Prologue: In the Beginning

~Sunrise, sunset. Swiftly fly the years. (Fiddler on the Roof)

* * *

“I’m singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain! What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again. I’m laughing at clouds, so dark-”

“What on earth is that bloody noise?” Ronald Weasley tumbled down the stairs looking around furiously for the offender who had interrupted his Quidditch match. At the sound of Gene Kelly’s happy voice he had immediately dropped the Quidditch action figures with which he’d been playing and stomped out of his room.

“-up above. I’m singin’-”

His mother promptly poked her head out of the kitchen. “Ronald Bilius Weasley! How dare you use that language in this house!” The little 8 year-old pouted at his mother.

“-just singin’ in the rain!”

“Fine. ‘What on earth is that blooming noise’?”

“Arthur!” Her warning tone brought Arthur Weasley out of his newspaper.

“Yes, Molly?” A moment of blind ignorance. “Oh! Oh, oh yes. Ron-” He glanced at his son. “What have your mother and I told you about cursing?”

“Yes, Daddy, I know.” The poor boy hung his head in shame. Across the room Molly looked less than satisfied, but she ducked back into the kitchen. Seeing himself out of imminent danger, Ron pointed accusingly at his sister and glared at his father. “But she’s making so much noise!”

Arthur glanced over at his only daughter, sprawled belly-down on the floor and kicking her legs in time with the music. Her large, young eyes were glued to the magical television where Don Lockwood was dancing in reckless abandon to the bars of Singing in the Rain. The smug look on Ginny’s face indicated that she knew exactly how much this was upsetting her brother. Arthur shot the back of her head a disapproving look.

“Ginny, darling. Might you turn that down just a tad?”

“Daddy!” she whined. “It’s a really good part!”

“It’s always a ‘really good part’.” Ron huffed by the staircase.

“Ginny...” Her father’s tone bore more warning in it.

“Oh, fine!” With that Ginny proceeded to dial down the knob on the magical TV to a mild hum. “Happy, Ron?”

“Very.” Ron stomped back upstairs, and with a sigh, Arthur picked up his newspaper again. Sighing, Ginny returned her attention to the TV just as Don hopped onto the light post declaring, “I’m laughing at clouds!”

* * *

Malfoy Manor stood majestically against the backdrop of the scaling mountains. As the sun set behind it, pouring red and orange rays across the stone towers and flying buttresses, the Manor seemed to raise its haughty nose to glance over its dominion. The house had as much arrogance and grace as the people who inhabited its chambers.

Unlike other Wizarding families, the Malfoys rarely indulged in magical devices derived from Muggle technology. Such trinkets were unfit for a family with money and reputation as that of the Malfoys. Instead, children of this forbidding household sought to immerse themselves in activities that would make their parents proud of who they were...and what they would become. Draco Malfoy was no exception.

Ever since he could remember, young Draco sought the approval of his father by gaining high praise from his tutors, learning to fence at age five, and doing countless other things he thought his father would approve. Usually, if performed to perfection, Lucius Malfoy would grant his son a curious nod and move on with business.

Matters clashed when it came to one subject: music. At first, Narcissa Malfoy secretly taught her son piano, having learned to love the instrument as a little girl. With all the Malfoy traits being ingrained into her son, she hoped that at least one Black trait could infuse itself in her heir. And so, Draco learned to play.

At first Lucius was furious when he found his son plucking at the piano. Upon hearing the scratchy tunes, he stormed into the observatory and slammed down on the keys. Draco feared they would crumble under his father’s strength.

“No Malfoy should ever submit himself to such driveling as this! Narcissa, what...were you thinking!”

The Mistress of Malfoy Manor stood from her chair with usual grace. “Lucius. Please. Not here...not in front of Draco.”

“I see no reason why not. He too should be ashamed of this girly activity.” Narcissa’s face turned stony cold. She faced her husband with unusual sternness.

“Might I remind you, Lucius, that all of the famous composers: Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Hayd-”

“Silence, woman!” Draco’s father closed the frosty gap between him and his wife to lay a rough hand on Draco’s shoulder. “My son will not do this.”

The look on his mother’s face would forever be imprinted on his brain. Defiance, pride, strength, and hopelessness. Always before she had been the perfect wife, gracious, stunning...a perfect Malfoy. For the first time Draco saw Narcissa for the independent woman she was.

“No, Lucius.” Her voice came in such a whisper Draco thought he hadn’t heard it.

“What did you say?”

“No. He will learn.”

“You dare defy me?” Narcissa answered with a raise of her chin. Several moments passed without a flicker of movement. Draco himself was too stunned to speak. The silence seemed to stretch on for miles before his mother closed the expanse.

“Draco is everything you want him to be.” Narcissa spoke calm and plainly, but the begging gaze seeped into her eyes. “You can mold him in your exact image, and I will help you all I can. But this...” she motioned to the piano, “...is one part of me I want to give him. That is all I’m asking of you.”

Without another word Lucius swept out of the room, leaving his wife and son to their own doing. By leaving, Draco knew, his father would allow them to continue his music lessons, even at great disapproval. Though normally Draco would scorn any activity his father did not wholly condone, this was different. The way his mother stood up for his music made it different. The look in her eye when he played made it different. And the release he received while playing...well...that made it very different.

* * *

References:

“Singin’ in the Rain” – Produced by Arthur Freed

Chapter 1: Old Rivalries

~What is this feeling? Loathing, unadulterated loathing. (Wicked)

* * *

King’s Cross was alive and busy like always with the Muggle men and women hustling to and fro while wizards and witches directed their Hogwarts-bound children to Platform 9 ¾. Right outside the magical doorway Ginny Weasley had rolled her cart to a nearby bench and was sitting cross-legged with her head buried in a novel. For a fleeting second she pondered if others would assume Hermione was having too great an influence on her, and then Ginny proceeded to tell her thoughts to bugger off.

The book fell slack in her hands. She’d been dreading her sixth year ever since she started her fifth, or rather, ever since she had gained some sort of foothold into the iron clad threesome Ron, Harry, and Hermione had formed since day one. She didn't want her friends to leave her. Then again, if she were truly being honest with herself, Ginny was simply dreading facing a whole year with having The Boy Who Lived being her ex.

Damn it all! Letting out a much-too-loud sigh she tried desperately to force her head back into the book she’d been reading: Wicked.

Ironic really...me, Miss Goody-Too-Shoes, Never-Does-A-Thing-Wrong, Mostly-Because-Her-Family’s-Too-Stifling is sitting here reading a book titled “wicked.” I might as well be reading The Dark Lord: How to Follow in the Footsteps of You-Know-Who for all my family cares. Ginny snickered to herself. Ever since her first year she’d found more comfort rattling off pointless conversations in her head than actually trying to talk to those around her. Not...that she was anti-social. She just found the assurance of her own mind more trustworthy than investing in others.

