Draco groaned softly as the morning sun hit his eyes. He wondered vaguely where his bed hangings had gone as he squinted slightly and turned to bury his face in the smooth encasing of his pillow. It had taken too long for sleep to claim him the night before, considering he had not slept for almost thirty hours previously. But his thoughts had been plagued by the same worries that had haunted him since the arrival of his mother’s letter. This time, however, they were joined by an image of one very annoying little Weaslette.
He was rudely interrupted from his attempt to slumber by a pillow that had been thrown at his back. He did not have to turn to identify the culprit: only one person in Slytherin was bold enough – or stupid enough – to throw anything at him.
“Go away, Blaise,” he mumbled into his pillow. He had sneaking suspicion that his friend may have had something to do with his missing bed hangings.
“Get out of bed, Draco,” his friend returned sternly. “Today is the last day of classes before the holidays.” When Draco still refused to rise, he coaxed, “You can sleep all through the break.” He heard Blaise sigh, then heard his footstep leave the room and fade away. Draco carefully opened one eye to see that he was now alone in the room. He pulled himself out of bed, noting absently that his drapes were not missing, but had simply been pulled back.
Forty-five minutes later, a very well-groomed, though irate, Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall for breakfast. He stalked directly over to the spot reserved for him at the Slytherin table, between Blaise and Pansy, who were already seated. He nodded to those he – or his father – considered worthy of acknowledgement as he took his seat, and then proceeded to help himself to a large cup of coffee. He noticed Pansy eye him curiously for a few moments, but she said nothing as he cast her a pointed look. Blaise remained wisely quiet as well. Delilah Windholm, however, did not seem to have gotten the message to steer clear of Draco that morning.
“Draco, darling,” she cooed, placing herself directly across from him, squeezing in between a grumbling Crabbe and an obviously annoyed Goyle. “I missed you last night,” she continued suggestively, as he felt her foot travel up his calf under the table. He controlled his reflexes enough to keep from jumping at the unexpected physical contact. He was in no mood for her this morning.
“Delilah,” he said in a strained drawl, that she obviously misinterpreted as being from pleasure instead of aggravation, as she smirked seductively. “Perhaps it would be best if we finished this later,” he said meaningfully, ready to do just about anything to rid himself of this headache at the moment.
She nodded, understanding, and stood. “Until then, baby,” she reached over and pecked his lips with a small kiss, before leaving to sit with the other fifth year Slytherin girls.
“Until then, baby,” Pansy drawled in his ear, mocking the younger girl.
“Enough, Pansy,” Draco sneered, though it was weak in his apparent state of distress. She simply smirked before returning to her breakfast.
Draco had to stop himself from rubbing his face in frustration – an awkward habit and sign of weakness that no Malfoy could afford to show in public. He really could not wait for this day to be over. He quickly surveyed the room, and sneered when his eyes landed on Gryffindor’s heroic trio. He looked away quickly, though not before noticing that the littlest Weasley was absent. He then proceeded to mentally slap himself for noting on the whereabouts of a Weasley. Draco quickly drained the rest of his coffee, and stood; he reasoned that the sooner the day ‘began,’ the sooner it could end. Pansy and Blaise had already finished their meals, so they joined him in heading to their first class.
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While, unknown to Ginny, Malfoy, Parkinson, and Blaise sat through their last Ancient Runes class before the holidays, the fifth year Gryffindor was trying valiantly to stay awake in History of Magic. After a restless night, and an early morning spent evading the Dream Team, she was exhausted. Last night her lack of sleep had not been due to Voldemort or the Chamber. Instead, her own guilt at having caused the pain she saw in Hermione’s eyes played a large part in keeping her awake until sunrise. She really was too soft, she scolded herself. Yet she could not help it – she was not frozen enough inside to enjoy the pain of others; excluding Voldemort, of course, whose cruelty and lack of conscience had been the cause of so much death and destruction.
She was more hesitant to identify the other factor of her sleepless night: a particular blond ferret.
