. The morning had been more fun than she had expected. After opening her Birthday/Christmas presents from her family and friends – and Harry and Hermione – she and Colin had left Gryffindor Tower and gone straight onto the grounds for a snowball fight. Blaise and Malfoy’s arrival on the scene had been an unexpected, but pleasant surprise.

“Quit whining, Blaise,” she interrupted humorously. “If anyone here should be complaining, it’s me,” she looked pointedly at her older friend, who grinned unrepentantly at the reminder of him burying the small red head in the snow bank with the help of Colin. Surprisingly, it had been Malfoy who had helped her out, claiming that it was done out of self-preservation – he did not want to be the focus of the boys’ schemed attacks with the absence of Ginny.

“You didn’t complain, Gin, but you definitely got even,” Colin said, rubbing his shoulder, where Ginny had sent quite a memorable snowball after being rescued from the snow bank. He simply pouted when she smiled at him. “Dennis is a much easier target,” he muttered.

“Yes, well then you can go and find Dennis if you’d like.” At his horrified look, she giggled.

“Who is Dennis?” questioned Malfoy.

“My brother,” Colin answered. “He’s a third year, and he’s usually not so bad to hang around, but…” he trailed off, looking to Ginny for the correct phrasing.

“But his little girlfriend stayed for the holidays as well,” she supplied, “and Colin and I have found her to be very…” here she turned back to Colin for the correct term.

“Hyper-active.” He shook his head slightly. “I swear, she’s worse than the Energizer Bunny.” He looked up to see three blank faces. “Never mind,” he said, “it’s a muggle thing.”

Ginny shrugged slightly. “She’s really not so bad,” she added. “She just never shuts up, and can run around for hours without getting tired. Like yesterday, when we played quidditch,” she offered as an example, “we were out there for four hours, racing around in the cold, and she was still jumping around when we were ready to land. There was no way we were going to go up against that little terror in a snowball fight – we’d be out there until nightfall!”

“You played quidditch yesterday? When?” Blaise asked.

“Um, sometime in the afternoon,” Ginny looked to Colin, who nodded in confirmation.

“Draco and I were out there in the morning.” He paused, then looked to Malfoy, before continuing. “Actually, we were thinking about playing this afternoon, but preferred having a few more players. Are you interested?”

Colin and Ginny shared a quick glance before Ginny answered for them. “Sure, why not?” Blaise looked truly pleased, while Malfoy’s face was the usual unemotional mask. “Well, we’d better get back to Gryffindor to get ready for lunch. We’ll see you in the Great Hall?” At Blaise’s nod, Ginny smiled, and she and Colin got up to leave.

******************************************************************************

As Draco changed for the lunch feast, into a dressier pair of black robes, over his black pants and Slytherin-green jumper, his mind drifted to the events of the morning. Loathe though he was to admit it, he had had fun. The littlest weasel and her friend had been entertaining company. And he had kept his snide comments to himself, which had been extremely difficult at Creevey’s mention of that muggle rabbit. He could see why Blaise liked the Weaslette so much – when she was away from the Gryffindor Dream Team, she showed herself to be an intelligent and fun-loving girl.

Draco sneered then; she was still a Weasley, and muggle-loving trash. Just because he may not approve of Voldemort’s plans of genocide, did not mean he felt that muggles were equals to wizards, or that muggle-borns should be at Hogwarts. With a renewed satisfaction – of both his appearance and his check on his beliefs – Draco left for the Great Hall. Blaise had already gone ahead, after complaining that Draco was too vain for his own good.

Upon arriving for the Christmas feast, Draco found that there was only one table, set up in the middle of the vast room. The four house tables, as well as the Head table where the teachers usually dined, were all absent. Draco made his way over to where Blaise was seated, just beside the little weasel and across from some Ravenclaw fourth year. As he took his seat on the other side of Blaise, which happened to be next to the esteemed Potions professor, he looked over to where Weasley was seated. Creevey sat to her left, and across from them sat a younger boy whom Draco assumed to be Creevey’s brother and a little blond girl. The little girl was squirming around in her seat, currently babbling to her boyfriend.

“Happy Christmas, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco looked up to find himself seated across from the Headmaster, one seat over. Dumbledore’s eyes held their usual twinkle as he greeted his student.

“Happy Christmas, Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall,” he nodded to the elder witch seated directly across from him, “Professor Snape,” he nodded to the wizard to his right. The professors returned his greetings. Snape leaned over slightly and spoke with Draco.

“Mr. Zabini seems quite comfortable with young Ms. Weasley,” he commented casually, but Draco saw the question in his raised eyebrow.

“They have apparently become closer throughout the semester,” he replied quietly. Draco quickly cast a glance at the pair in question, and saw that they were busy in conversation, before continuing. “Perhaps the usual presence of most of the Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses is why the relationship has not been so obviously displayed before.”

Professor Snape nodded, then smirked. “The Headmaster did not look the least bit surprised when Mr. Zabini seated himself next to Ms. Weasley and began to converse with her.” Draco only shrugged slightly – Dumbledore seemed to always know what was going on in the castle. Draco wondered briefly if he knew about Narcissa’s revelation from a few days prior. Probably, he decided.

The tinkle of silverware on glass brought Draco’s attention back to the table, as Dumbledore stood to address the teachers, and twenty or so students who had remained for the holidays. “My dear professors and students,” he began, “it is my pleasure to wish you all Season’s Greetings, and a Happy Christmas Day.” He smiled as many at the table clapped politely, then continued on a graver note. “In the dark times that are upon us, it is important to remember and appreciate the family and friends that support us, even if they are not with us now,” he seemed to directing that statement at the little Weasley, who Draco noted was looking back defiantly into Dumbledore’s piercing eyes. “Also remember that Hogwarts will always be here; and united, we will prevail,” he had turned his gaze to Draco for that last statement. “Enjoy the feast,” he clapped his hands and a large variety of rich foods appeared on the table.

Draco spent his time speaking with both Blaise and Professor Snape during the feast, and even exchanged a few pleasantries regarding his grades with Dumbledore, and his Transfiguration essay with McGonagall. The meal passed quickly, and, after a quick game of chess, Draco and Blaise found their way out onto the quidditch pitch with two younger Gryffindors. They didn’t talk much, but started playing right away. They decided two against two – chasers only – would be the best option, so Draco and Blaise found themselves up against Weasley and Creevey. Draco had to admit that Weasley was good – he had seen her play chaser once before, in the Gryffindor - Slytherin match that had taken place last month, but had not really noticed how graceful she was while flying; he had been too busy looking for the snitch, which Potter had caught in the end, anyway. Creevey was alright as well, as he was another one of Gryffindor’s chasers. Although Draco and Blaise were at a definite disadvantage – as Draco usually played seeker, while Blaise was used to playing keeper – they put up a good fight against the two Gryffindor team chasers. They lost, of course, but not by too much, which slightly eased the pain to their Slytherin pride.

As they landed, the little weasel ran over to where Draco was standing next to Blaise, Creevey lagging along behind her. “Well,” she breathed heavily from the exertion, “that was a good game.” She smiled at them. “But you two really should stick to keeping and seeking,” she scrunched up her nose a bit as she caught the quaffle Blaise threw at her head. “Touchy, touchy,” she tsked, then laughed at Blaise’s smirk. Draco could not help but notice how comfortable and natural the two were around each other. Blaise seemed so much… happier, and less stressed, when Weasley was around him. Draco forced down the bout of jealousy that was threatening to show itself and simply raised an eyebrow at the oblivious pair.

“Good game.” Creevey had finally arrived. “But I have to get back to Gryffindor Tower now; I promised Dennis some brother time.”

“What about his little girlfriend?” Blaise questioned, obviously amused. Creevey rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Dennis guaranteed me that she would be otherwise occupied,” he answered with a shrug.

“What about you, Little One?” Blaise asked Weasley. Draco stifled his surprise at hearing the endearment – it did not sound particularly romantic. Perhaps they were only friends. For now, he amended as the little weasel rolled her eyes at the nickname.

“I will be locked away in my room,” she began dramatically, “reading,” she finished decisively. “Hermione got me some books for Christmas” – Draco noticed she seemed upset about something at the reminder of the mudblood – “and I’m looking forward to reading them. But,” she turned to Blaise, “I would really appreciate it if you could help me with my History of Magic essay tomorrow?”

“We have a History of Magic essay?” Creevey asked, looking perplexed. “When was it assigned? When is it due?”

“You were asleep when it was assigned, and it’s not due until the week after classes start up again after the holidays,” Weasley informed him, still looking to Blaise for a response to her request.

Blaise seemed to be considering something, and he cast a glance at Draco, which made the blond boy very wary, before responding. “Sure, we could meet in the library tomorrow afternoon.” Weasley’s smile seemed to freeze when he continued, “Draco should come as well, as two of his ancestors were founders,” but she quickly recovered and turned to Draco with a questioning look on her small face.

Draco, after sending a pointed look informing Blaise that he would pay for this later – which his friend simply smirked at – nodded in confirmation. “I suppose we’ll see you then.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Weasley gave him a forced smile before saying goodbye and heading back to the castle with Creevey. As soon as they were out of sight, Draco turned on his housemate.

“What the hell was that about?” he practically snarled. Blaise just chuckled a bit.

“What?” he questioned, feigning innocence. “I thought you had some sort of revenge plotted for her, though I have no idea what it is she has done to you. I thought getting closer to her would help you,” he said, with the air of one who was ‘only trying to help.’

Draco eyed his friend carefully. “I thought you liked her,” he replied. “Why would you help me do anything to her?”

Blaise laughed now – really laughed, which disturbed Draco slightly, for he had rarely heard the sound come from his friend before. “Oh, please, Draco,” he scoffed, calming down slightly, “it’s not as though you’ll really be harming her in any way.” At the blonde’s pointed look, Blaise sobered quickly and continued. “A prank or two is fine, Draco; Ginny is really a good sport about those things, after having lived with those Weasley twins.” He took one step toward the other boy. “But if you do anything to seriously harm her, nothing will save you from what I will do to you.” Silver eyes clashed with gold as the two shared an intense face-off. Draco was the first to look away, smirking.

“So you will not ‘break the bond,’ eh?” he questioned sardonically, referring to the conversation in the Slytherin common room they had had a few days before the beginning of the holidays. “Where do your loyalties lay, Blaise?” he spat. “With a muggle-lover?”