Ginny turned over the book to look at its simple leather book-cover. The story was interesting and complicated, but a bit too tedious for her liking. Then again, she’d rather be forced to read Wicked instead of some boring garbage like Hogwarts: A History or, heaven forbid, Magical Me by Gilderoy Lockheart.

Sighing again she returned to the story of Elphaba. Upon hearing the music from the musical, a strange chord had been plucked in her heart that no other music had given her. Immediately she drove headfirst into finding everything she could about the story, memorizing ever song until she could sing it in her sleep. Then again, when haven’t I learned every song I love until I can sing it in my sleep. Nonetheless, Elphaba’s story of unrequited love and man (or in this case “woman”) verses society seemed strangely familiar to Ginny. Too much so.

“Ginny!” Ron’s voice sailed above the noise of the crowd. Quickly, Ginny shoved a bookmark into the page she was on and stuffed the novel in her bag. Her brother’s lanky figure and fire-engine red hair towered above most of the other Muggles. She couldn’t help but grin.

That was, until she spotted the other two members of the Golden Trio. Her heart sinking, Ginny mustered all the strength she could to plaster on a huge fake smile. No use looking totally distraught and depressed. Besides, we only dated a few weeks, right? Nothing to get so emotionally hung-over about.

She was lying to herself. And she knew it. But no need to face that reality right now. Especially with The Boy Who Lived, the smartest girl in school, and her own brother barreling up to see her with such happy faces. No, definitely not the time.

* * *

Draco Malfoy slumped in the window seat of his abandoned cabin. His mother would be horrified at his posture and his father would sneer at his lack of composure. Bugger it. I frankly don’t care.

Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and the others who normally shared his cabin were out terrorizing first-years or some other nonsense. Normally he’d be with them. Right now he just wanted to be dead...or drunk. Yes, being drunk would suffice.

“Why, hello Mr. Happy Feet. How’s the doom and despair going on your side of the universe?” Draco glanced up to see the silhouette of a tall, dark-haired Slytherin. Blaise.

“What do you want, Zabini?” He made it sound more like an accusation than a question.

“Oh, just the usual,” Blaise spoke non-emphatically as he strode into the cabin, “World Domination by Yours Truly, hanging Granger upside down by her pinky toes, humiliating He Who Never Stops Saving The World...”

Draco quirked an eyebrow.

“You don’t want that.”

Blaise looked indignant. “Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”

“You have the stomach of a first-year Hufflepuff and wouldn’t dare engaging in any activity that would mess up your manicure.” Draco grinned at the horrified look on the other boy’s face. “And I think the only reason your sorry arse is in Slytherin is because none of the other houses would have you. Well, Hufflepuff might have, but they never have been as choosy as they should. Only thing you’ve got in your favor is you’re a pureblood.”

“Alas!” he cried out with much dramatic fanfare, “I am found out.” Blaise flopped down next to Draco, giving the pale-haired boy a look of hurt and desolation. “What ever shall I do?”

“Blaise...you’re pathetic.”

“I know. But if I wasn’t ‘pathetic’ you wouldn’t like me so much now, eh?”

“It’s only because everyone else is even more pathetic than you.” Draco crossed his arms in a huff. Only Zabini could take his rain cloud and transfigure it into daisies, sunshine, and other despicable things. With a sigh, he glared at his friend.

“What!”

“I was enjoying being a depressed teenager with no hope in the world.”

“I’ll say. That was pretty angst-y, even for you.”

“‘Angst-y’? Is that even a word?”

Blaise grinned maliciously. “It is now. Along with depression-ettic, Malfoy-oncy, pathetionous-”

“I get it! And don’t you dare use ‘Malfoy-oncy’. That’s just-”

“Very manly and angst-ish?”

“-wrong.” Draco shook his head in faked despair. “Don’t you ever tire of being so cheerful all the time?”

“Nope.”

“Wipe that grin off your face.”

The boy took on an overly-dramatized arrogant face. “Thank you kindly for the invitation, but I’m quite sorry to say that I must stubbornly decline.” He stole a glance at Draco.

“Zabini?”

Blaise answered with a raised eyebrow.

“You had this coming.” Before he could respond, Draco took the opportunity to land a sound whack! on the back of Blaise’s head. Immediately, the dark-haired boy burst out into a short, but none-the-less definite, stream of curses.

“Finished?”

“You git, that hurt!” Blaise glared at his friend, who just shrugged. “Feel better now?”

“Quite, actually.”

“So you mind telling me what in Merlin’s name are you so depressed about? I swear, I thought I was going to walk in here and have to take a gun out of your mouth or some other stupidly idiotic thing!”

“First of all, it’s not nice to swear. Second, ‘stupidly’ and ‘idiotic’ should never be said consecutively. And third-” Blaise interrupted him with a twin blow to the whack Draco had previously given. Just as the other had done, Draco erupted into a fine stream of ill-bearing words.

“‘Finished’?” Blaise mocked the aristocratic smirk Draco usually wore.

“Dammit Blaise-”

“Ha! You called me by my first name. I always knew you had it in you.”

“Oh, sod off, Zabini.”

Blaise seemed to fully ignore Draco’s comment. “So you going to tell me what’s getting you down now?”

“No.”

“Oh, yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oh, yes you are!” he replied, singing the last few words. For a moment, both boys stared at each other, Blaise wearing a goofy smile and Draco glaring profusely back at him.

Draco finally broke the standstill, his voice barely above a hissing whisper. “And I suppose if you were me, you wouldn’t be upset. I mean, really...my life can’t be that bad. I’ve only got my father locked away in Azkaban, rotting away thanks to the horrible Scarface and his two mutts. I’ve only spent my summer being dragged to party after party in a very vain attempt to right the Malfoy name, just to be reminded what a failure I am to my parents, and consequently, any ol’ day big-bad You-Know-Who can waltz right in and sacrifice me with a flick of his wand!”

“You forgot to mention how you humiliated yourself in front of all your friends, not to mention probably your entire house...”

“Blaise!” Something in Draco had snapped. It startled him. Draco hardly ever let down the mask of ‘tough guy’, but right now Blaise could make out every emotion on his face - desperation, hurt, longing, suffering. Draco never let his emotions show so vividly. He’d been taught better long ago by his father. It just wasn’t befitting for a Slytherin, let alone the single heir to the Malfoy name. Whatever Draco had been through was certainly wearing on him, and the fact that it could make his emotions as clear as day on his face...well, that scared the living daylights out of Blaise.

“Look, Draco,” he laid a comforting hand on Draco’s slumped shoulders, “it’s school again. You-Know-Who can’t get you there even if he had all his Death Eaters at full power barreling after you. As much as I hate to admit it, Dumbledore can keep Hogwarts well-warded. And don’t worry about last year. If anyone so much as smirks in your direction, I’ll hex their head off.”