Ginny let out a silent sigh and repositioned herself so that her posture was not conducive to sleeping. Professor Binns was lecturing about some goblin rebellion or other, and she struggled for the next ninety minutes with her drooping eyelids. Finally, the ghost professor seemed to have wrapped up his lecture, and he announced that there would be an assignment due a week after the Monday that they returned to classes following break. He continued to speak over the groans of the few students who were awake enough to have understood what he had said.
“I have decided to tell you about the assignment now, so that those of you staying at Hogwarts over the holidays may use the library to complete this essay early over break.” Ginny sat up slightly and poised her quill to take down the assignment. “I expect three feet of parchment,” he continued in his monotonous tone as the groans grew louder, “detailing the livelihood and achievements of any great wizard or witch from the Middle Ages. Obvious choices would be Merlin or Morgan Le Fay, from the earlier Middle Ages, or any of the four Hogwarts founders or the twelve founders of the original Wizards’ Council, from the later Middle Ages.” Ginny saw Theresa Kensington give a smug smile and lean over to whisper to the other two Gryffindor girls in the class. “These are all acceptable choices, but you are encouraged to choose a lesser known magical person.” The bell rang then and class was dismissed.
Ginny made her way to a surprisingly uneventful Care of Magical Creatures, and then headed back to the Great Hall for lunch with Colin. The two had avoided discussing what had transpired in the common room after their return, as Colin knew that Ginny would come to him to talk when she was ready. Lunch was strained: Colin and Ginny sat with Neville, only a few seats away from Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Ron had a reddish tinge the whole meal, and Hermione and Harry seemed to be keeping him from saying anything. Poor Neville did not understand the tension, but tried to make the best of the situation by babbling on about the coming holidays, and keeping silence at bay by questioning nearby students of their plans. After that, afternoon classes breezed by, and before Ginny knew it, evening had come, and most students were excitedly packing their trunks to take with them on the Hogwarts Express the next morning. Hoping to avoid the Gryffindor trio and her giggling dorm mates, Ginny decided to take a short trip down to the lake before dinner. As she walked the powdered grounds by the iced lake, bundled up in her ratty second hand robes and cloak, protected by the strongest warming charm she could conjure on herself, she could not keep her thoughts from returning to the night before.
Perhaps she had been too harsh with Harry and Hermione. Perhaps it was only the trio’s worry for her that caused them to treat her so badly.
'And perhaps Draco Malfoy is really a cuddly little kneazle underneath that cold, hard exterior!' she thought sarcastically.
It was ridiculous of her to make excuses for the actions of others. She admitted that her own behavior with Hermione may have been a bit extreme. Though, really, Ginny had only spoken the truth as it was portrayed to her.
She was forced to file her internal diatribe away for another time when she heard footsteps crunching on the fresh snow. She turned, ready to greet Blaise, when a smooth drawl reached her ears, sending an unnatural flutter through her stomach.
“Fancy meeting you here, Weaslette,” Draco Malfoy smirked.
“Malfoy,” she nodded slightly, her eyes instantly wary. She sighed when he simply stood there, watching her, with that infuriating smirk of his still in place. “What are you doing out here?”
He shrugged slightly, and raised a single pale brow. “What are you doing out here?” he returned the question. Ginny rolled her eyes, then answered with a shrug of her own, though not as graceful as the older boy’s. “I simply came out to enjoy the weather,” he said sarcastically.
“It’s freezing out here,” she replied tersely.
“Oh?” he looked amused. “Are you cold now?” She scowled at him. “Great thing, magic,” he shook his head slightly at her feigned ignorance.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ginny was already sleep-deprived because of this boy, but his presence now was simply irritating her. At least, that was what she assumed that fizzling feeling, making its way through her system due to his closeness, was: irritation.
“Manners, Little Weasel,” Malfoy tutted mockingly. He took a step towards her, and Ginny had to stop herself from taking an instinctive step back. She remained un-moving as he bent down to whisper in her ear, reminiscent of the previous night. “Is this how you treat all the lads who save you from a night’s detention in the dungeons” he questioned, “or am I just special?”