“They do not lie with Voldemort, if that is what you are asking,” came the decisive response. “But you already knew that, Draco. We have always disagreed on the topic of Death Eaters. The last time we spoke on the issue, you wanted to follow your father’s footsteps, and I wanted to follow mine.” Blaise paused then, studying his friend. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what changed over the summer: you’re not sure if you want to be a Death Eater anymore,” he stated insightfully.

Draco looked away from his friend. It was true – the doubts were plaguing him. He and Blaise had never agreed on the issue of following Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but the dark-haired boy was proud of his pureblood heritage, much like Draco, so the two had never focused too much attention on their difference of opinion regarding the Dark Lord. But then Voldemort had returned, and the issue had become much more substantial. “Does it matter whether or not I want to be a Death Eater?” he finally asked vehemently. Then more quietly, “Does it matter that you don’t? He is growing stronger in power, and the old families have to align themselves with one side or another again. Your uncle is gone, Blaise. So what happens now?”

Draco looked back to his housemate when he heard no response. Blaise was looking past him, over to the lake. Keeping his eyes focused on the frozen surface of the water, he spoke carefully. “I don’t know what happens now,” he admitted softly. “Uncle Agostino joined the Death Eaters to save our family, to keep the House of Zabini safe from the Dark Lord’s attacks. My grandfather is too old to go out on muggle killing sprees,” he spat the phrase. “So now my father is considering getting that horrid mark tattooed on his arm.” Blaise finally turned to look in Draco’s eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”

Draco shook his head sadly. “Hanging around a Weasley is definitely not going to help matters any.”

Blaise’s eyes darkened. “Ginny is a pureblood. Aren’t the Weasleys related to the Blacks?” he questioned.

Draco scoffed. “Only by marriage, not by blood,” he assured.

“Still,” Blaise continued, “she isn’t like the other Gryffindors. If you gave her a fair chance, you would see that she’s not so bad.”

“Perhaps,” he conceded to appease his friend. Remembering the events of the day, he had to admit that Blaise was probably right about the girl. Quickly evaluating their current situation, he decided to let his curiosity get the best of him. “What is going on between you two? Professor Snape was quite surprised by how well you two got along, although Dumbledore seemed quite pleased.”

Blaise would not meet his eyes as he responded. “We are friends,” was the only thing he said. Draco was tempted to further interrogate him when Blaise shifted and began to walk back towards the castle. “We’ll be late for dinner if we don’t hurry,” he called back. Draco followed a bit behind him, processing and filing away the encounter they had just had to evaluate at a later time.

******************************************************************************

The next afternoon found Ginny, Colin, Blaise, and Malfoy sharing a table in the back of the library. They were the only patrons present in the old room at the time, and Madame Pince was doing some cataloguing in her office.

“Alright,” Ginny said, quill poised over a fresh sheet of parchment. “Tell me about your ancestors: the founders of the Wizards’ Council, the men behind the titles.” Ginny seemed satisfied with that essay heading, and scratched it onto the paper. She looked up when no one spoke, and faced Blaise’s questioning, yet amused, gaze.

“What do you want to know, Weaslette?” Malfoy asked, looking like he would rather be anywhere else at the moment than helping a Gryffindor.

“Starting with the basic facts would be good,” she said, patiently ignoring the urge to throw a hex at the blond prat. “Who, what, when, where, why…”

Blaise, obviously hoping to ease the tension that seemed to be growing between Malfoy and Ginny, began to tell some of what he had learned on the topic of the founders from his family. “We know that Hogwarts was the first wizarding school built in Europe, over a thousand years ago, by Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff. The four Hogwarts founders searched throughout Europe for young witches and wizards to bring to educate at their school. Salazar Slytherin found my ancestor, Domenico Aurelio Zabini, on the Italian coast…” Blaise went on to describe his ancestor’s career after graduating Hogwarts: forming the governmental body known as the Wizards’ Council with eleven other Hogwarts graduates; the group worked to bring together a more cohesive world for wizard-kind, began the construction of Diagon Alley, and fostered a tool of mass communication – truly connecting wizards scattered across the continent – through the earliest version of a wizarding newspaper.

There were many other movements for progress in constructing the wizarding world made by the founders. Colin and Ginny listened – rarely taking notes – to the rich early annals of the society they lived in. When Blaise came to what seemed to be the conclusion of his history lesson, Malfoy decided to remind them of his presence.

“As you have heard, the Lords of the Wizards’ Council all worked together to create a world for magical people away from the persecuting muggles of the time, despite which Hogwarts founder they studied under.” Ginny frowned slightly as he continued. “Each Lord maintained a province of land, the people of which he was both responsible for, and representative of in the Council. That tradition was passed on for generations before the installment of the current Ministry of Magic.” Malfoy stood then, to gather his things. Blaise arched a dark brow at his friend, which the blonde studiously ignored. “If that is all, this afternoon has proven to be incredibly redundant.” He sneered slightly as he turned and stalked out of the library, his shoulders set. Ginny saw the flash of concern and confusion in Blaise’s eyes as he watched Malfoy leave.

Ginny turned to look down at their mostly blank scroll, then looked to Colin. “Well,” her housemate began, clearing his throat slightly, “we only have to write about one of them, right?” he asked Ginny. At her nod, he continued, “But we’re probably going to need more personal information on the particular founder, if we want to fill three feet.”

Ginny understood the dilemma and stood. “Blaise, you tell Colin about your ancestor, okay?” she asked her older friend, who looked a bit uncertain. “I will go hunt down Malfoy and get him to help. Don’t worry about me,” she cut in as both boys started to protest. She noticed that both seemed a bit uncomfortable at being left alone together, without her, though Blaise hid it quite well. She smiled slightly. “You two will be fine without me here,” she rolled her eyes, slightly exasperated by the hesitation she could sense coming from both of them. “I’ll see you later,” and with that, she strode off purposely in search of a blond ferret. She did not see Colin’s light blush, or Blaise’s slightly nervous smirk, as she exited the library, leaving the two to their own devices.

******************************************************************************

Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, frightening the little first year that had stayed behind for the holidays as well. He climbed the stairs to his dorm, and slammed the door shut behind him, before throwing himself unceremoniously onto his bed.

The topic in the library had touched much too close to the problems he was facing at hand. He had sat through as much as he could stand, and he found the general history of the Wizards’ Council bearable. But he did not want to go into the particular roles of his ancestors, into the origins of the great Houses of Malfoy and Black. Draco let out a sigh of frustration he would never let anyone else hear, and flipped over onto his back.

Most of the afternoon hadn’t been too bad, he admitted. He had spent a good majority of the time in the library covertly studying Ginny Weasley. She had listened so intently while Blaise spoke, her eyes riveted to his face. He could see her thirst for knowledge being quenched in her open features. It was obvious her feelings for his best mate were strong; he could see that in the way she looked at him. But a nagging feeling at the back of his head told him not to assume anything about their relationship. His more logical, Slytherin-controlled mind told him the answer was in front of him, and he just seemed to be refusing to accept it.

Draco sat up quickly, refusing to continue thinking of the little Weasley brat in the manner he had been for too long now. He slowly pulled out the last of his homework – an essay on the Patronus charm for Flitwick – and got to work, pushing thoughts of a particular red head far to the back of his mind.

******************************************************************************

Ginny had searched all over the castle for Malfoy, but couldn’t seem to find Ferret Boy anywhere. As she neared her starting point of the library once more, she concluded that the older boy must have retreated to the sanctuary of the Slytherin dungeons.

“Ms. Weasley,” she was startled out of her internal tirade at the cowardly blonde by a familiar, wizened voice. “How, may I ask, are your holidays proceeding?” Professor Dumbledore smiled down at the young girl.

“Professor, hello,” she returned the smile, covering her surprise quickly. “The holidays are going very well, sir, although I definitely missed Mum’s special rum cake yesterday.” The headmaster chuckled slightly at this admission.

“Yes,” he agreed, “Molly does make a mean dessert.” He studied her for a moment before continuing, “Your family missed you yesterday; actually, much of the Order did,” he said quietly.

Ginny did not really know what to say to this statement, as she did not believe it, so she forced a smile and said as pleasantly as she could, “I highly doubt they even noticed my absence, Professor, but that was kind of you to say.”

Dumbledore continued to smile slightly at her, if not a bit sadly, before speaking again. “It is always difficult to watch our loved ones be placed in danger,” he said quietly. “You are a very lucky girl to have so many who love you, and wish to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Ginny took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, greatest sorcerer of the age, and the only wizard that You-Know-Who was afraid of – it would not do to yell at or try to hex such a person. “With all due respect, Professor, I thought that each witch and wizard is a culmination of their choices. That is how we grow, learn, and develop into productive members of society. Am I not to be granted the natural right to choose my own path, to make my own mistakes, and my own successes? I’m sorry if I seem offensive, Professor, but you and I both know that my family’s insistence on keeping me ‘out of harm’s way’ is more for their benefit than mine.” She looked directly into the old wizard’s eyes now, breathing slightly heavily from having rushed out her passionate words. “While I appreciate their regard for my safety, I deplore the use of that regard as an excuse to keep me from helping a cause that I believe in. I would do whatever I had to, to bring the Dark Lord down. And I will,” she said decisively, “whether the Order of the Phoenix will have me or not.”

Dumbledore returned her intense gaze with a piercing look of his own, until Ginny had to turn away from the sheer power the man possessed behind those usually twinkling blue orbs. He sighed slightly then, an indication of how tired he must be. She figured he probably thought he was too old to be running around fighting Voldemort at his age. “Ms. Weasley,” he said, bringing her attention back to their present discussion, “when the time is right, I am sure you will make an invaluable addition to the Order.” Ginny’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his solemn statement. He smiled then, eyes twinkling once more, and changed the topic. “I recently came across Mr. Creevey working with Mr. Zabini in the library,” he hinted his interest and approval of the inter-house cooperation.

Ginny nodded, relieved that the earlier issue was no longer being discussed. “Yes, Blaise and Malfoy were helping Colin and me with our History of Magic essay on a witch or wizard from the Middle Ages.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she had seen a flash of surprise cross the older wizard’s face at the mention of Malfoy. “Blaise is telling Colin about his ancestor, one of the founders of the Wizards’ Council, and I was trying to find Malfoy to drill him on his ancestors, but I think he has retreated back to the dungeons.” She shrugged slightly in acceptance of her predicament.