Draco couldn’t help but grin. “I know, Blaise. If you weren’t here...maybe I would jump off a bridge or something equally stupid.”

“Eh, you like yourself way too much to do that.”

“You’re right. Instead I would get totally wasted and stand on the Hufflepuff table stark naked singing ‘God Save the Queen’.”

“Oi. Very bad mental image right now.”

“Tell me about it.” Blaise grinned as his friend clamped him on the back, a gesture the two saved for when they were completely alone.

Or so they thought.

At that very moment some strange ruckus was going on just outside their cabin door. Silhouetted in the frosty pane of the door, a girl was motioning angrily down the hall. Before either boy could think, the door swung open as the girl tumbled inside.

Draco and Blaise sprung apart instantly. Both boys blinked in shock at the intruder. Blaise glanced towards Draco with curiosity, but the pale-haired boy merely stared at the red-headed female who’d fallen into their cabin. Slowly, shock seeped away as revelation lit up his features. Sneering, he positioned himself just right in the corner seat to appear as malicious and arrogant as ever. ‘Draco’ was gone and ‘Mr. Malfoy, Jr.’ had replaced him. And sprawled haphazardly on his cabin floor was none other than Ginny Weasley.

* * *

Ron could be so bloody exasperating at times. The moment she’d met up with the trio, he continually passed hopeful looks between her and Harry. As if looking like a puppy dog to both of us would make things go back to normal. She didn’t want Harry back that was for sure. His quick dumping of her had hurt way too much and taken too long to get over for her heart to be trampled on again.

But...Ron! Ron, of all people, certainly didn’t see why not. Harry loved Ginny, Ginny loved Harry, and in his mind they should get married and live happily ever after. Do I love Harry? I thought I did. She also thought many other things, most of which were terribly wrong or never came true. Five years. Five years I’ve wasted pining after the same emerald-eyed, black-haired, World-saving Wonder Boy. And look, she thought bitterly, where that got me. It wasn’t Ron’s fault Harry had believed breaking up with Ginny would be better for them both. Nor was it Ron’s fault she finally decided enough was enough. But it was Ron’s fault for driving her nuts about getting the two of them back together.

“Ginny...Ginny! C’mon, what’d I do?” Ron was chasing after her as she dodged other students in her haste to practically run down the hall. “Ginny!”

“Shove it, Ron,” she called over her shoulder. Right now she was too mad to deal with his blatant ignorance.

“Ginny, stop being a spoil sport!”

Reaching the end of this car, she turned around furiously. “No, Ron, you stop it.” Students were poking their heads out of cabins to see what the commotion was about.

“I don’t see why you’re being so sore about this.”

“And I don’t see why you’re being so pig-headed about this, either!”

“Just come on back and talk to Hermione.”

“No!” she stomped. “I will not be ‘soothed’ just so it makes your life easier. Much too sorry. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find a cabin where I don’t have to look at you for hours at a time!”

If Ron was going to reply, she didn’t care. Not particularly worried about who occupied the cabin, Ginny opened the door and stormed in. Well...she was storming until the panel of the door caught her robe and caused her to land quite un-ladylike on her face.

Blast it! After the initial shock, pain began to sting her hands and face. For a brief moment she hoped the cabin was empty. The fates seemed dead set against her.

Out of the semi-darkness a slow, silky voice picked up her existence.

“Ah, if it isn’t the female portion of the infamous Weasley spawn.” Crap, crap, crap. Anyone but him. Please God, anyone but him! God, however, seemed to be busy today. “And here I thought it was illegal to produce more than two children with abnormally ugly hair. They must have changed it since I last checked...not that the Weasleys would abide by any laws. Tell me, little Weasley, do you pay taxes or does your father consort with the Minister to help bypass that law too?”

Her face turned a burning red. Blasted Malfoy. Just what I need. On one hand, she could keep laying there and pretend to be knocked out. Then again, that would just work in his favor. She could see him gloating with his other friends. ‘Ginny Weasley barged into my cabin and passed out! What an oaf...why do they even let her in this school?’

Slowly she stood to her feet, her eyes dilating to the increased dimness. “Malfoy. What an unexpected pleasure to run into you. I trust you’re doing well?” Ginny smirked seeing the momentary surprise on Malfoy’s face.

“Oh, so your pig of a mother finally taught you manners. A feat, considering she hasn’t any herself.” More than anything Ginny wanted to wipe that smirk off his arrogant face. But she thought better of it. Rather, she pasted an overly-gracious smile and faced her nemesis.

“Tell me, Malfoy, does your mother enjoy sleeping with all the rich men now that your father’s locked away in Azkaban?” Draco went deathly still.

“Leave my mother out of this.”

“Then leave my mother out of this.”

Draco sat up straighter, shooting a burning gaze towards her. “Your mother isn’t worth the oxygen she consumes...just like the rest of your bloody family.” Ginny fought the urge to glare right back.

“Still with the same old taunts Malfoy? Geesh...even I had given you enough credit to come up with something new. I guess all that Malfoy incest really does dull down the genes.” He stood up. Crap.

“Hold. Your. Tongue...you sniveling traitor. Or you’ll make me do something I might later regret.”

“A Malfoy can regret?” Oh why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?

Draco stood painfully close to her. Ginny sneered right back at him.

“Oh yes, Weasley, everyone can regret. Tell me, is that ex-boyfriend of yours regretting his decision? The glorious Potter find out he’s made a mistake and come crawling back to you yet?” The stricken look on her face egged Draco on. “Not that I think he will. I happen to give Scarface a bit more credit than crawling back to the likes of you. He probably found out he can hardly stand one Weasley, let alone date a second.”

His words hit her like a slap. Her mind told her Malfoy was just trying to get a rise out of her, but her heart still ached. She wanted love so badly, and when Harry had finally kissed her, she thought her dreams had finally come true. Oh, how far the mighty fall. She wasn’t mighty though. Not one bit. How could she, standing here being played right into Malfoy’s hand?

“You,” she whispered, “have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh? Then tell me why your face is so red and you’re trying so hard not to cry?”

“Shut up, Malfoy!”

Draco closed the little space between them and laid his hands on either shoulder. “Play with fire, Weasley, and you’re bound to get burned.”

“Get your hands off me.”

“What’s that?” He tightened his grip on her shoulders. “Let go? Nonsense.”

“Release me or else.”

He arched his eyebrows. “Or else what? You’ll stick that hero of yours on me? Or maybe you’ll go crying to that oaf of a brother...that’s a laugh.”

Though he held her in place, Ginny’s arms were still quite free. Not bothering to think in her fury, she curled her fist and delivered a hard punch to his gut. Distracted by the sudden pain, Draco let go of her shoulders, and Ginny quickly crossed the cabin to the door.

“I hate you, Malfoy. I hate you and your whole stinking family. And I hope You-Know-Who has enough cunning to rid the world of you and your miserable parents forever!”