Ginny took a deep breath – trying to ignore how his scent made her slightly dizzy – and turned her head slightly to give her response. “You’re just special,” she answered, forcing a sarcastic tone, layered with mock sweetness. Malfoy stiffened, and backed away from her. He then turned to make a swift exit back to the castle, but not before sending her one last sneer. Ginny released a sigh of relief as Malfoy’s form drew further from her sight. His closeness had wreaked havoc on her senses, and she spent the next ten minutes staring out onto the frozen surface of the lake, trying to gather herself enough to go in and face what was surely waiting for her at dinner.
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Draco strode quickly over to the Slytherin table and took his seat. His face was a calm mask, but behind his silver steel eyes was a good amount of anger, annoyance, and confusion. He ignored Pansy and Blaise, who simply raised a dark eyebrow and turned away from the Slytherin Prince, as he filled his plate half-heartedly for dinner. As he ate sparingly – a Malfoy does not ‘pick at his food’ – he thought over his earlier interaction with the Weasley girl.
He had been on his way to the Great Hall from meeting with McGonagall regarding a Transfiguration assignment due after the break, when he had looked out of one of the hall windows to see the little red head walking towards the lake. His decision to follow her had been impulsive, much like his ridiculous act of kindness the night before in Snape’s dungeon. He still blamed that action on his lack of sleep, ignoring the little jolt he felt inside, when he remembered the surprised look she had directed his way; usually, her eyes were filled with anger, malice, annoyance, or some other negative emotion when she looked at him, but last night, those had been absent. He refused to evaluate why her opinions of him should affect him in any way.
He had stepped out into the cold unthinkingly, casting a quick warming charm, before making his way up behind where she had stopped by the lake. When she had first turned, his breath had almost been knocked out of him by the light he saw in her eyes. She must have been expecting someone else, though – 'Probably Blaise,' he thought bitterly – since her eyes had become immediately guarded, and degrees cooler, when she had realized it was him. He had been so angry that the happiness had left her gaze that he tried to provoke her. A plan which, he admitted now, had failed remarkably. When he had felt her hot breath on the side of his face, it had almost been his undoing. And so he had found himself – a Slytherin, a Malfoy, a Black – retreating once more; all because of one little girl.
The same little girl that had just entered the hall, and was now making her way to sit with Camera Boy – Draco made a mental note to learn his name – and Longbottom at the Gryffindor table. Draco focused one of his most intense glares on the girl that had kept him from sleep the night before, and had stirred such turmoil within him during the waking hours.
“Draco,” Blaise tried to get his friend’s attention. He followed the blond boy’s gaze, and smirked slightly when he identified the source of Draco’s troubles. “You know,” he began, amusement coloring his tone, “she won’t burst into flames simply because you will it.” He held back a chuckle as Draco turned his deadly gaze from the Weasley girl onto Blaise. “You should know by now that that look does not work on me. I was simply saying that concentrating so much focus on the girl, through a death glare from across the hall, will accomplish nothing.”
“So what should I do? Go over to the Gryffindor table, where she has an army to protect her, and force her into a duel?” he asked in mock-seriousness.
“Or perhaps a more Slytherin approach?” At his friend’s raised eyebrow, Draco scowled.
“Are you saying that you would be… supportive of any plans I make to put the little trollop in her place?” Draco questioned carefully, as he knew she was a friend of Blaise’s, or at least a close acquaintance.
Blaise paused for a moment, seeming to think the situation over. Then, with an eerily satisfied smile that Draco should have been very wary of – and would have been if he had not been so distracted by watching the smallest weasel turn red as her brother gestured wildly while speaking beside her – Blaise nodded.
“Good,” Draco said curtly, and quickly left the hall, having watched his target exit only moments before. His attention was focused on catching the little brat, so he did not see the satisfied smirk on Blaise’s face, or the curious look that Pansy shot at her dark-haired friend.
“Draco,” he was stopped by a sultry voice on his way to confronting the youngest Weasley. He paused, annoyed, to face Delilah Windholm.