“Ah, witches and wizards of the Middle Ages,” Dumbledore nodded, seeming to approve of the topic. “Much more fascinating than the goblin rebellions Professor Binns has always insisted on focusing on,” he shared an amused look with his student. “Now, for me personally, the sorcerers of the earlier Middle Ages have always held interest. Tales of Merlin, and the tempting enchantress who stole his heart, were the stories my mother told when I was a young boy,” his eyes were distant, reminiscing.

Ginny considered this for a moment. Choosing another witch or wizard would save her the trouble of hunting down Malfoy, and actually asking him for the favor of helping her. Her Weasley pride balked at the idea of her turning to a Malfoy for any reason. “Perhaps I will study one of the earlier sorcerers of the era, Professor. Thanks,” she smiled at the great wizard before her, knowing that, generations from now, schoolchildren would be writing essays on him; that is, if they weren’t already. He seemed to come back to himself at the sound of her voice, and gave her a benign grin.

“Well you had better get to work then, Ms. Weasley,” he turned to go. “I shall not keep a young mind from seeking out knowledge.” Ginny watched him leave, and then made her way back to the library, hoping to catch Colin and Blaise.

******************************************************************************

Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall when the owls arrived. The original tables had been returned that morning, as the rest of the students would be arriving back from break in two days’ time. The holidays had passed quickly, and the blonde now found himself nursing a coffee, after imbibing in too much alcohol the night before, in celebration of the New Year. He ignored Aries, when the owl landed next to him carrying the Daily Prophet. So Blaise relieved the bird of its burden, before feeding it some of his toast. The clatter of fallen silverware, and the hush descending the large room, caused Draco to look up from the entrancing steam of his hot drink. Blaise was perfectly still, his face an emotionless mask as he read the story on the front cover. But Draco noted that his friend had definitely lost a few shades of color. He quickly glanced around to see that all of the students were huddled around different copies of the morning paper, and that most of the teachers were missing from the Head Table, including Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall.

Draco tensed when he looked back to find Blaise’s intense golden eyes locked on him, as he silently handed him the newspaper. Draco took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he knew was most likely on the front page. He looked down to find exactly what he had expected, what he had known would happen eventually. And as he read the lead article, he found that he had not been ready for this day at all.

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Ginny heaved all of the contents of her stomach into the toilet, in the last stall at the far end of the first floor girls’ bathroom. Granted, there had not been much in her stomach anyway, as her breakfast had been interrupted early on by the arrival of the owls with the Daily Prophet. She sighed then, sitting back against the stall door, curling herself into a little ball, wishing reality were not so harsh. In the stall beside her, Moaning Myrtle was being eerily quiet.

The Death Eaters who had been captured at the Department of Mysteries, near the end of Ginny’s fourth year, had escaped. But that, in itself, was not too shocking a revelation. Really, everyone had expected it happen – well, everyone who knew how vulnerable Azkaban was after the desertion of the Dementors.

No, it was what Voldemort and his Death Eaters had done after the not-so-spectacular New Year’s Eve escape.

Attacks on muggle-borns and their families.

Attacks on Hogwarts students who had gone home for the holidays.

Ginny crawled back to the toilet to retch again, but only released dry heaves, as she had nothing inside her left to purge. And when she realized this, the tears she had been so valiantly trying to hold back came in full force. She turned a bit, resting her head on the cool surface of the stall wall, as her body was racked with sobs.

It was almost too much to bear, thinking about what had happened. How had her family survived this the first time around? How had the wizards and witches that lived twenty years ago, during the First War, gone on each day, knowing that an evil wizard with no conscience, and his willing followers, were killing people for sport, for their prejudicial cause?

She had thought she knew the cruelty of Voldemort through her encounter with Tom Riddle’s diary. She had thought she understood what Voldemort’s return to power meant for the wizarding world, when she had raised her glass in memory of Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory. She had thought the war had seemed real when Sirius had fallen through the veil, one of the first casualties of these now dark times that she had known on a somewhat personal basis.

But none of that had prepared her for the truth.

She had had no idea.

The Second War had begun, and the wizarding world reeked of the stench of death. And no one – old, young, pureblood, half-blood, muggle-born – could escape its nauseating reach.

“Ginny?” came Colin’s tentative voice. She could tell by the hoarseness that he was trying not to cry. Ginny flushed the remains of her ill-received breakfast away, and stood slowly, taking large calming breaths to try and stem the flow of tears. She opened the stall door to find Colin peeking in the entrance of the bathroom. When he caught sight of her, her face streaked with the salty wetness of tears and blotchy from her crying, he stepped into the room and simply held out his arms slightly – an invitation to share in the comfort he could hopefully give her. She rushed into his arms, grateful for his solid form, grounding her.

She did not realize that he was just as grateful to have her there, keeping him from toppling over into the dark abyss.



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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, and Warner Bros., among others. Only the plot and any unfamiliar characters are mine.

NOTE: Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know what you think.

Hogwarts was once again teeming with pupils as early as that afternoon. Owls had been sent out early in the morning, before the arrival of the newspaper, instructing students who had gone home for the holiday to return to the safety of the castle, and the protection of Dumbledore. Ron, Harry, and Hermione had been one of first to arrive, having taken a portkey directly back from Grimmauld Place. They had immediately shut themselves off in the boys’ room, doing gods only knew what. Ginny had left soon after noticing the looks she was receiving from the other returning students. It appeared that they had not forgotten Ron’s little revelation before the holidays. And as Colin and Dennis had been called away by McGonagall, she did not want to test the restraints of her emotionally-worn housemates alone.

So Ginny currently found herself wandering around the castle, avoiding the more well-traveled corridors. She let her mind wander as her body automatically stayed in motion.

There had been so much death, and now there was so much despair.

Seven families…

Seven families and ten Hogwarts students; tortured, and either killed or left permanently damaged, all for Voldemort’s sick satisfaction: the Tates; the Newmans; the Langs; the Tsusoukis; the Finch-Fletchleys; the Nolsens; and the Thomases…

Perhaps there had been more: The Daily Prophet – which seemed to be making up for its blunder last year in not believing Harry when he had said that Voldemort had returned – had provided extensive, detailed coverage of the ‘New Year’s Massacre,’ as the night’s attacks were now referred to as. The newspaper had only named those families whose relatives inside the wizarding world had already been notified.

Ginny recited the painful facts in her mind as she continued to walk aimlessly.

Johanna Tate had been a third year Ravenclaw. Her mother had been a Muggle, who had been both raped, and tortured with the Cruciatus curse before her death. Reports said that Johanna’s wizard father had been made to watch the torture of his wife, before he himself was subjected to the killing curse. The body of the little girl had been found in her closet, where she must have attempted to hide from the attackers.

Felicia Newman had been a seventh year Hufflepuff, and her younger brother Taylor, a fourth year Gryffindor. Their bodies, as well as the bodies of their Muggle parents, had yet to be recovered from the charred remains of what used to be their home.

Krista Lang and her twin brother Jacob had both been second year Hufflepuffs. They had had a younger brother, Andrew, who was a first year Ravenclaw. Apparently their Muggle father had died of a disease called cancer two years before. But that did not stop the Death Eaters from killing them; nor did it spare their mother, a columnist for the Daily Prophet, or their four-year-old baby sister.

Niren Tsusouki had been a seventh year Ravenclaw, but his brother Thalin had been a first year Gryffindor. Ginny now recalled the little boy, shyly asking the fifth year prefect where he could find the Transfiguration classroom, only months before at the beginning of the school year. He was dead now, as were his Muggle mother and wizard father. The older boy, Niren, would be a permanent resident of St. Mungo’s.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was a Hufflepuff. Though he had been visiting his best friend, Ernie Macmillan, when the Death Eaters attacked – thereby escaping death – his Muggle parents had been slaughtered.

Amanda Nolsen had been a fifth year Gryffindor, and Ginny had known the girl since her first year. She, as well as her Muggle mother, father, sister, and brother had all been killed. Each one had been tortured with a different curse.

And Dean Thomas… Dean Thomas had been a Gryffindor sixth year, a huge football fan, and Ginny’s ex-boyfriend. His Muggle parents were locked away in some mental institution now, having gone crazy from the repeated casting of the Cruciatus curse, as well as from having had to watch their son be tortured before his eventual murder.

Ginny stumbled slightly, and had to stop her travels, suddenly feeling so tired. She leaned against the wall to her right, and felt the cool stone. She looked up, taking in her dim surroundings, and realized that she had wandered into the dungeons.

A part of her felt a great desire to seek out the Slytherin common room, to find Blaise. She needed someone to hold her right now.

Fleetingly, an image of a pale-faced blonde passed through her mind, but it left as quickly as it had come. Ginny mentally scoffed at even the passing notion that Draco Malfoy could be a comfort to her at this moment. Or at any time, really. But remnants of the image stayed with her as she attempted to trace her steps back, and out of the lower levels of the school.

She had been walking for about ten minutes, still unsure as to where exactly in the dungeons she was, when she heard voices. Ginny stiffened, pressing her back against the wall –as there seemed to be no adequate place to hide – and nervously fingered her wand. As the owners of the voices drew closer to where she stood, tensely hugging the cold stones, Ginny recognized one of the speakers. She relaxed slightly, and drew away from the wall to face the students who would be turning around the corner in a few moments.

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Draco and Blaise had been walking back from a quick trip outside on the grounds, to the Slytherin common rooms, when they saw her. She stood with her back poised, and her chin held high, but even in the dim torch light of the dungeons, Draco could see the pain and confusion in her dark coffee-colored eyes.

“Blaise, Malfoy,” she nodded in greeting to each of them, though Draco had more than a hunch that, had he not been present, such a formal and detached greeting would not have been delivered. Draco, too tired and concerned with other matters to go into his usual Weasley-trashing mode, simply nodded in return.

“’Lina,” came Blaise’s smooth tones. Draco saw her smile slightly, and he had to keep himself from punching a wall… or his best mate. He knew that she would never allow him to comfort her, or make her happy, the way Blaise seemed to be able to do with only a word. And that wasn’t even her name!

He did not stop to think why he would want to offer such comfort in the first place.

This time.

Blaise turned to Draco then, slightly raising an eyebrow. Draco understood the request, nodded curtly to the red head before him, and stalked off back to his common room.

He was seething by the time he entered the green and silver room. Though, if asked, he would not be able explain the origin of his anger. Too much had happened in the past twenty-four hours, and all of it was swimming around in his head, stirring emotions he had long sought to keep buried. Blaise’s interaction with the little Weasley was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

Why was he reacting this way? For years he had waited and hoped for the Dark Lord to rid their world of Muggle-borns and half-bloods. When Cedric Diggory, a Hufflepuff pureblood, had been killed by Voldemort at the end of Draco’s fourth year, he had been overjoyed. He had begged his father that summer to let him get the mark early, instead of having to wait until after his Hogwarts graduation. Lucius Malfoy had denied him his request, but proudly told his son that when the time was right, he would take his place beside his father as a Death Eater.