With that, she slammed the door behind her.

* * *

References:

“Wicked” – Music and Lyrics by Stephen Schwartz
Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West – Written by Gregory Maguire

Chapter 2: The Music Room

~In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. (The Phantom of the Opera)

* * *

The school year, thus far, had proceeded exactly how Draco predicted: boring, dull, and boring. True to tradition, Snape bellowed orders at his returning students, McGonagall discriminated against Slytherins, and Trelawney could bore the whole school with her pathetic predictions. And through the past two weeks of school Draco was precisely, one hundred percent, drive-you-daft bored.

At first he had expected silent sneers or whispering behind closed doors as a result of his actions last year. Pansy and the others had known something was up, and Draco wouldn’t put it above them to go spreading rumors around the school. Their opinion didn’t exactly matter to him, but neither did spending the entire year companionless and dateless. However, much to his surprise, no one mentioned anything. It was as if not a single soul had been privy to the torment he experienced the previous year. Spooky, but not entirely undesirable. Like the greedy, idiotic hounds they were, the entirety of the Slytherin House fell in perfect step behind their idol. Unfortunately the googling gazes from the younger girls and the none-too subtle hints from the others were wearing quickly on his nerves. Most of the male population in his house preferred to staunchly avoid him – jealous, as usual. Only Blaise remained fresh and annoying.

I’ll go mad if I don’t do something. Sitting in his room with a bottle of illegally spiked butterbeer, he glanced towards the door. Is it safe? Dare I risk it?

Images flooded into his mind like a sweet syrup. The magnificently polished grand piano, the raised and revolving platform, the glass windows...all waiting for him to fill the void.

Draco shut his eyes.

In truth he’d been avoiding the music room ever since his failure to Voldemort. With twisted logic he’d imagined that staying away from his sanctuary would provide adequate punishment for his lack of obedience. The recent summer definitely shot down that idea. But still, he hesitated.

The fingers gripping the couch flinched involuntarily. Draco cast a glance down at his hand. I need to play. Bloody Merlin, I need to play now!

The logical portion of his brain would have stopped himself, but any restraint where music was concerned died away completely after his eighth spiked butterbeer.

* * *

This is where he belonged, seated on the ebony piano bench, his fingers resting just above the creamy white keys. The moment he walked in the room, he felt it – that charge of excitement and belonging that shot up his back. Even without fully pressing on the keys, the slick surfaces sent shivers through his fingers.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, soaking the euphoria of it all. He then began to play.

Narcissa had been right to teach her son to play. The long, well-sculpted, aristocratic fingers glided seamlessly across the keys. Draco never questioned himself when it came to music, especially at the piano. To question would be to doubt the confidence his mother placed in him, to cast aside what she sacrificed for him. No, rather...Draco fully immersed himself in the melodies he played, letting the emotion rush through him without staying attached. It was a cleansing feeling, and he highly suspected it was one of the reasons his mother taught him in the first place. Any son of Lucius Malfoy would need some form of escape.

Currently Draco played out the notes and rhythms of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata #14, nicknamed “Moonlight” for its eerie scales and graceful, mourning sound. Mourning. A fitting mood for him. But what was he in mourning for?

That was one of the questions never asked while performing.

* * *

“I can’t believe them. I can’t believe them! You would think that failure to do You-Know-Who’s bidding would at least mean something to his own house!”

Across the common room Ginny let out a noisy sigh. Ron had been at this tirade for five minutes already, and Ginny was sick of it. On top of that, her Potions assignment was still lying before her, uncompleted.

Hermione glanced up from the book she was reading. “Really, Ron, why is it any of our business who the Slytherins choose to worship?”

“But, but...they just follow him like he’s some great god or something.” Sitting across from Ron, Harry rolled his eyes at Ginny and moved his bishop on the chessboard.

“Ron,” Harry piped up, “even though they are Slytherins, do you really expect that Malfoy would go boasting what he’d done?” Ron moved his knight forward forcefully. “I’m willing to bet no one but us even knows about it.”

“Yeah, I guess...”

“Why is this bothering you so much?” Hermione cast her worried look towards the redhead.

“Perhaps it’s because Malfoy’s known as the ‘Sex God of Slytherin’ or is the ‘Most Sought-Out Bachelor in All Four Houses’ or-” All three of them stared at Ginny in disbelief.

“Where do you hear these things!” Ron bellowed. She glanced at her brother and then motioned to the other two.

“See what I mean? Bingo. Ron can’t stand the git anyway, and knowing Malfoy could get away with something like that? Voila...”

“Ginevra Weasley, I demand to know where you heard this!” Ron was starting to stand up from his place at the chess table.

Ginny gave him a bored look. He was entirely missing the point. “I do happen to have a subscription to Teen Witch, not to mention an entire dorm full of gossiping girls. I’m bound to hear something about who everyone is pining after.”

“You have a subscription to Teen Witch?”

“Ron, blasted, you’re so narrow-minded!”

Harry exchanged a worried look with Hermione. Ever since the incident at the train station, the two Weasley siblings had practically been at each other’s throats constantly. Siblings always fought, but this was getting to be a bit much. Harry coughed loudly and nodded towards Hermione. She took the hint instantly.

“Hey, Ron,” she placed a bookmark in her book, “I’m getting hungry. Why don’t you come with me to the Great Hall?” He stared at her with a confused look.

“But it’s only eleven thirty.”

“Come on.” She got up and grabbed his hand. “It might take us a while to get there.” Hermione winked at Ron, who immediately caught her meaning. Grinning like a puppy about to get a treat, he waved at the other two.

“We’ll be back later!”

Ginny tried not to gag in disgust. Her brother was so transparent it wasn’t even funny. No wonder guys like Malfoy find him so easy to pick on. Finally rid of her annoying sibling, she turned back to her Potions assignment.

The portal to the door had barely closed behind the leaving couple when Harry strode over to the desk Ginny was working at. Blasted Hermione. She attempted to feign ignorance to his presence.

“You need mugwort, not toad’s eyes, for that.” Harry placed a hand on the back of her chair and leaned down to indicate to what he was referring. No doubt he assumed his motions were inconspicuous and ‘innocent’ in her eyes. Hello, Mr. Obvious. Ginny glanced at the question and groaned inwardly. He was right.

“Oh, yeah...um, thanks.”

“No need, what are friends for?” He turned his head to her, smiling that stop-in-your-tracks, make-women-swoon sort of smile. With all her heart, she wished her stomach would flop. Then she and Harry would get back together, Ron would stop bugging her, and everyone would live happily ever after. Sadly, her stomach refused to obey her command, and her heart stayed firmly rooted in place. When she turned to meet Harry’s smile, all she beheld in his face was a fading childhood fantasy.

Please don’t make this hard for me Harry. Please. Harry began to look uncomfortable, like he was about to say something very difficult to admit.

