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.

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

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.”

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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.

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