Then, one year later, his father had been sentenced to time in Azkaban. And after one summer spent alone with his mother, he was having doubts regarding whether the path leading to death and destruction at the hands of Voldemort was the right one. Were the vicious means employed by the Death Eaters justified by their noble end goal of a pure wizarding world, untainted by Muggles? Draco was no longer certain. Only one year ago, he would have rejoiced at the news of a massacre of the proportions of the one that had taken place the night before. But now, he could not rouse within him satisfaction at the deaths of those people, whose only crime had been not being born of the correct breeding.

“Draco,” a light touch on his arm roused him from his internal conflicts. “I wondered where you wandered off to. I returned an hour ago, and we simply must catch up,” Pansy simpered a bit. Draco knew this was only for the benefit of the other students lounging in the common room. He understood from the message in her eyes, behind her nonchalant words, that she had been worried about him, and she wanted to speak with him alone.

“Draco can catch up with you later,” came another feminine voice. Delilah Windholm sashayed over to the pair and placed a possessive hand on his other arm, sending Pansy a warning glare. Draco had to fight to keep himself from cringing at the younger girl’s touch. How had he ever put up with her? “Drakey,” she cooed, leaning forward. “Isn’t it wonderful… these fools are finally beginning to understand the power of the Dark Lord.” She smirked then. “Soon all will bow down to him, and we will be right by his side.” Draco felt slightly sick at her obvious pleasure over the deaths of their schoolmates and their families, but he kept his features blank and his eyes cold. He forced a weak smirk, and gave Pansy a look, indicating that they would have to talk later. She scowled slightly, but nodded curtly, before sending a potent glare in Delilah’s direction and making her way back over to where Millicent Bulstrode and Regina Moon were whispering in hushed tones.

“Delilah,” Draco said in a frigid voice, “when the Dark Lord does ascend to power,” here he forced himself not to shudder at the notion, as his mind firmly repeated the word if – not when – “I assure you that my position will in no way be of your concern.” He allowed a small sneer to grace his handsome face. She looked taken aback for a moment, but quickly recovered with a sneer of her own.

“Drakey, darling,” she stepped closer to him, lifting herself on her toes to whisper in his ear, “perhaps we should take this somewhere more private?” He pulled a way a bit to see her sneer replaced with a suspiciously placid smile. Draco simply turned and made his way up the stairs to his dorm, while Delilah followed.

Once the door to the room he shared with Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott had been closed, he swiftly grabbed the younger girl and threw her against the nearest wall. She should not have pushed him in such a way. She should not have tried to manipulate him when he had other, more important, matters to deal with. He had known he would have to remind her of her place, but he had not expected to do so at a time when his emotions – usually well-hidden and buried deep within him – were in such a turmoil, cracking his customarily cool demeanor. His silver eyes darkened as he glared at Delilah, who was trying to wriggle out of his strong-hold on her. She had almost reached her wand when he summoned it to him with his own. He was about a head taller than her, and could easily overpower her physically without the use of magic. He leaned against her, pinning her body against the wall with his own lean, toned form. Her face was beginning to take on an unattractive reddish shade as his one-handed grip on her throat tightened.

“Windholm.” She shivered, his voice was so cold. “I do believe that you have forgotten your place…” he raised one eyebrow amusedly. “Do you want me to take the time to remind you that I am Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy, and the sole heir to the noble line of the House of Malfoy?” He pushed even closer, but there was nothing sexual in the movement – his threatening demeanor had been cultivated by Lucius Malfoy himself, and it was nothing to be trifled with. “Or are you starting to understand just who I am?” He looked at her face to see that she was trying valiantly not to show any weakness, but the terror in her eyes betrayed her. Draco felt satisfaction come over him at the power he held over her. But that satisfaction was short-lived, as he was hit with the realization that this type of power, was exactly why the Death Eaters took such joy in carrying out the ‘cleansing’ of the wizarding world.

Draco stepped back, slightly sickened, but he took care to ensure that Delilah Windholm saw none of this, for it would be perceived as a weakness and would be used against him. He sneered at her then. “Run along now, Windholm. I have no more use for our little arrangement.” He smirked at her evilly as he opened the door, located a bit to the left of her still form, and motioned with one hand for her to take her leave. “Your services are no longer required here.”

He saw her eyes harden with loathing as she walked slowly out of the room. She was showing her defiance by taking her time. He had to admit that he had underestimated her nerve… or her stupidity – no one in the house wanted Draco as an enemy. He was their Prince, and she would realize that. She turned back once at the landing of the stairwell, reaching out her hand, open palm facing up. He negligently tossed her wand back to her, and gave her a mockingly sweet smile. She returned his smile with a hateful look, before turning away and disappearing downstairs into the common room.

Draco silently let out a sigh as he closed the dorm room door. In the back of his mind, he knew he would have to be careful of her – he could tell she had started plotting against him from the moment he had released her. She was a Slytherin, after all. Draco ambled over to his bed, graceful even in his emotionally exhausted state of being, as he laid himself on his bed.

He believed that purebloods were better than Muggle-borns and half-bloods, and that the Nobles were the most superior; that was true. He enjoyed wielding power, was a master manipulator, and would go to any lengths to get what he wanted; this was true as well. He was a Slytherin, through and through. But did that mean he was meant to be a Death Eater?

It had thrilled him to see Delilah Windholm bending to his will. But the fear in her eyes did not give him the usual gratification. Something within him had changed, shifted. Was this what it meant to intellectually mature? Just a few weeks ago, he had been ready to revel in Ginny Weasley’s apparent fear of him during their encounter at the entrance of the library. Now, the thought of the red head looking at him with the same terror in her eyes, as had been in Windholm’s a few minutes before, upset his already sensitive stomach, and forced a cringe that Draco could not hide.

The world around him was changing. He was changing. And he did not know where to go from here…

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Ginny leaned into Blaise as he held her comfortingly. She was not crying now. No, she did not think she had the tears left for it. She was empty, and her housemates’ treatment of her had left her feeling so alone. She could tell that Blaise had been livid when he learned of their reaction towards her – not by anything he had said, but by how silent he had become, and how fiercely angry his golden eyes had looked.

Ginny sighed and lifted her head up to look at her dear friend. She loved this boy, she knew. Not in the romantic sense, of course. In fact, Ginny was quite sure that Blaise was not interested in her, or any other girl, in that way. She was not daft, no matter what the Dream Team thought of her. She had seen the way Blaise’s eyes would soften ever so slightly, with a hint of… hunger, when Colin was around. When he looked at her, they held a similar softness, and there was something else in the golden orbs that she just could not identify, but it was definitely not the passion he seemed to feel where Colin was concerned. She also most certainly had not missed Colin’s own longing looks towards her dark-haired friend. One day – perhaps not soon – but one day, they would no longer be ignorant of the other’s interest. For now, she was content to be the bridge that allowed their friendship to grow. She loved them both, really, as she loved her brothers. But it was also different from that familial love, because they were her friends – she chose to associate with them. She did not get to choose her brothers, for if she had, she thought scornfully now, Ron would have been dropped off of the list ages ago. Her choice in the matter made these relationships that much more precious.

“Better, ‘Lina?” Blaise asked her in a quiet, gentle voice. She was in awe that this boy – almost a man – could be so sweet to her, and yet be feared for his dangerous coldness to others throughout the school. She gave him a little smirk – a bad habit that she had picked up from spending too much time with the older boy – and nodded her head slightly.

“I had better get back to Gryffindor Tower,” she returned, just as quietly. “I need to see if Colin is back from his meeting with McGonagall.” She was sure he could hear the worry in her tone.

“I am sure that Creevey is fine,” he assured her, but she could see the concern behind his wary eyes as well. Ginny just shrugged slightly, and rose from her place beside him in a corner of the kitchens, near the fireplace where, only last week, they had enjoyed hot chocolate after an innocent snowball fight. She realized now that the time of innocence was over.

“I’ll see you later?” she questioned, as he rose up as well, standing to his full height to tower over her 5’2” frame. He gave her a small smile, and leaned down to brush his lips over her forehead.

“Of course,” he said, as he backed away. She returned his smile, and they turned to make their way out of the kitchens, where the house elves seemed to be hard at work making dinner. They parted ways outside of the entrance, as he turned left to head to the dungeons, and she right, to Gryffindor Tower.

The walk back to her common room went more quickly than Ginny would have liked – she could not be sure that Colin and Dennis had returned from McGonagall’s office, and she had not seen Neville return from his stay with his grandmother earlier. She did not want to face her angry and quick-to-judge housemates alone.

Ginny took a deep breath when she reached the entrance to the common room, and exhaled slowly as the Fat Lady watched on curiously. When she felt prepared, she mumbled the password and entered Gryffindor Tower. Her arrival was a quiet one, so she did not initially gain that much attention. But those that had noticed her stopped what they were doing to glare hatefully in her direction, causing others to then notice her presence as well. Ginny quickly scanned the room for one of her friends – Neville or Colin, or even the Dream Team would have done – but none of them were present.

She was brought startlingly out of her desperate search by the loud noise of skin hitting against skin. Her eyes watered as she felt a pain in her left cheek. She looked up to see an angry and crying Parvati Patil standing over her with a hateful sneer that would not have been out of place on a Slytherin face. But this Gryffindor wore it well as she stepped threateningly toward the younger girl.

“You little bitch,” Parvati bit out through her tears of rage. Ginny was still stunned by the slap she had received from the sixth year, so she stood still as the dark-haired girl drew even closer. “How dare you show your face around here?” Ginny could see, out of the corner of her eye, others nodding in agreement with the distraught girl. She held back her tears – she would not let them see her cry. “You don’t belong in Gryffindor. You should be dead and Dean should be alive!” Ginny’s head snapped up then, and her eyes narrowed as she buried all of the pain and fostered the mounting rage. But Parvati continued on, undeterred. “You are a jealous little whore! He dumped you for me, so you went and got your master to kill him for you!” She was shouting by now.