“Hey, Gin...look, I was wondering if we could talk.” No Harry, please don’t do this.

“Um...I’ve gotta get this homework done. Don’t you think it could wait until then?”

“This is important, Gin.” She groaned inwardly. Nothing, it seemed, was going in her favor today.

“Alright.” Ginny carefully placed her quill down so as not to drip ink on her assignment.

“I-think-I-made-a-mistake.” The words came out of Harry in a rush. She tilted her chin up towards him. No duh, Sherlock. “I thought breaking up with you would be the best thing for both of us. But now,” his eyes traveled to the doorway where Ron and Hermione had left, “I don’t think that’s so true.” Blast, this is about Ron’s tantrums. He just wants to make peace, not win my heart. Ginny was beginning to feel nauseated.

Harry knelt down next to the chair and took her hand in his. “Gin, I want things to be like they used to, before I screwed up. I love you, Ginny, and I don’t want that to end. Please...” He brought his face closer as if to kiss her.

“No.” Harry jolted at her voice.

“What?”

“No,” she whispered again. “You don’t love me. Maybe you did like me, or something of the sort, but you never really loved me.”

He dropped his head as she continued.

“Don’t do this for Ron. There’s no reason to make both of us miserable just for his sake. He’ll just have to learn to suck it up.” As much as she tried, Ginny couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Harry’s head snapped up. “It wouldn’t be miserable, Gin. I do like you, a lot. I just want us all to be happy.”

“We can’t all get what we want.”

“Gin, don’t be sore-”

“Please, Harry, I get enough of that from Ron.” She stood up and walked away from him slightly. Harry watched her closely. “He just wants his little world to be happy with no thought to my happiness.”

“But he thinks this will make you happy.”

“But it won’t.”

“Don’t you love me?” The look on his face pulled at her heartstrings, but no matter how hard she searched, she could find no more than friendly compassion for him in her heart.

“No, Harry. I don’t.”

* * *

What’s the point? Wouldn’t false love be better than none? Can’t I be happy just from the happiness of others? Ginny was walking down the corridor, heading absolutely nowhere, having left a stricken Harry in her path. No. Her pride wouldn’t let her run back to Harry just for the sake of her brother, and somewhere in the depths of her reason she assumed she deserved better than that sort of treatment.

She needed distraction, anything to get the expectant looks out of her head. Everyone wants me to be with Harry. It’s like they are waiting for some happy ending where Harry defeats You-Know-Who and then runs into the arms of his beloved Ginny. She nearly sneered while she walked. But no. This isn’t a fairytale, and Harry will most likely die killing You-Know-Who and I’ll end up being an old spinster. Strangely, in her state of distress, the idea didn’t sound half bad.

Ginny turned down another unrecognizable hallway. She had absolutely no idea where she was going, but right now, she didn’t exactly give a damn.

As she walked, she searched her mind for that comfort which always erased her mind...music. She need only to start humming some tune from a favorite musical and the world as she knew it would melt away into the lyrics.

‘Damn, damn, damn, damn! I’ve grown accustomed to...’ She smirked slightly at the My Fair Lady reference. Ginny stopped. The reference was wrong. She wasn’t accustomed to any lover, and nor had she lost that love. Slowly she sunk to her knees with her back against the wall. What musical could describe this emptiness, the hollow feeling in her gut? They all ended happy. Even the Romeo and Juliet theme of Westside Story didn’t exactly describe this. She groaned, wanting so badly to just shrivel up and disappear right there.

That’s when she heard it. Slow and faint the notes wound themselves down the hall and to her ears. For a moment, she thought she was imagining things and ignored the sound. Still, it persisted, haunting the corridors with its slow and eerily beautiful tune. Ginny closed her eyes and started listening. It was beautiful, and more importantly, it fit her mood precisely.

Ginny had never been one to listen to classical music. Her brothers abhorred it worse than her musicals. However, she could still feel an appreciation for it, and at this moment, she felt a love for it.

The music died away. For a second, she feared it had just been a dream, some figment of her imagination. Then it began again, still slow and heavy, but lighter. The notes before had been mourning and wailing, a deep gut in the heart. These seemed to recall a sad story, like the ones that would leave the listener crying but know it was for the greater good that this story happened. Ginny allowed the notes to caress her soul. It appeared as if the notes knew exactly what she needed.

She didn’t bother to question where the haunting noise came from. She’d spent her life questioning the good things that came her way. This would not be another tragedy to add to her list.

Listening and silencing her mind, Ginny slowly slipped into a light slumber, the music still wrapping itself around her broken heart.

* * *

Draco played until his fingers throbbed and his legs ached. He always enjoyed playing until he could play no more. Gracefully, he ended the song he was on, having nearly exhausted half of his memorized repertoire.

He felt cleansed. He felt as if any wrongdoing he’d done was washed away in a tide of symphonies and sonatas. Perhaps, if the father-like side of his brain took over, he would be ashamed and angry from his indulgence. Draco shrugged. To hell with that. He briefly wondered what time it was as he gathered his cloak around him and exited the music room.

Blaise will be wondering where I am, and Pansy’s probably just mad she didn’t have me to flaunt in front of the other girls. He smirked. Stupid bint. He couldn’t really stand Pansy and only did so to his father’s approval. Gast! Enough! If he continued dwelling on Lucius he’d surely return to his butterbeers.

Unexpectedly, a small figure caught his eye, completely diverting his attention from his parental problems. Odd, no firsties would know of this place. And it’s too small to be a seventh year. ‘It’ turned out to be a ‘she’.

Straightening his robes, Draco sauntered over to the girl, careful to keep up appearances should she look up. At the sight of her red hair and Gryffindor badge, he forced a sneer. Weasley. Closing in on the girl, he suddenly realized she was sleeping.

Draco’s first impression was to wake the little wench and give her what-for, an action that would more than likely have her running to her brother in no time. Something made him hesitate. Rarely did he get to examine his enemies without having them glare or shout hexes in his direction. His platinum blond hair fell in his eyes as he examined the youngest Weasley.

She had certainly grown up some since he first laid eyes on the mousey-looking girl six years ago. True, her hair was as red as her brothers’, but (if he allowed himself to admit) it wasn’t nearly as offensive as the others. Instead of the fire-engine red like that of Ron, hers seemed darker and almost coppery. It was hard to tell in this light but he could swear there was bits of blond interspersed amongst the rest. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, most likely green or brown, and possibly blue, nor could he see much of her face. The Weaslette probably had scores of freckles polluting her face. Draco shook his head. Checking out a Weasley, Malfoy? Am I insane! With a gruff, he nudged her foot hard.

The sleeping redhead stirred, but did not wake. Draco kicked her again. That time she bolted her head up.

“If it isn’t the little Weaslette.” Draco attempted to lather on as much contempt as possible. She was a Weasley after all. “The rest of your dorm kick you out? Or did Potter and his rats finally decide you were a bother in their threesome?”