“What is it?” he asked, in a patient tone that his breeding required in such situations.
“Well,” she smiled seductively as she stepped closer to him, “I’m leaving in the morning, and you did say that we would get together later. And this is later,” she giggled. Draco was not fooled. Delilah was as cruel and conniving as the next Slytherin. He knew the ‘bubbly temptress’ was simply an act she played to get what she wanted.
“Not now,” he answered, turning and looking to his right, and then left, to ascertain where the red head had gone.
The little smile was wiped off of Delilah’s face as she stepped over to place herself in front of him once more. “Yes, now, Draco,” she said, the frigidness in her voice matching the coldness of her eyes. Draco looked down at the girl, seething at her audacity in telling him – him! – what to do. Her assumption that they would be together just because she wanted it was one that he would have to eradicate… eventually. He glanced up and down the hallway once more, and, upon finding no trace of Ginny Weasley, he made his decision. He smirked at the fifth-year girl before him, before leading her back to the Slytherin Common Room, and then up to his dorm. She seemed pleased with her success, with the power she thought she held over the Malfoy heir. He would let her believe what she wanted for now. As they took part in the ritual they had practiced many times before, Draco let his mind wander. And this time, when flashes of a small red head invaded his mind, he did not try to force the images away. He would deal with Ginny Weasley later. And he would make sure that Delilah Windholm never forgot the true power of Draco Malfoy.
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Ginny was hidden in a corner of the Astronomy Tower when Blaise finally found her a few hours after dinner.
“What happened?” he questioned, obviously knowing that something was bothering her.
Ginny did not turn or say anything in acknowledgement, but she scooted over slightly to allow him room to sit beside her. There was silence for a few minutes, but it was far from uncomfortable.
And then Ginny began to speak.
She started with her family, and their over-protectiveness. She told him about her first year, and how that experience had just supported her family’s belief that she would always need to be taken care of. She left out the fact that Tom Riddle bore a striking resemblance to her friend, as the tale alone was upsetting enough. And then she spoke about the D.A., and what had happened at the Department of Mysteries. She spent a good amount of time letting out her feelings about her exclusion the previous summer, while being careful to keep any details of the Order she did know – such as the location of its headquarters – out of her story. And then she went on to describe what had transpired the night before, as well as the confrontation that had occurred at the Gryffindor table over dinner, earlier that evening.
Ron had come out of nowhere, it seemed. She had been expecting to face the Dream Team when she first arrived at dinner, but as they had been peculiarly absent, she had enjoyed the company of Neville and Colin. Ginny had been talking quietly with the two Gryffindor boys regarding nothing of consequence, when her brother had barreled over to her, sans Harry and Hermione. He had called her a selfish brat, among other things, and angrily told her that she had had no right to say what she had to his two best friends. He had then proceeded to list her faults, beginning with her mistake first year. Thankfully, he had not been yelling this time, but enough of the Gryffindor table heard what he said about her setting the basilisk loose on the students – a fact which had been kept very quiet from the rest of the school. She had felt her face flush in hurt and anger, as she turned to look at her fellow Gryffindors. They were looking at her as though she had just been declared Voldemort’s heir, which very well may have been how they interpreted the information. She could not sit there a moment longer, under their accusing gazes, and had stood to rush out of the Great Hall, leaving a still fuming Ron with an even angrier Colin Creevey.
Blaise listened to what she said, voicing no judgments. When she had finished, a new silence descended upon them. Ginny was slightly worried now. She wondered if it had been wise to confide in the older boy. They had always steered clear of topics such as their families and Voldemort.
Finally, Blaise broke the silence. “I see now why Creevey sent me to find you.” The comment seemed directed more at himself than to her.
Ginny looked over at Blaise for the first time that night. “Was he okay?” she questioned. She had already confided in Colin, Luna, and Neville about Riddle and the diary, but being reminded of his petrification by the basilisk in first year always got to Colin.