Ginny took a step back as she reeled from the older girl’s words. It was true that Dean and she had broken up early in the semester because of his interest in the older girl. Ginny, at the time, had been certain that the only ‘interest’ he had had in Parvati had to do more with the assets she had developed over the summer than with the girl herself. While Ginny had never thought of Parvati as a bad person, she did find her a bit ditzy, a bit flaky, and very self-involved. But Dean and Ginny had never been too serious – she had liked the boy, but had really felt nothing more than friendly affection. When she mourned for his loss, she mourned for the boy who had told her jokes to make her laugh, who bored her with details of the muggle sport football, and who had very softly and very sweetly given her a kiss good-bye before they had boarded the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of last summer. How could anyone think that she had wished him dead? How could they all stand there and judge her based on events they did not understand – events that had scarred her, of which she still had nightmares about?

Ginny realized that everyone in the room seemed to believe the worst of her, as she saw them all watching the scene with what she could only define as satisfaction. She quickly noted that her surviving roommates, Theresa Kensington and Kari Wong, were huddled together in a corner, watching the exchange near the portrait hole closely along with the others. She recalled how quick the students had been to turn on Harry Potter, when it was revealed that he was a Parselmouth. They had thought that he was the Heir of Slytherin, and shunned him. He was the Boy Who Lived, the hero of the wizarding world… she was only the littlest Weasley. It had been all but confirmed that she was Slytherin’s heir, so what would they do to her? They had all been hurt – their friends, housemates, and classmates had been brutally murdered, and they needed someone to pay for the pain they were forced to endure.

Ginny refused to be the one they turned their anger on any longer. Her own fury had reached its boiling point, and as she saw Parvati raise her hand to slap her again, Ginny raised her wand and cast a spell that she had learned in her first year.

And as the screams of terror sounded around her, as the noble Gryffindors fell to their knees, Ginny simply turned and walked back out of the common room.

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She was perched on a ledge in the Astronomy Tower when Colin found her, an hour later. As he took a seat beside her, Ginny was vaguely reminded of her encounter with Blaise, after Ron had opened his over-large gob and spilled her biggest secret to all of Gryffindor house.

She looked at Colin now, this handsome boy who had changed so much from what he had been as an eleven-year-old. He looked back for a moment and smiled slightly. “That was quite a spell you used.” He was upset, she could tell, but she did not think it was her actions that he was upset about.

“Colin,” she started tentatively.

“How dare they treat you like that?” her friend cut in. His voice was quiet, but the anger in his tone was evident. “How dare they judge what they don’t even understand? How could they think you would do anything like that? That you would want innocent people dead?”

He was beginning to frighten her, with this calm rage of his.

“Colin,” she implored more firmly, “what happened with McGonagall?” He looked at her again, longer this time, and now she could see the pain and fear that he was trying to hide behind the anger he felt. Suddenly Ginny was very frightened. “What happened?” she repeated, a tense urgency tinting her voice.

He shook his head slightly, and reached over to pull her into his arms. “The Death Eaters attacked my parents’ house last night,” he revealed quietly. He hugged her so tightly that she could barely breathe, but she did not care. Her friend was in pain, her comfort was not important right now, not in the face of this news.

“Are they alright?” she asked in a muffled voice, her face buried in his chest. She stiffened slightly as he let out a hollow, bitter laugh.

“My parents are alive,” he answered shortly. “They were lucky enough to have gone out for the night with my aunt and uncle, who had come to stay for the holidays.” Ginny turned her face up to him – there was something else, something he was not telling her. He looked down then, into her sad, inquiring eyes and sighed slightly, letting the tears fall. “They had left my little sister and my cousin – my aunt and uncle’s son – at the house with a sitter.” It was only another moment before he broke down completely, and Ginny repositioned herself to hold the boy in her arms, squeezing tightly and trying to will the pain away. She had never met his sister, but knew from the way Colin spoke of her that she was the sun, the moon, and the stars to him. She had been born shortly after Colin had come to Hogwarts, and he had confided in Ginny about feeling guilty for being away for so much of his sister’s life. He had said that after he had finished school, he could make it up to her by staying with his parents for a year or two, before moving out on his own. From the sobs that racked his body, Ginny knew that his sister was dead now, and that there would be no later time to make up for what he had already missed. She could only pray that the little girl had not suffered torture at the hands of the Death Eaters before her murder.

Ginny rubbed Colin’s back with her hands, in an effort to soothe him. “I am so sorry, Colin.” She realized that she did not even know what to say. How could anything she said or did possibly help now? “I’m here, Colin, and I am not going anywhere.” He only held her tighter then. “I’m here…” she whispered as her own tears – ones she had been sure, only an hour ago, her empty vessel no longer contained – streamed down her paled cheeks.

She was never sure how long they sat there, holding each other. She only knew that by the time they stirred, night had fallen upon the castle, and dinner had long since passed.

“Come on,” she said, gently tugging on his arm. “I think some tea would do us both some good.” She saw Colin hesitate. “What is it?” she asked astutely, sensing that he had something else on his mind.

“Dennis.” He stated flatly, and Ginny could have cursed herself for having forgotten the young boy. He was only thirteen, he did not deserve to go through this. Actually, Ginny corrected herself, no one deserved this.

“Is he alright?” she asked, the concern obvious in her tone. Colin simply shook his head ‘no,’ and took a deep breath.

“He was so close to Jessica, and our cousin Seth, actually,” he admitted quietly. “Seth was an only child, and the same age as Jess, so we just looked after him like a little brother, you know?” Colin, she could see, was fighting another torrent of tears. He took a moment, rigidly straightened his back, and then lifted his chin as he forced his emotions back. “Dennis really liked being the big brother,” he shrugged. Ginny could see how Dennis would like looking after his little sister and cousin. Considering how he looked up to Colin, who was his big brother, she was not surprised by the fact that he would try to emulate him. “He thinks he failed them somehow.” Colin looked so defeated. “He doesn’t understand, that if anyone failed them, it was me.”

“Colin!” Ginny was appalled. He could not blame himself for this!

“What, Ginny? It’s the truth!” His cheeks were becoming flushed as he got into the argument. “I stayed here, safe and sound at Hogwarts, knowing the danger out there, while my family was attacked by dark wizards. How were they ever supposed to have protected themselves? I could have done something!”

“Colin,” she reached out a hand to touch his reddened cheek, but he pulled away before she could make contact. She retracted the hand and sighed quietly. “Colin, if you had been there, you would have died!” she tried to make him understand.

“Then I would have died protecting my family,” he returned resolutely. Ginny could not argue with that – it was what she would have preferred had she been in his position.

“That’s true.” She would not patronize him by lying to him now. “But you were not there, and you are alive.” She continued to speak, cutting off what looked to be a protest from him. “You are alive and here to fight another day.” She stepped towards him, and this time he did not back away as she laid her soft hand on his cheek. “You have no reason to feel guilt, but if I can not sway your belief of that, then I ask you to please use whatever plagues you to help ensure that such senseless violence at the hands of You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters does not occur again.”

Colin studied her for a moment, before slightly nodding in assent. She forced a small smile for him, and lifted her hand from his cheek. He grabbed it before she could pull it back to herself, and she looked at him confusedly. “His name is Voldemort.” He looked at her intently, willing her to say the word, to not give that creature power by fearing to say his name.

Ginny hesitated slightly. It was different for Colin, who had only learned about Voldemort a few years ago, when he had found out that he was a wizard. She had known about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named her entire life, and she had been taught to fear him and his name for just as long. But, then again, to her knowledge, she had not lost any of her family to the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters; and Colin had just lost his little sister and cousin. She took a deep breath, and let the name that was feared throughout the wizarding world flow from her lips: “Voldemort.”

Colin released her hand and turned. “The kitchens, then?” he asked in an unemotional voice that caused Ginny to pause. She quickly recovered and followed her friend out of the Astronomy Tower. She could tell that the death of his sister had irrevocably changed him. The massacre of the night before had changed her as well. The world was going to Hades around them, and no one knew where this would all end…

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Draco stared into his cup of tea and, despite the wretched hangover he had suffered from just that morning, wished for something stronger. He looked up to find that, across from him, Blaise and Pansy seemed to be contemplating the same thing.

When Blaise had returned to the common room a few hours ago, he and Pansy had come up to haul Draco out of his melancholic musings, and his bed. After a strained and uneventful hour of pretending to be thrilled with the news of the Death Eaters’ attacks among the other Slytherins, Draco had been dragged to the kitchens for tea. By the fact that they had all been nursing their tea for over an hour now, Draco concluded that he was not the only one who found the joyous atmosphere of the green and silver common room beyond stifling.

They had not really said anything to each other. It seemed to be easier to avoid the glaringly obvious topic altogether. Finally, it seemed that Pansy could take the tense silence no longer.

“Have you heard from your father yet, Draco?” Well, she was certainly direct. Draco’s only response was to glare at her, to which she gulped slightly and turned away.

“Well, have you?” Blaise was unaffected by Draco’s look of death.

“No,” he returned shortly, not wanting to talk about this. He knew his father had been among the Death Eaters who had attacked those families last night. He most certainly did not want to speak to that man now. He wondered if Lucius had returned to the safety of Malfoy Manor, where he could be protected from searching aurors by the spells placed on the manor centuries ago by Malfoy Lords past. Draco was worried about his mother, if this was the case. Lucius could harm her – something Draco could not bear to have happen.

He was saved from wandering down a mental path of fear regarding his mother’s safety – as well as from any further questioning by Pansy and Blaise – by the entrance of two familiar fifth years. This is beginning to become a habit, meeting in the kitchens, Draco thought absent-mindedly. Then he smirked. Finally, here was something in this now-upside-down world that he could handle – predictable Gryffindors.

Creevey and Weasley paused upon catching sight of the Slytherin trio. Both of their eyes were red and puffy – Draco could tell they had been crying. There also appeared to be a bruise forming on Weasley’s left cheek. Something dark, deep within Draco, unfurled at the thought of anyone laying a hand on the girl. He almost snarled aloud at the thought of someone harming her, his already-tried emotional state leaving him vulnerable to these thoughts he would have dismissed as ridiculous only a few weeks ago. Trying to recover his role as the Prince of Slytherin, Draco pasted on a sneer, and before Blaise could say a word, greeted the newcomers.

“Weasel, Mudblood,” he drawled, with a nod to each. It happened so quickly, he had not even seen it coming. One moment Creevey had been standing beside the Weaslette, the next he was pinning Draco against one of the walls of the kitchens, gripping the Slytherin’s neck with both his hands – an ironic twist after Draco’s encounter with Windholm earlier. As his vision blurred from the loss of air, Draco vaguely made out Pansy and Blaise reaching for their wands, though Blaise seemed a bit hesitant. But it was Ginny Weasley who put a stop to the attack.