She blinked several times at him to shake off the sleep. He sneered back at her. Her hands rubbed her eyes.

“Malfoy...just go away.” He was taken aback. She sounded so...resigned.

“Not up to it today, Weaslette?”

“The name’s Ginny.”

“So?” She sighed at him.

“Fine then,” she spoke as she lifted herself to her feet. “You’re an arrogant, self-centered, narrow-minded, spoiled brat who has nothing better to do with his time than pick on those he deems lesser than himself like the oafish git he is.” She leveled her eyes to his.

“Quite a speech.”

“Thank you, now will you leave me be?” She looked almost as exasperated as she sounded. Draco smirked.

“Forgot one thing.”

“What!” Her temper was beginning to rise.

“I’m not oafish. And I happen to not only be arrogant, self-centered, narrow-minded, and spoiled, but I’m also dashingly good-looking.” The Weasley appeared as if any second now she would clobber him.

“I’m not in the mood for this!”

“Oh, but my dear Weaslette, I am.” He grinned the smile that made other girls gossip as if he’d snogged them twice and proceeded to shag the life out of them. Females were much too flattered.

“If this is supposed to be enticing, it’s not. I rather find you boorish and uninteresting.” Draco’s grin faltered.

Well... most girls were much too easily flattered. He mentally shook himself. Why am I still standing here talking to a Weasley? She’s not even that pretty! She must have noticed the lapse in conversation.

“Cat got your tongue, Malfoy? It’s about time. You don’t know how old some of your tricks get. We all have better things to do than stand around listening to you harass us.” With that, she made a move to pass him.

Draco stuck his arm, blocking her path.

“Yes?” she groaned with a sigh.

“What were you doing here?”

“None of your business.” Again, she tried to move on, and again, he blocked her.

“Of course it’s my business. This is a very secluded section of Hogwarts...not easily to find-”

“Well I found it, didn’t I?” He studied her again, her face defiant and sure. Draco knew that look, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place it.

“I’d wager that you have no clue where you are and it’s sheer luck you got here.” The coloring of her face answered his accusation. “Yes, if I let you go you’ll be lost within five minutes.”

She stood there for a moment before speaking. “So? What if I want to get lost.”

“Fine. Then get lost.”

“Fine. I will.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Her repetition slightly startled him.

“Fine.”

“Malfoy! Get out of my way.” She began to duck under his arm, but Draco moved out of her way before she had a chance.

“As you wish...Weaslette.”

The Weasley stormed down the hallway going, where Draco knew for certain, was a score of identical passageways, none of which lead back to the main part of the castle. What do I care if she gets lost? A gnawing feeling ate at his gut. Fine! I’ll give her ten minutes.

* * *

References:

“My Fair Lady” — Music by Frederic Loewe, Lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner
“Westside Story”— Music by Leonard Bernstein, Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim

Chapter 3: Midnight Serenade

~And in music my soul began to soar! (The Phantom of the Opera)

* * *

Blast it all. I hate it when he’s right! Ginny glanced down yet another of the many identical hallways. She once tried retracing her tracks and landed on a whole different floor. Her cheeks burned hot with embarrassment and rage. I feel like a first year again, not knowing how to even get to the Great Hall. Ginny couldn’t help but feel that the castle was laughing at her woes.

“Hello?” she shouted down the corridor. “Anybody? Hello!”

“Geesh, Weasley...no need to yell like a dying cow. Unless, that is, you’ve been untruthful about your parentage.” She spun around to come face-to-face with Malfoy. Her heart sunk. If I have to be rescued, why did I have to be rescued by him! Regardless, it was somebody.

“Following me, Malfoy?” Why, oh why didn’t she just accept help as it came?

“Of course, Weaslette. Why else would I wind up here in the middle of Merlin-knows-where?” He had a point, blasted.

“Like I said, I like to get lost.”

“Couldn’t you for once accept charity? I would have thought your family was used to that by now.” Malfoy smirked, obviously knowing he’d thrown gasoline onto a fire.

“Couldn’t you for once be kind?” she spat back in his face.

“Throwing insults again, I see.”

“Well, isn’t that your favorite hobby?” For some reason, he paused. Ginny studied his face momentarily before he sneered at her.

“Come.”

“Pfft. I’m not following you. You’ll probably lead me right into a pack of Death Eaters or something like that.”

Malfoy whirled back to face her. He stuck his finger mere centimeters from her nose. “Stuff it, Weasley, or I won’t help you.”

“Ha! You give help to a Weasley? That’s a laugh.”

He smirked a sly smile. “Maybe it is, maybe it is.” Against her better judgment, Ginny followed when he walked down the hall.

* * *

She realized the instant they walked into the Great Hall that following Malfoy had been a bad idea. In fact, it was probably one of the worst decisions she had ever made in her life. Upon reaching familiar territory, Malfoy had seized her wrist and dragged her towards the Great Hall. Ginny had tried escaping a few times, but the iron grip held her in place. Now, as he swung the grand doors wide, she witnessed him don the trademark sneer.

“Hey Potter, forget something?” Ginny’s face burned in shame as Malfoy tossed her forward, causing her to trip over her cloak. She didn’t dare look up at Harry and the others. “Shouldn’t leave a treat like this lying around.” Ginny was painfully aware the entire Hall was staring right at them.

Across the room, the Trio could only gape.

“Malfoy,” she whispered under her breath so only he could hear. “Let me go, please!”

He yanked her arm, pulling her body close to his. She smelled something crisp and rich. His cologne. A shiver crept up her spine. No! He’s a Malfoy. The ferret boy. And right now he’s-

“What was that, little Weaslette?” His breath warmed her ear as he whispered. “Let you go? Don’t Weasleys learn their lessons? Should I remind you of that experience back on the train?”

The heat of embarrassment was quickly giving way to the heat of anger. “Malfoy,” she hissed back, “if you don’t let me go right now, I swear I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” The grip on her wrist increased tenfold. Malfoy smirked as she winced in pain. “My point made.”

During their short interlude, the Trio seemed to have gotten over their initial shock. When she looked up, it was into the end of Ron’s wand as he, Harry, and Hermione ran across the hall. Thank Merlin, it’s about time. Just before she could smile in thanks towards her friends, Malfoy shoved her away, letting go of her wrist. Ginny was, again in his presence, sprawled unladylike on the floor.

“Get your hands off my sister!” Ron’s shout rang throughout the hall. Malfoy looked calmly back at him.

“If you could afford glasses like Scarface here, you would clearly see that I do not have my hands on your sister, Weasley.”

“I’ll hex your sorry arse off! I swear I will!” Ron had finally closed the distance between him and Malfoy.

“Twenty points from Gryffindor for insulting a prefect.”