Blaise shrugged slightly. “He seemed more angry than upset when I spoke with him. That Ravenclaw you hang around – Lovegood – she was trying to stop him from going to hex Weasley.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Personally, knowing what I know now, I’m tempted to do more than hex the bastard.” He smiled at her slightly as he heard her sigh in relief. “What,” he asked teasingly, “did you think I’d stop spending time with you because you were manipulated by an older dark wizard when you were eleven?”
Ginny tried to return his smile, but failed. So she settled for leaning on her strong friend. “You should have seen the way the other Gryffindors looked at me, Blaise.” She sniffled a bit, as the memory assaulted her, and he wrapped his arm around her in a comforting embrace. “They think I’m evil, I saw it in their eyes.”
“They’re Gryffindors, Ginny. They think everyone who isn’t just like them is evil,” he finished gently, though she definitely caught traces of sarcasm in his voice.
“You know,” she admitted hesitantly, “the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, before I insisted that I was meant to be a Gryffindor. It was even seriously considering Ravenclaw before it gave in to my pleading and put me where my brothers were.” Her face was almost buried in his chest, so she did not see the look of surprise pass swiftly across his face, or the unreadable emotion in his eyes that lingered long after the look had passed. “I wonder sometimes – okay, a lot of times,” she corrected with no prodding, “if I really would have been better off in another house. At the time, the idea of being the first Weasley not sorted into Gryffindor was too terrifying. I mean, what would my parents have thought if I broke the tradition? But now,” she admitted, still not looking up, “I think it would have been for the best.” Her confession was followed by a beat of silence, before Blaise decided to share an admission of his own.
“I was hoping to be in Ravenclaw, like my Madrina, my godmother,” he said, tightening his grip on Ginny as she shifted closer into a more comfortable position. “But my family had their own expectations for me, much like yours did. The men of my family have been Slytherins for generations, back to Domenico Aurelio Zabini, one of the first students educated at Hogwarts. He was chosen to come here by Salazar Slytherin himself. After him, an endless number of Zabini Lords could cite Hogwarts, and Slytherin House, as their alma mater.”
“Will you be a Zabini Lord, Blaise?” Ginny questioned curiously. She really did not know much about the Lords of the Wizards’ Council, and it would be fascinating to hear the history of the twelve founders from a direct descendent. Of course, she could probably have gone to Theresa Kensington, but Ginny wanted to be spared from having to endure the conceitedness of the girl.
“No,” he answered, and he did not sound the least bit disappointed. “The title – and all of the land, wealth, and responsibilities it entails – has always been passed down to the eldest son. My Nonno, or grandfather, is the current Lord of the House of Zabini, but my father had an elder brother, who had his own son before he died,” he explained. “My cousin Dorian graduated a few years before I came to Hogwarts. He was a Slytherin, of course,” he added unnecessarily.
“Blaise,” Ginny sat up, clearly excited about something. Blaise eyed her warily, slightly disconcerted by her swift change in attitude. “You have to help me with my History of Magic essay. We have to choose an important witch or wizard from the Middle Ages in wizarding history, and write a three-foot essay. Can you tell me about your ancestor?” she questioned eagerly. Blaise eyed her oddly for a moment, before nodding hesitantly.
“If that is what you want,” he stated, “I could help you over the holidays. You are still staying, right?” he questioned.
“Of course I’m staying. There is no way I could spend the next two weeks anywhere near Ron!” Blaise frowned slightly, clearly regretting having brought the topic up, when her happiness visibly diminished at the reminder of what had happened at dinner.
“Come on, ‘Lina,” he stood, then offered his hand to help her up. “Let’s go see if the house elves have any more of that chocolate cake left,” he suggested with a mischievous smirk. Ginny laughed lightly at his obvious addiction as they made their way out of the Astronomy Tower and toward the kitchens.
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Draco considered his reflection in the mirror. It was Christmas morning, and he had already opened all of his presents – his mother had outdone herself this year to apologize for his having to stay at school. But he truly did not mind having had to stay at the castle: The first few days of the break had passed uneventfully. Draco had watched two morning ago as the carriages made their way from the school towards Hogsmeade Station, where the students would board the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross Station. He had then spent the rest of that day doing some of his holiday schoolwork, practicing quidditch and playing chess with Blaise. Yesterday had gone much the same as well, although he had sent his gifts to his mother with his eagle owl Aries in the morning.