“Colin, please,” she said, struggling to tug the younger boy’s hands away from the other’s neck. “Colin, stop this right now. You won’t be able to do anything against the Death Eaters if you’re locked up in Azkaban! Draco Malfoy is not worth it!” She seemed to have finally gotten through to her friend, who released Draco and stepped away slowly. As Draco’s lungs gratefully took in the plentiful oxygen, the little weasel’s words rang over and over in his head. 'Draco Malfoy is not worth it! Draco Malfoy is not worth it! Draco Malfoy is not worth it!'

Hmph! What in Hades did she know, anyway? But that did nothing to ease the sudden pain he felt within him, and the heaviness of his heart. He looked up to find Creevey glaring at him with a hatred he had never seen in the boy’s eyes before. Weasley was looking at him in anger as well. But there also seemed to be something else in her lightened eyes… Pain, sadness, and… disappointment? Had he disappointed her? Had she expected him to live up to her Gryffindoric values? Draco sneered at the thought. He was cut off from putting the little Gryffs in their rightful place – far below him – by Blaise’s smooth voice.

“Would you like to join us for tea?” he asked the two younger students. He was replied with four incredulous gazes. “Very well, then,” he nodded. “Would you like to tell us what that was about, then?” he asked Creevey. “Draco’s mouth has always tended to run afoul, but I have never seen such a violent reaction before,” he commented casually, as one would on the weather.

“No,” came the curt reply, and, though he tried to hide it, Draco saw Blaise’s slight flinch at the cold tone of the younger boy’s voice, and the flash of pain in his golden eyes at the obvious rejection. Draco looked between the two young men, and finally the realization hit him. Blaise had never told him of his sexual preference, but he had never really been very interested in the girls around him. Draco had thought that Blaise had rejected the girls that had thrown themselves at him – and there were many – because he was not interested in flings. His association with Ginny Weasley seemed to support Draco’s conclusion that Blaise was very serious about his romantic relationships. However, now he realized that he had had it all wrong. Blaise seemed to be interested in Colin Creevey, not Ginny Weasley. For some reason, this relieved Draco greatly. He looked over to the little red head to see that she had obviously been aware of the connection between her two good male friends. While she did not seem upset about the apparent romantic feelings between the two boys, she did seem quite distressed by Creevey’s obvious snub of the dark-haired Slytherin.

“Colin,” she began tentatively.

“Ginny.” He cut her off, and gave her a pointed look, to which she just sighed sadly.

“Where did you get that bruise?” Blaise seemed to have recovered from his slight heartbreak, and was now staring intently at the little Weasley’s face. His golden eyes had darkened by degrees, and his voice had become frigid. She blushed slightly under his scrutiny, and looked away before answering.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. At Blaise’s insistent stare, she continued, “I took care of it.” Draco could not remember ever having seen Blaise so angry before. From the look on Pansy’s face, apparently neither had she.

“Who hit you?” If his tone had been cold before, it was nothing compared to the barely contained iced fury that laced his voice now. Weasley glanced nervously around a bit, probably wishing for a house-elf to conveniently turn up and take the attention away from her, but none arrived, and none of the other three students present in the room dared to defy Blaise in the state he was in.

“Blaise, umm… it’s really not that important…” she trailed off as he swiftly moved towards her. Creevey stepped in front of the girl – no doubt to protect her from the ‘big, bad Slytherin’ – but one pointed glare from Blaise removed that obstacle.

“Tell me.” Draco could feel the power radiating from his friend. His burning rage was in danger of resulting in accidental magic if he was not careful. With the amount of anger he seemed to be withholding, Draco felt it would be safe to assume that the entire corridor was vulnerable to collapse if the magic was not contained. Apparently, the little weasel could feel it too, for she decided then to tell the truth.

“The Gryffindors weren’t too happy to see me,” she said slowly. “Parvati Patil thinks I wanted Dean Thomas dead because he dumped me for her. She was simply letting out her anger,” she tried to excuse the older girl’s actions.

Pansy scoffed. “How in Hades does that boy’s death have anything to do with you – no matter whether you used to date him or not?” Draco’s chest tightened a bit at the thought of Ginny – Ginny? When had he started thinking of her as Ginny? – with someone other than him. But then the idea of Ginny with him shook him up enough to thrust him out of this line of thought.

“His death had nothing to do with her,” Creevey answered. “A few of the Gryffindors, in their oh-so-noble ways, decided to take it upon themselves to blame the attacks on her, for something her idiot brother let slip right before the holidays.” Creevey sounded incredibly scornful concerning his housemates.

“What was it that the Weasel let slip?” Draco arched one pale eyebrow in intrigue as Blaise, Ginny, and Creevey all stiffened simultaneously. He exchanged a curious glance with Pansy, who had also noted the reaction, before continuing. “What could have turned the goody-goody Gryffs against one of their own?”

“Enough, Draco.” Blaise’s rage had not decreased in the least. In fact, he only seemed to be growing more agitated now. Draco nodded slightly, willing to back off of the topic… for now. At this moment, he was most interested in easing his friend’s fury.

“That bitch Patil hit you?” At Ginny’s hesitant nod to his question, Blaise stalked over the portrait hole leading out of the kitchens. Before he could even open the doorway – presumably to stalk up to Gryffindor Tower to put those good-for-nothing nobodies in their place – he was hit with a charm, cast by one angry looking Weasley.

“Blaise,” she started slowly, controlling the temper that was obviously rising, if the flush in her cheeks was any indication. “I appreciate that you are upset on my behalf, but as I told you, I have already taken care of it.” She enunciated the last seven words slowly. Blaise turned to her, much more relaxed than he had been only a minute ago, and walked over to the small girl.

“What did you do to me?” It appeared that not all of his rage had left him. Ginny simply shrugged a bit.

“I cast a calming charm on you.” At his glare, she defended her actions: “Well, how else was I supposed to get you to stop and actually listen to me?’’ She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Although, I could have cast a Stupefy, and bound you to a chair before Ennervating you to make you listen, or Petrificus Totalis would have worked as well…” her musings trailed off as Blaise sighed, and crossed his arms to show his concession to her view.

“So what did you do to the little shits?” It was clear in his gaze that no punishment that he had not hand-delivered would be satisfying retribution for the Gryffindors’ crimes.

“I cast the Arachnihasa charm on everyone in the common room.” Blaise’s eyes widened slightly, while Pansy let out a light chuckle, and Draco stared in awe at the girl before him. The Arachnihasa charm was a seventh level charm, which produced hundreds of spiders to completely cover the victims of the spell. The spiders were not poisonous, and did nothing but cause mental anguish to those on the receiving end. More than one victim of the spell had come out from the experience arachnaphobic. Also, the spell could not be stopped by a simple Finite Incantantum; the precise counter-curse had to be employed.

Ginny smirked slightly, obviously pleased with their reactions to her revenge. “I learned the spell in my first year, one evening when I was especially irate with Ron.” At the questioning looks from Blaise, Pansy, and Draco, she elaborated. “Spiders are his greatest fear.” Draco had to suppress a smirk – this girl was amazing! He never knew she had it in her to be so… Slytherin.

“You should have seen Harry, Hermione, and McGonagall trying to undo the charm on twelve hysterical students, while Ron cowered at the top of the stairs,” Creevey cut in, obviously fond of the memory. Blaise looked sharply to Ginny, but said nothing.

“Wait one moment,” Pansy cut in. “You cast a NEWTs-level charm on twelve students at once?” That was an impressive feat for a fully-grown wizard; for a young witch, still in school, it was remarkable. Ginny just shrugged, and blushed slightly. Draco wondered, fleetingly, just how far down that blush traveled…

“We should get going,” Ginny said hastily, obviously not wanting to discuss her advanced magical ability. “We should probably find Dennis,” she said to Creevey quietly. The light in the younger boy’s eyes dimmed visibly at the reminder of his brother, for some reason, as Ginny grabbed his hand – Draco had to stop himself from attacking the Gryffindor boy right then and there – and they made their way out of the kitchens. Ginny turned back only once, to give a curt nod good-bye to Pansy and Draco, and share a long look with Blaise that Draco could not decipher. Creevey kept his head down, shoulders heavy, as he walked beside the petite red head.

Once the portrait hole closed behind the two, the three Slytherins turned to each other.

“I can see why you spend so much time with her, Blaise,” Pansy drawled musingly. “I do believe I underestimated the little Weasley girl.”

Draco scoffed, attempting to convince himself that she was just muggle-loving trash. It was much easier for his mind to condemn her when she was not standing right in front of him, confusing him. “She’s a Weasley,” he pointed out, as though that was all there was to be said. Pansy simply rolled her eyes, while Blaise glared at him. Draco glared back at his dark-haired friend and said in mock-sweetness, “Need another calming charm, Blaise? You look a little tense.” Draco smirked as Blaise scowled. The world had not changed so completely that he could not still properly rile up his best mate…

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It was almost curfew by the time Colin and Ginny returned to the Gryffindor common room, decidedly none the worse for not having gotten any tea from the kitchens. Once again, the Dream Team had stayed up to interrogate them.

“Ginevra Weasley!” Ron bellowed when he spotted her. Ginny saved Hermione the trouble by quickly casting the silencing charm herself this time. She did not put her wand away, but made sure that the Gryffindor trio saw it in her hand. Colin took his place beside her, his wand at the ready as well.

“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Hermione cried out. “Put those wands away,” she directed to Ginny and Colin. “And Ron,” she turned to the tall red head, “shut up. Your big mouth has already caused enough trouble,” she said scathingly, glaring at the boy. Ginny was shocked at Hermione’s angry tone against her own best friend. “How can we ever hope to have a chance against the Death Eaters if we are fighting amongst ourselves?”

Ginny considered the question, and then slowly lowered her wand. Hermione was right. Whatever differences she had with the Dream Team, it was best to settle them now, before they all had to face the real dangers of the wizarding world together. She felt Colin lower his wand beside her as well. “I’m listening,” was all she said. She was still angry with them, after all. She was just more willing to communicate with words now, rather than hexes.

Hermione frowned slightly and looked to Harry, who stepped forward. Both of them elbowed Ron when he opened his mouth to – no doubt – yell at Ginny again.