“Damn you, Malfoy!” The pointy end of Ron’s wand hovered centimeters from Malfoy’s perfectly sculpted nose. The blond boy didn’t even bat an eye. On the other hand, Ron’s burning red face indicated he was anything but calm. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t rearrange your face, right here, right now.”

“Expulsion.” Malfoy’s tone was flat and to-the-point. This would all end in a bloodbath if she let them continue. Ginny managed to cover any indecency with her cloak before speaking up.

“Ron, please don’t make a scene.” Her eyes traveled meaningfully towards the head table, and she prayed he caught her hint. For a moment, her brother hesitated.

Simultaneously, Harry was staring very intently at the newly formed bruises on her wrist. “Ron...” He indicated her arm to his friend. Too late, Ginny tried to cover her wrist from Ron’s eyes. The fragile control Ron had been maintaining broke instantly.

“You bloody git...you-” Malfoy interrupted him by pulling his own wand.

“Watch it, Weasley.” The silky voice seemed sedate, but one look in his grey eyes showed as much anger as Ron’s red face. All hell was about to break loose.

“Ron!” Ginny’s shout reverberated throughout the Hall. Trying not to shake, she stood and faced Ron, putting herself between the two boys. “Ron,” she repeated more quietly, “I’m fine. Lets go back to dinner. Malfoy was just showing me back to the Great Hall.”

“You were alone with Malfoy?” Ron kept his wand pointed steadily at Malfoy while turning his full attention to his younger sister. He was so taking this the wrong way.

“That’s not the poi-”

“Of course it’s the point! What were you doing alone with Malfoy!”

Ginny could feel her temper spiraling out of control. “I got lost, okay? Malfoy found me and brought me back here. He’s a prefect. That’s what he does!”

“Malfoy wouldn’t help his own mother if she were dying!” Behind her, Malfoy stiffened. Not going well...

“Well, maybe you’re just so pigheaded that you would never imagine someone like Malfoy having a sense of pride to do his job instead of finding fault in you every second of his life!” She felt, rather than saw, the distinct and amused smirk Malfoy gave her. I’m defending Malfoy...I’m defending Malfoy. A betraying blush colored her check, merely giving Malfoy more reason to grin. Stupid, arrogant git. She mentally shrugged off the feeling and focused her attention on her brother’s fuming features.

“Who’s to say,” Ron’s voice quieted so that only those in the immediate area could hear him, “that ferret-face ever finishes the tasks given to him?” Behind him, Hermione stifled a small gasp. Wrong thing to say Ron. Bringing up last year? Oh, so wrong thing to say... Malfoy’s slow drawl cut through the air.

“Weasley...”

* * *

“You were alone with Malfoy?” Draco controlled his smirk to a mere twitch of the lips. In hindsight, he could easily see how frustrated the little Weaslette got with her brother.

“That’s not the poi-”

“Of course it’s the point!” He rolled his eyes. If Draco could narrow down Weasley’s faults to one thing, it would be his lack of foresight. Weasley continued to berate his sister, most of which, Draco tuned out.

The young witch was quickly getting angry, any guy could see that, and while he didn’t mind teaching the girl her place, Draco distinctly remembered how handy she was with that wand of hers. Ron’s voice distracted him.

“...wouldn’t help his own mother if she were dying!” His body went rigid. How dare that slimy, good-for-nothing, git even think he has the right to insult my mother. I’ll show that-

“Well maybe you’re just so pigheaded that you would never imagine someone like Mal-” Is she defending me? He trained his eyes on the back of her head. “...of pride to do his job instead of fi-” She is defending me. Interesting. Draco remembered how jealous he’d been when the same witch stood up for the glorious Potter back in second year. Now, here she was again doing the exact same thing for him. Being defended by a mousy girl in second year is nothing compared to being defended by her much older self for her brother’s hated enemy. Weasley must be stewing. The thought did give him pleasure. A slight “hrmp” escaped his lips as he grinned at the Weaslette. The grin widened as he caught sight of the red coloring creeping up her neck.

Ron was speaking now. Blast, should I ever be distracted by a Weasley! A moment later he realized what a terrible mistake the other boy was making. “...finishes the tasks given to him?” Instantly, a burning fire in his gut ignited. They know about it. Merlin, of course they know! Bloody Potter and his bloody hounds always have to know everything. And Weasley? Weasley...

“Weasley...” It took Draco a second to realize he’d said his foe’s name aloud. Apparently there was enough contempt and anger in his voice to cause a flash of fear to flicker across the boy’s eyes. Good. “Should you ever, ever, think that you know anything about anything I promise you I will put my father’s training into good practice.” He pushed his wand closer to the redhead’s nose. “And trust me, Weasley, my father was an excellent teacher in all arts.”

Ron visibly gulped. The git doesn’t really have the courage to-

Ginny briskly turned to stick her own wand in his face. Draco’s eyebrows shot up before he had a chance to react.

“Malfoy. I do believe you’ve once been familiar with the hexes I throw from this wand.” He replied with a slight sneer. “Good. Now I’ll have you know,” she was lathering a false sweetness into every word. Brazen witch. “...should you think it amusing to threaten my family with Unforgivables, then I will not hesitate to throw your sorry arse into St. Mungo’s straight away.”

She had brass, he could give her that much. However, before any of the young witches and wizards could respond, McGonagall stepped into the scene. About time, woman. Not that he wouldn’t mind busting Weasley’s butt, but it would not be so easy with his sister and cronies standing right there.

“Mr. Weasley, Mr. Malfoy, I demand you lower your wands at once. You too, Miss Weasley.” Slowly all obeyed. “In heaven’s name, what was going on here?”

“Malfoy was assaulting my sis-”

“Professor, please! Malfoy was just showing me back. There was no harm done.” Ginny glared at her brother with the last few words. “He just over-reacted.”

Obviously the situation seemed a bit far-fetched to the older witch. She turned to Draco curiously. “Is this true, Mr. Malfoy?”

He stole a glance at Ginny. Why is she defending me to a teacher? If the wench thinks she can get something out of me, she’s got another thing coming. Still... “Yes, Professor McGonagall. Miss Weasley was lost and I happened to come upon her. Her brother assaulted me.”

“You git! You assaulted her! Look at her wrist. He hurt her!” McGonagall glanced at Draco angrily. Blast it all.

“It’s fine!” Everyone stared at Ginny. Weasley. “Professor, I’m fine. Truly. I don’t know what he’s talking about.” What the...He realized good and well she was lying on his behalf, but as to why, he was at a loss. “I’m sorry for the interruption. My brother over-reacts.”

“Very well, but Mr. Weasley, I wish to see you in detention tonight for this disturbance.” Ron’s mouth dropped. Draco suppressed a snicker. “And you, Mr. Malfoy...” Crap. “...I hope you refrain from escorting lost students in such a boisterous manner.” Is she going to let me off? “Regardless, I feel you should serve detention with Mr. Weasley.” Oh yeah, he thought dryly, I forgot hell hasn’t frozen over. “I highly suggest you all return to dinner. 8:30, you two. Don’t forget.”