He quickly ran his fingers through the loose, soft strands of his hair, and brushed the front of his casual black robes to rid it of any microscopic lint. He then turned to head down to the common room to meet Blaise and go for a walk on the grounds. The boys made a quick stop at the kitchens for some coffee and scones, and then continued out of the castle after the light meal.
“Shall we play a round of quidditch later?” Blaise asked.
“Sure,” came the unenthusiastic response. At his friend’s arched eyebrow, Draco elaborated. “Perhaps if we had a few more players…” he trailed off as a white blur crashed into the side of Blaise’s head. The two Slytherins stood perfectly still for a few moments, snow dripping down the taller boy’s face, before both turned face the culprit, who turned out to be a little red head who was obviously struggling to hold back laughter. She looked up at the boys, and Draco saw amusement turn to excited fright as she turned and began to run. He barely had time to register what had happened, when Blaise took off after the younger girl, a nice big snowball in his hands. Draco watched as the much taller Blaise easily caught up with the young Gryffindor and attempted to pummel her with his ill-formed weapon. Ginny Weasley had apparently been in a lot of snowball fights, however, as she expertly dodged the attack, and turned to flee once more. But Blaise proved to be too fast and too strong for her, as he overcame her and they tumbled to the ground.
Draco leisurely made his way over to the pair, ignoring the unusual feeling that was growing inside of him at seeing one of his best mates so close to this girl that still haunted his nights. He approached them just as Blaise was helping the now-snow-covered Weasley off of the ground. As she looked up at him, he was satisfied to note – as much as he tried to deny it – that the excitement and happiness did not desert her eyes.
“Weasley,” he said in quite a civil tone, “is there something you needed, or do you make it a habit of throwing things at unsuspecting civilians?”
She rolled her eyes at his formal stance, and replied, “Colin and I were having snowball fight when I spotted Blaise,” she turned to the dark-haired boy then and gave him a sweet smile that caused that unusual feeling growing inside of Draco to peak up, “and decided to invite him to play.”
“And what an invitation it was,” Blaise stated wryly, though the amusement in his eyes was clearly showing. “Where is Creevey anyway?” he questioned, looking around a bit. Ginny shrugged slightly, but a spatter of snow hitting her in the stomach answered that question. She let out a little squeal and pulled Blaise to stand in front of her as a shield.
“So,” she asked urgently, “are you guys in or out?” Draco kept his surprise at her including him in her invitation from showing on his face, but he was sure Blaise saw it anyway. His friend gave him a questioning look, to which Draco answered with a slight shrug, before he was shoved roughly into the snow by his smirking housemate. As Draco looked up in shock, Blaise gathered some more snow in his hands and took off, presumably to go attack this ‘Creevey’ person. Creevey… hmm… and then it clicked – Camera Boy! So that was his name…
He was kept from pondering this discovery for too long by a tap on his shoulder. “Are you just going to lie there all day, or do you plan on actually getting Blaise back for his little stunt?” the littlest Weasley questioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He studied the girl for a moment, in her old cloak, and with her hair pulled back. Her face was flushed from her running, and her eyes were so bright that the gold flecks were prominent. She raised an eyebrow when it took him more than a minute to respond, and smirked slightly as he shook his head to clear it of the image of her amused face. She offered her gloved hand to him to help him up, and, after a moment’s consideration, he accepted the assistance. He ignored the tingle he felt, even through the thick wool and dragon-hide, at being in physical contact with the girl.
He turned to ask her where he could find Blaise, when she hit him with a snowball she had apparently been hiding behind her back with her other hand. He stood, stunned for moment, before sending her one of his best glares. She simply shrugged and gave him a small smile.