“A lot has happened in the past twenty-four hours, Ginny,” Harry began quietly. She simply looked at him, her face blanked of all emotion – a clever guise she had picked up from her dear friend Blaise. He coughed, stumbling over his words slightly at her unresponsiveness. “But that does not excuse your actions earlier. What were you thinking, attacking other Gryffindors?” Ginny said nothing. “The war is raging outside of the castle walls,” he continued on, undeterred. “You cannot act in such a manner against those on the same side. The danger is more real than it ever was before, and we” – here he gestured to Ron, Hermione, and himself – “need to fight against these evils. You don’t have that burden, Ginny. And we’re only trying to protect you…” he trailed off as he saw her face redden with anger. Ginny opened her mouth to deliver a scathing reply, but she was cut off by Colin.

“Does that include me, Potter?” he asked snidely. “Are you the only ones with reasons to fight?”

Harry looked a bit taken aback by Colin’s tone, and the use of only his last name. He shook his head slowly. “I never said that,” he responded slowly.

“No, but you are thinking it.” Colin sneered at Harry, something Ginny would never get used to seeing. “You think that your pain is worth more than ours. You think that Ginny’s possession by the younger Voldemort at the age of eleven – something she still has nightmares about regularly – does not entitle her to the same rights as you, or your lackeys, to seek justice.”

The trio looked to Ginny in shock, as the younger girl avoided their scrutinizing gazes. There were reasons for her not telling them about her nightmares...

“That just proves she shouldn’t be messing with these dark things that she can’t handle!” And that was the main one. Ron proved once again just how dense and predictable he could be. “What do you know, anyway, Creevey?” he blurted out, his face having turned maroon from having had to hold in his comments for so long. The trio obviously had not yet been informed of the attack on the Creevey residence…

Colin raised his wand to teach Ron exactly ‘what he knew,’ but did not bother casting a hex, as Ginny had beat him to it. Ron screamed as the spiders covered him completely, while Ginny stared on the scene coolly, unaffected by his terror. Hermione quickly and effectively cast the counter-curse, having gotten quite a bit of practice with it earlier that evening. She and Harry helped Ron up, who was trembling from the experience, and the three sixth years turned to Ginny, whose rage was now visible in her glinting honey eyes.

“How dare you?” she bit out slowly, her fury lacing each word. “How dare you presume to have the authority to judge Colin or me?” She calmed slightly as Colin laced his fingers through hers, offering her his strong support. “You have no idea what you are talking about,” she finished coldly.

“You say you only want to protect her?” Colin asked, his anger evident. “Then where the hell were you when she was being attacked in her own common room?” Harry, Hermione, and Ron glanced at each other, then looked away shamefully. “I have a good idea where you were,” he continued. “Locked away in a room somewhere, trying to solve all the problems of the world by yourselves.” He glared at them. “You don’t want to protect Ginny, you simply want her out of the way.”

Ginny kept her face blank. She knew all of this already, and she had accepted it. But to hear it stated so factually from her best friend hurt. She was not angry with Colin, though; only with herself, for still allowing the Dream Team to continue to affect her emotional state. Resolutely, she straightened her back, and faced her brother and his friends. “I have already taken it upon myself to keep away from the three of you and out of your business. The least you could do is return the same courtesy to me, and stay out of my life!” Her voice was not raised, but the tone was sharp, and the message clear. “We have already been over this – there is no reason for any of you now to worry about me,” she sneered at the word ‘worry.’ “If this evening’s events taught you nothing else, it should have made it clear that I can take care of myself. If I had to rely only on your protection, I probably would have died ages ago… You are after all the reason I was in danger earlier today in the first place!”

“You would have died in the Chamber if it hadn’t been for Harry and me!” Ron seemed to have regained a bit of his composure after the spider incident.

Ginny scoffed. “Please,” she replied scathingly, “you would have gone after anyone who was stuck in the Chamber. I think it’s that hero complex of yours…” She looked at them accusingly. “Had you truly been worried about me, you would have noticed months before-hand that something was wrong; that I had stopped eating, that I wasn’t sleeping well, and that I was constantly pale and sickly-looking! As it was, Percy was the only one – out of the four brothers at school with me – to notice that I was acting differently. Of course, he grossly misdiagnosed the cause, but it was nice to know that he, at least, cared. Unlike you, Ron, who were once my best friend, but couldn’t look past your own interests for five minutes to see how your little sister was handling her first year away from home.” Her eyes were bright and her voice frigid as she moved closer to her brother. “Your concern for me seems to come and go at your own whim. That does me no good, and I would prefer that either you care about my well-being all of the time – not just when it is convenient for you – or do as I asked, and stay away from me.”

She sent one last sneer towards the speechless trio, and pulled Colin along with their still-interlaced hands to the entrance to stairwell leading up to the boys’ dormitories. She dragged Colin up and into the fifth year’s dorm, and used her wand to ‘convince’ the other boys in the room to leave. Except for Dennis Creevey, who had apparently fallen asleep crying on Colin’s bed. She released Colin’s hand so he could go to his younger brother – the only sibling he had left now – while Ginny took a seat on what she assumed was Noah Van Clauspen’s bed, for the dark-haired fifth year had been sleeping in it when she and Colin had entered the room. She watched as Colin lifted and shifted his brother over on the bed – taking care not to disturb his sleep and wake him – before laying down on his back next to him. He sighed quietly and turned his face towards Ginny.

“I don’t want to wake him, he needs rest,” he whispered quietly. Ginny only nodded. Colin seemed to hesitate for a moment, before speaking again. “I’m sorry I told them about your nightmares,” and he did truly seem to regret his slip. Ginny simply shook her head and smiled slightly to indicate that she was not upset with him. “Are you okay?” he asked tentatively. She only shrugged, and Colin seemed to look worried that she had yet to say anything to him since they had come upstairs.

“I will be fine,” she assured him quietly. She looked over to Dennis, who was now tossing fitfully in his sleep. She walked over slowly and cast a light calming charm, followed by the Dormius charm – used to put receivers in a deep slumber – on the younger boy. “That should help him sleep through the night.” Colin gave her a small, grateful smile, and pulled her down onto the bed. Ginny found herself half lying on the small bit of mattress left by Dennis and Colin, and half on Colin himself. While it was not the most comfortable position, she rearranged herself a bit to make it bearable. There was nothing romantic or sexual in the arrangement – it was only for comfort. She understood Colin’s need not to be alone right now, so she laid her head on his chest, and quietly mouthed the Dormius charm once more. She listened to his heartbeat slow, and his breathing even, as he slowly drifted off.

Ginny kept close vigil on the sleeping brothers, and only moved from her awkward position when the sun began to rise. She then lifted herself up, slowly and carefully so as not to disturb the boys, and stretched to soothe her stiff muscles. She walked over to their window, and looked upon a different scene than the one she was used to. She could not see the lake from this section of Gryffindor Tower, but she had a perfect view of the dark Forbidden Forest. Even from this distance, the trees looked foreboding. She shifted her gaze to Hagrid’s hut, to dispel the uneasy feeling that the forest brought about in her, and saw smoke curling up from his chimney. She smiled at the thought of the half-giant, who had always been very sweet to her. She grew so lost in thought as she gazed unseeingly out onto the castle grounds that she did not notice Colin come up behind her.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, wrapping his arms around her in a hug. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I know I didn’t have to stay, Colin,” she chided gently. He released his arms and dropped them to his sides as she turned to face him. “I chose to stay because you are one of my best friends, and I love you,” she said sincerely. He gave her a weak smile.

“I love you, too, Gin,” he whispered, bending his tall 6’2” frame to drop a small kiss on the top of her red head. She smiled softly in return as he pulled away, looking back to see his brother stirring. “You should go,” he said quietly, returning his gaze to the small girl. “I think Dennis and I need some time alone.” Ginny nodded, both in understanding and agreement, and – after one more quick hug – left the room. She arrived in the common room to see the other three fifth-year boys spread out on different couches, still sleeping. Thankfully, the Dream Team was nowhere in sight. Ginny swiftly made her way to her own dorm, her wand out just in case her roommates were awake. She entered the room quietly to find that the drapes of both girls’ beds were closed. She looked sadly at Amanda Nolsen’s bed, which still had her old stuffed teddy bear sitting on it. Ginny quickly gathered her things and decided this was a fine morning to take advantage of her position and use the Girls’ Prefect’s Bathroom.

After taking her time with her morning ritual, and then getting dressed, Ginny banished most of her things straight back to her trunk – sending the laundry to the house elves – and then decided to visit the kitchens for a quick breakfast, before she had to hole herself up in the library to work on her History of Magic essay, which she had put off after the first meeting with Blaise and Malfoy in the library.

Her plans were disrupted by one very irate Head of House.

“Ms. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall stated sternly. “Please come with me.” Ginny swallowed the last bit of toast she had received from the kind house elves, and hung her head a bit as she followed the formidable witch. They stopped in front of a stone gargoyle, which Ginny recognized from listening in on conversations between Harry, Ron, and Hermione in previous years as the entrance to Dumbledore’s office. Ginny was understandably nervous as she slowly climbed the spiral staircase, lagging a bit behind the Transfiguration Professor.

Professor McGonagall knocked on the wooden door at the top of the stairs, and entered upon hearing Dumbedore’s invitation. Ginny hesitantly followed her into the large, round office. She looked around a bit, as she had never been in this room before – after the Chamber, she had been taken straight to McGonagall’s office, and then to the Hospital Wing. She took in the fascinating knick-knacks on the shelves, and the portraits of the Headmasters past lining the walls.

“Ms. Weasley,” Professor Dumbledore’s voice brought her attention back to the old wizard, who was sitting behind a large mahogany desk. “Please have a seat,” he gestured to the chairs placed across from the desk, his face grave. Ginny carefully made her way over, the nervousness eating at her insides, as Professor McGonagall pursed her lips and took position beside Ginny’s intended seat. She sat down, staring at her shaking hands as they lay on her lap.

“Well, Ms. Weasley, what do you have to say for yourself?” Professor McGonagall was obviously not pleased. “Cursing your own housemates? That is conduct unbefitting of a Gryffindor!” Ginny looked up sharply, her eyes narrowing at her Head of House.

“And did my precious housemates tell you why I hexed them?” she shot back, disregarding the fact that this was her teacher and her elder, and she had been raised to show respect for such individuals.

“Ms. Weasley,” Professor Dumbledore cut in, looking quite unhappy with her. “Professor McGonagall and I would like to know exactly what happened in the Gryffindor common room yesterday evening. That is why we have called you here now. There are other matters of importance that we must also attend to, such as the security of this school in these dangerous times.” Ginny looked back down guiltily. “Please, help us understand what happened, so that we may take the proper steps to ensure the safety of our students – both from outside forces and their own classmates.”