Weasley sulked off with Potter and Granger in tow. Draco turned his head towards Ginny. No,Weasley. She glanced up at him with one raised eyebrow before stalking off. He watched as she receded to the Gryffindor table. Brown. Her eyes are brown.

* * *

The Gryffindor common room was eerily quiet. Most of the students buried themselves in their bookwork or chess games. None wanted to bring upon the wrath of the Weasleys that had been displayed earlier. At dinner Seamus Finnigan had dared to congratulate Ginny on her telling-off of Malfoy. He was rewarded with not one, but four cold stars from Ginny, Ron, Harry, and even Hermione. After that, everyone vowed to stay quiet about the incident.

Ginny worked methodically by the fire. As of yet, no one else had bothered to bug her about what happened. Regardless, she was beginning to tire of the curious, hateful, and pitiful looks her house was sending in her direction. With a loud huff, she slammed her book shut and stalked upstairs to the girls’ dormitory.

“Oh! Gin, there you are. I was wondering when you’d finally come up.”

“Hey, Alice.” Ginny glanced at her friend. Alice Hirball and Ginny Weasley didn’t have a lot in common, but the little brunette witch often gladly acted as a sounding board for Ginny’s frustrations. For that matter, Alice acted as “number one listener” for most of the girls in Gryffindor. Ginny swore the girl knew pretty much everything about everybody though Alice had yet to divulge anything. She was unofficially named “Secret Keeper” or, in Ginny’s case, “Damage Control.”

“I heard about what happened in the Great Hall.” Oh great. Now I get to talk about it.

“Well, yeah...kinda hard not to.”

“Quite true. I was at the other end of the Gryffindor table, but Collin filled me in on all the details.” Alice tilted her head as if to will Ginny into confession. “Care to talk about it?”

“No,” she huffed back. Alice patiently waited. With a loud groan, Ginny broke. “Okay, okay! I don’t know what the heck got into me. One minute Malfoy is making a fool of me, and the next I’m defending the ferret!” She collapsed into her bed. “It’s as confusing to me as it is to everyone else.”

Alice swiftly joined the depressed girl on her bed. Ginny kept her eyes closed despite knowing Alice was staring holes into her. Finally, she cracked one eye opened. The brunette smirked.

“You’re sulking.”

“Yes, I’m sulking. Do I have reason not to sulk?”

“Actually,” Alice said with a sly grin, “you do. Your family’s in good health, your grades are looking up, the sky is blue and clear, the-”

“I get it.”

“Sorry. Sometimes you just need a little reality check.” Alice poked her as Ginny rolled her eyes.

“Alright. So what do you want me to say?”

“Whatever will make you feel better.” This is how it normally went. Ginny would sulk after some row with her brother or something of the sorts, Alice would give her a good knock in the head, and Ginny would proceed to get whatever it was off her chest.

Ginny threw her friend a long look. “I have...no idea.”

Alice raised one eyebrow slightly.

“Okay, I have no concrete idea.” She sat up on her bed. “ Alice, I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Ron and I fight constantly, mostly over the stupidest stuff. But this, somehow it seems different, and I have no idea why!” Ginny crossed her arms over her chest. “I mean, I was sticking up for Malfoy, ferret face. The guy who hates my brother’s guts and would gladly see all of us Incendio’d right before his eyes.”

“And yet, you did.”

“Yeah, and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’d like to say I’m just so furious at Ron and...” Ginny stopped herself. “Maybe that’s just it. I wanted to get back at Ron the worst possible way and I couldn’t help it.” The look in Alice’s eye told Ginny that the other girl was hardly buying this.

“You don’t really thin-”

“That’s just it. I don’t know what to think.” Ginny stood and walked over to the window. Alice watched as she turned the latch and freed the pane of glass and iron.

“Ginny?”

“This reminds me of something.”

“Yelling at Ron, or defending Malfoy?”

“No, neither. This feeling inside me-” Ginny’s thoughts floated back to the musical she had come to love. Its lyrics slowly seeped into her consciousness.

On her bed, Alice watched quietly.

Gently, the redhead ran her hand against the stone around the opened window. “Something,” she whispered, mostly to herself, “something has changed-”

Alice silently retreated to her own bed, leaving Ginny to herself. She understood the best healing for her friend was the music that bound her very soul.

“Something has changed within me.” Ginny paused; she failed to notice Alice ’s retreat. Something had definitely changed. But what?

“Something is not the same.” Why would she defend Malfoy? And why did he help her? Did it matter? “I’m through with playing by the rules of someone else’s game.” The lyrics were perfect for her. Ironic.

I’m tired of being Ron’s little good sister. I’m tired of being the one who will love Harry. I’m tired of all this crap! Determination set in her brow as she sung into the night air.

“Too late for second guessing. Too late to go back to sleep...it’s time to trust my instincts,” Ginny glared into the heavens, “Close my eyes, and leap!” All coherent thought melted away, something she always appreciated when she sung. Listening could wash off the surface of pain, but singing it could cleanse her soul.

“It’s time to try defying gravity. I think I’ll try defying gravity. And you can’t pull me down.” Without caring who was in the dorm, or who could hear, Ginny sang away her confusions into the night air.

* * *

Detention with the Weasley wimp had been anything but pleasant. The whole situation had quickly put Draco in a sour mood. Despite the hour drawing late, he headed outdoors. Anything, anything to get my head clear.

The cold night air briskly froze his thought process, something Draco was quite thankful for. He didn’t want to be mulling over this afternoon’s events any more than he had to.

“...try defying gravity.” Draco stopped in his tracks. He could have sword he just heard someone. “...think I’ll try defy-” There it was again. Confident his imagination was not playing tricks on him, Draco glanced around, hoping to discover the origins of the voice.

“...you can’t pull me down.”

Where is that coming from? It sounded almost like an echo, something far-away and faint. Yet, he could hear it clearly.

“I’m through accepting limits, ‘cause someone says they’re so. Some things I cannot change, but till I try I’ll-” Draco stopped at the impressive vocal leap. He rarely heard songs of this nature. “-never know.” Without pausing to question his actions, the blond boy slumped down into the grass.

“Too long I’ve been afraid of losing love I guess I’ve lost!” The voice sounded so, desperate and determined. It easily reminded him of his mother had Narcissa ever chosen a song to sing. “Well, if that’s love, it comes at much too high a cost! I’d sooner buy defying gravi-”

“A student, you say, Miss Norris?” Oh, crap! Draco leapt to his feet. “This way, my dear?” The distinct meow of the cat reached his ears. Crap, crap, crap. Without a second thought, Draco ran noiselessly across the grounds to the security of his own chambers. Enough detentions for one night.

Whose was that voice?

* * *

References:

“Wicked” – Music and Lyrics by Stephen Schwartz