“What did you expect me to do when you offer such a tempting stationary target?” She must have seen the calculating glint in his eyes, for she then immediately turned and ran off again. Draco gathered some snow in his hands, forming a packed ball, before running off after the girl.
This, he decided, was war.
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“Did you have to use your wand to send twenty snowballs at me at once?” Blaise complained as he, Malfoy, Colin, and Ginny sat down for some hot chocolate in front of the fireplace in the kitchens.
“Yes,” came Malfoy’s simple response to Blaise’s lament. He smirked as Blaise cast a few drying charms on his clothes and hair.
Ginny held back a giggle at the memory of Blaise, the human snowman. The morning had been more fun than she had expected. After opening her Birthday/Christmas presents from her family and friends – and Harry and Hermione – she and Colin had left Gryffindor Tower and gone straight onto the grounds for a snowball fight. Blaise and Malfoy’s arrival on the scene had been an unexpected, but pleasant surprise.
“Quit whining, Blaise,” she interrupted humorously. “If anyone here should be complaining, it’s me,” she looked pointedly at her older friend, who grinned unrepentantly at the reminder of him burying the small red head in the snow bank with the help of Colin. Surprisingly, it had been Malfoy who had helped her out, claiming that it was done out of self-preservation – he did not want to be the focus of the boys’ schemed attacks with the absence of Ginny.
“You didn’t complain, Gin, but you definitely got even,” Colin said, rubbing his shoulder, where Ginny had sent quite a memorable snowball after being rescued from the snow bank. He simply pouted when she smiled at him. “Dennis is a much easier target,” he muttered.
“Yes, well then you can go and find Dennis if you’d like.” At his horrified look, she giggled.
“Who is Dennis?” questioned Malfoy.
“My brother,” Colin answered. “He’s a third year, and he’s usually not so bad to hang around, but…” he trailed off, looking to Ginny for the correct phrasing.
“But his little girlfriend stayed for the holidays as well,” she supplied, “and Colin and I have found her to be very…” here she turned back to Colin for the correct term.
“Hyper-active.” He shook his head slightly. “I swear, she’s worse than the Energizer Bunny.” He looked up to see three blank faces. “Never mind,” he said, “it’s a muggle thing.”
Ginny shrugged slightly. “She’s really not so bad,” she added. “She just never shuts up, and can run around for hours without getting tired. Like yesterday, when we played quidditch,” she offered as an example, “we were out there for four hours, racing around in the cold, and she was still jumping around when we were ready to land. There was no way we were going to go up against that little terror in a snowball fight – we’d be out there until nightfall!”
“You played quidditch yesterday? When?” Blaise asked.
“Um, sometime in the afternoon,” Ginny looked to Colin, who nodded in confirmation.
“Draco and I were out there in the morning.” He paused, then looked to Malfoy, before continuing. “Actually, we were thinking about playing this afternoon, but preferred having a few more players. Are you interested?”
Colin and Ginny shared a quick glance before Ginny answered for them. “Sure, why not?” Blaise looked truly pleased, while Malfoy’s face was the usual unemotional mask. “Well, we’d better get back to Gryffindor to get ready for lunch. We’ll see you in the Great Hall?” At Blaise’s nod, Ginny smiled, and she and Colin got up to leave.
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As Draco changed for the lunch feast, into a dressier pair of black robes, over his black pants and Slytherin-green jumper, his mind drifted to the events of the morning. Loathe though he was to admit it, he had had fun. The littlest weasel and her friend had been entertaining company. And he had kept his snide comments to himself, which had been extremely difficult at Creevey’s mention of that muggle rabbit. He could see why Blaise liked the Weaslette so much – when she was away from the Gryffindor Dream Team, she showed herself to be an intelligent and fun-loving girl.
Draco sneered then; she was still a Weasley, and muggle-loving trash. Just because he may not approve of Voldemort’s plans of genocide, did not mean he felt that muggles were equals to wizards, or that muggle-borns should be at Hogwarts. With a renewed satisfaction – of both his appearance and his check on his beliefs – Draco left for the Great Hall. Blaise had already gone ahead, after complaining that Draco was too vain for his own good.