Ginny lifted her chin slightly, focusing her bright eyes on Dumbledore’s face as she spoke. “My dearest brother,” she sneered slightly, “decided to announce to the Gryffindor table right before the holidays, that I was the one responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets and letting the basilisk loose on the school in my first year.” She ignored Dumbledore’s growing grave look, and McGonagall’s small gasp, as she continued. “He failed to mention, however, that I had been possessed at the time, so the Gryffindors decided to form their own conclusions. Apparently, I am one of…” she forced out the name… “Voldemort’s closest supporters, and I helped choose the victims for the attacks two nights ago.” She said this all with a definite sardonic lilt. “My housemates decided that I was not worthy of being a Gryffindor. Parvati Patil decided to show me exactly what they thought of me,” here she gestured to the black and blue bruise on her left cheek that she had purposely left unhealed, “while the others stood back and silently cheered her on.” She looked directly into Dumbledore’s disappointed blue eyes now, void of their usual twinkle. She managed to stop herself before admitting, 'If being a Gryffindor means being judgmental and hypocritical, then I would rather not be one,' as the Weasley blood within her recoiled at just the thought. “I will not apologize for defending myself…” she carefully edited her dialogue once more by not adding, 'against those worthless ingrates.' “I know Slytherins with more sense and house loyalty than those mighty Gryffindors showed to me.” Ginny took a deep breath after her short speech. She knew she should not have been so unrepentant, but she refused to sit back and allow them to make her out to be the villain of the tale. Spending time with Blaise, she decided, had definitely had an effect on her. She was even starting to sneer the name ‘Gryffindor,’ just as he did…

“Ms. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall hissed, obviously appalled. “Now I know that your parents did not raise you to act this way… And you are a prefect!” Ginny stiffened and managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes in annoyance in front of the Headmaster and his Deputy Headmistress. She forced a slight shrug, and kept her eyes focused on the old wizard across from her.

“Ms. Weasley,” Dumbledore began, obviously disturbed by the situation, which slightly disturbed Ginny, who was used to seeing the greatest wizard of the age confident and happy. “The actions of your housemates, while disappointing, do not justify your curse on them. I will have to contact Molly and Arthur on this matter,” he stated. Ginny’s unemotional mask stayed in place as he continued. “As your actions were provoked, I will not stipulate a punishment too serious. Although,” he paused to look intently at the young girl before him, “your position as a Prefect is under debate.” Ginny froze, her heart dropping. She had earned that position, they could not take it away from her. She forced her features not to show the pain she was feeling, but she was sure that Dumbledore could probably see it anyway. The old wizard nodded slightly, as if finally understanding some complex puzzle, before stating that she would serve detention every weekday evening for the next two weeks with Professor McGonagall. Also, 75 points had been taken from Gryffindor House. Ginny could care less about the points. Right now, she would prefer that even Slytherin win the House Cup – any house but those traitorous Gryffindors.

Ginny nodded curtly, and stood to leave after her punishment had been stated. “Ms. Weasley,” Professor McGonagall’s voice stopped her from moving to the door. “Don’t you want to hear your housemates’ punishments?” she asked with a small, tight smile on her lips. Ginny looked at the older witch, allowing the surprise to show clearly on her face. She had thought that they were getting away with what they had done to her…

“Negative fifteen points, and three weeks of detention with Professor Snape, for each student present in the common room who stood by and watched a fellow housemate be attacked,” came Dumbledore’s voice. “And Ms. Patil will spend an eventful month of detention with Mr. Filch, after losing 100 points from the Gryffindor total.” Ginny looked at the two professors, both having been Gryffindors in their own school days, and understood what it meant for them to take so many points away from their old house. There was no way that Gryffindor would win the House Cup now – they had not been leading by more that twenty points at the beginning of the holidays. She smiled slightly at them both, realizing that they were just as disappointed in her housemates as they had shown to be in her. She knew that she could have just left the common room without having hexed its occupants, but she had chosen to cast that charm. She was willing to deal with the consequences now. She doubted her housemates would take the news of their punishments nearly as well…

“Good day, Professors,” she said softly as she turned and left Dumbledore’s office. Ginny went straight to the library, and began to look for sources for her History of Magic essay.

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Draco smirked slightly as he caught sight of a certain little red head while searching for a table in the back of the library. He was already in a better mood than he had been yesterday – a quick walk past the display of house points tallies near the entrance of the Great Hall had shown that Gryffindor was now down to 127 points, placing Slytherin in the lead with its 487 points. As he walked over to her, Draco surmised that the little Weaslette’s hex on her housemates the previous day, had probably had something to do with Slytherin’s new position as the leading contender for the House Cup.

“Weasley,” he drawled, placing himself languidly on the seat across from her. She looked up, then quickly looked back down to continue writing on her parchment, ignoring him. Now this was unacceptable, he decided. No one ignores Draco Malfoy. So he sneered slightly, and did something to get her attention – he grabbed the homework she was working on. He leaned back, reading the first few lines of her essay.

'Nimue, also known as Vivienne, Nineve, and Niniane, was a great witch of the early Middle Ages. She is best remembered for capturing the heart of the great wizard Merlin. But she was also his student, and learned to wield her power over magic just as well as she wielded her power over men. Daughter of a Muggle Duke and a Siren – an especially beautiful mermaid with an enchanting voice…'

That was as far as Draco got before the unfinished essay was ripped away from him by an irritated little weasel. “What do you want, Malfoy?” Her face was flushed, and Draco decided that it looked quite cute that way. That thought was only in his mind for a moment before he mentally slapped it away.

“Just to talk, Weaslette,” he responded snidely. When she turned back to her essay once more – most likely to continue ignoring him – he decided to take a different approach. “You know, I can heal that for you,” he said quietly, indicating the bruise on her cheek. She stiffened slightly and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him.

“I can heal it myself, thank you,” she responded swiftly, before looking back down at her work. Draco sighed silently, before lifting his hand to her cheek, and gently laying it on her soft, warm skin as he whispered a healing charm. Ginny started at the touch, and then lifted her own hand to touch her once-again-pale cheek once he had moved his back. She fingered where the bruise had once been, and then looked at him as though she had never seen him before. “Thank you,” she said softly. Draco tried not to grin like an idiot at the sweet tone of her voice – directed at him – and rubbed his hand against his arm to get rid of the remnants of the intense tingle he had felt when touching her. She shook her head slightly, as though to rid herself of a daze, and then gave him a small smile. “Are you okay?” she asked, pointing vaguely to his neck, where Creevey had laid his hands the night before.

Draco sneered slightly at the memory of the attack, and of her words – 'Draco Malfoy is not worth it!' – and responded scathingly. “I’m fine, no thanks to Creevey.” Any previous softness in her gaze was quickly replaced with indignation as she retorted.

“You should not have called him what you did – that is such a vile term!” she hissed in anger, trying to stay quiet so as not to alert Madame Pince.

“I’ve called Granger that tons of times, but she never tried to strangle me,” he pointed out.

“That’s because Hermione’s little sister hadn’t just been murdered by Death Eaters!” Ginny looked ready to do some bodily harm to the blonde herself right now. Her glare faded, though, when she saw the shock clearly on the Slytherin’s face. “I’m sure the whole school will know by this afternoon,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure if you even care,” and she looked truly disgusted at that thought, “but she was only five years old. Colin had only learned about her death a few hours before we came across you, Blaise, and Parkinson.” She paused then, seeming to realize something. “Is Blaise alright?” she asked, her concern evident. “I know he was hurt by how Colin acted yesterday, but it was only because he was still in a total emotional mess.” She leaned in to Draco then. “I know that Colin does not hold any hard feelings against Blaise,” she whispered sadly. “He just couldn’t really deal with talking about what had happened yesterday.” She leaned back, and Draco could only nod slightly.

He did not know what to say. He was an only child, so he could not grasp the pain Creevey must have felt at losing a sibling. But an innocent little girl was dead. He had read about others’ deaths in the Prophet, but for some reason, this seemed so much more real, and so much worse. Seeing Ginny Weasley’s sad face, recalling her red puffy eyes from the night before, stirred an insurmountable anger within Draco. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, looking down instead of at the other occupant of the table.

“Thank you,” she responded gently, “but I am not the person you should be apologizing to.” Draco’s head snapped up at her implied suggestion. Her gaze was surprisingly unreadable as she studied his face, presumably to see if he would take her advice.

“I’ll speak with Creevey,” he conceded. After all, if Blaise really cared about the younger boy, Draco might as well try to get along with him. It didn’t hurt that his agreement seemed to please Ginny Weasley, but he swiftly pushed that thought aside. He would apologize for Blaise’s sake, and that was it. His mind scoffed at his attempted self-disillusionment as his insides squirmed – they actually squirmed! – when Ginny smiled at him. Draco tried to smirk in response, but his muscles were not cooperating, and he had the suspicious feeling that he had actually smiled at her. “You know, Malfoy, you’re really not so bad,” she stated softly, not looking very surprised by the revelation.

Draco scoffed. “Of course I am!” He could not let his reputation as the Prince of Slytherin suffer. Ginny giggled slightly, and he sent her his best glare. She simply continued to smile at him, and leaned forward once more. Draco inhaled the uniquely sweet and spicy scent of her, and felt a shiver run up his spine.

“Whatever you say, Draco.” His name rolled off her tongue so smoothly, as though it had been devised specifically to be released from her sweet mouth. Draco stared at her pink lips for a few endless moments, before snapping out of the visual fantasy he had conjured of claiming them with his own. He quickly stood, needing to get away from the girl, before he did something extremely stupid, like kiss her. He saw Ginny watching him with an amused glint in her eyes, and a smile playing at her lips.

“Later, Weasley,” he said shortly, and turned to leave, hoping to make a quick exit.

“Ginny,” she stated flatly. He turned back with one questioning eyebrow raised. “My name,” she expanded. “My name is Ginny.” She arched her own eyebrow as his face relaxed to its customary smirk.

“Ginny,” he repeated, nodding. Then he turned away once more, and made his way through the library to the doors. “Ginny,” he whispered, once he was in the safety of an empty corridor. He shook his head slightly. He couldn’t even remember why he had gone to the library in the first place anymore. With a slight shrug and a satisfied smirk on his face, Draco made his way back to the Slytherin dungeons.


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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, and Warner Bros., among others. Only the plot and any unfamiliar characters are mine.

*Information about Nimue was found through various websites.

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