Upon arriving for the Christmas feast, Draco found that there was only one table, set up in the middle of the vast room. The four house tables, as well as the Head table where the teachers usually dined, were all absent. Draco made his way over to where Blaise was seated, just beside the little weasel and across from some Ravenclaw fourth year. As he took his seat on the other side of Blaise, which happened to be next to the esteemed Potions professor, he looked over to where Weasley was seated. Creevey sat to her left, and across from them sat a younger boy whom Draco assumed to be Creevey’s brother and a little blond girl. The little girl was squirming around in her seat, currently babbling to her boyfriend.
“Happy Christmas, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco looked up to find himself seated across from the Headmaster, one seat over. Dumbledore’s eyes held their usual twinkle as he greeted his student.
“Happy Christmas, Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall,” he nodded to the elder witch seated directly across from him, “Professor Snape,” he nodded to the wizard to his right. The professors returned his greetings. Snape leaned over slightly and spoke with Draco.
“Mr. Zabini seems quite comfortable with young Ms. Weasley,” he commented casually, but Draco saw the question in his raised eyebrow.
“They have apparently become closer throughout the semester,” he replied quietly. Draco quickly cast a glance at the pair in question, and saw that they were busy in conversation, before continuing. “Perhaps the usual presence of most of the Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses is why the relationship has not been so obviously displayed before.”
Professor Snape nodded, then smirked. “The Headmaster did not look the least bit surprised when Mr. Zabini seated himself next to Ms. Weasley and began to converse with her.” Draco only shrugged slightly – Dumbledore seemed to always know what was going on in the castle. Draco wondered briefly if he knew about Narcissa’s revelation from a few days prior. Probably, he decided.
The tinkle of silverware on glass brought Draco’s attention back to the table, as Dumbledore stood to address the teachers, and twenty or so students who had remained for the holidays. “My dear professors and students,” he began, “it is my pleasure to wish you all Season’s Greetings, and a Happy Christmas Day.” He smiled as many at the table clapped politely, then continued on a graver note. “In the dark times that are upon us, it is important to remember and appreciate the family and friends that support us, even if they are not with us now,” he seemed to directing that statement at the little Weasley, who Draco noted was looking back defiantly into Dumbledore’s piercing eyes. “Also remember that Hogwarts will always be here; and united, we will prevail,” he had turned his gaze to Draco for that last statement. “Enjoy the feast,” he clapped his hands and a large variety of rich foods appeared on the table.
Draco spent his time speaking with both Blaise and Professor Snape during the feast, and even exchanged a few pleasantries regarding his grades with Dumbledore, and his Transfiguration essay with McGonagall. The meal passed quickly, and, after a quick game of chess, Draco and Blaise found their way out onto the quidditch pitch with two younger Gryffindors. They didn’t talk much, but started playing right away. They decided two against two – chasers only – would be the best option, so Draco and Blaise found themselves up against Weasley and Creevey. Draco had to admit that Weasley was good – he had seen her play chaser once before, in the Gryffindor - Slytherin match that had taken place last month, but had not really noticed how graceful she was while flying; he had been too busy looking for the snitch, which Potter had caught in the end, anyway. Creevey was alright as well, as he was another one of Gryffindor’s chasers. Although Draco and Blaise were at a definite disadvantage – as Draco usually played seeker, while Blaise was used to playing keeper – they put up a good fight against the two Gryffindor team chasers. They lost, of course, but not by too much, which slightly eased the pain to their Slytherin pride.
As they landed, the little weasel ran over to where Draco was standing next to Blaise, Creevey lagging along behind her. “Well,” she breathed heavily from the exertion, “that was a good game.” She smiled at them. “But you two really should stick to keeping and seeking,” she scrunched up her nose a bit as she caught the quaffle Blaise threw at her head. “Touchy, touchy,” she tsked, then laughed at Blaise’s smirk. Draco could not help but notice how comfortable and natural the two were around each other. Blaise seemed so much… happier, and less stressed, when Weasley was around him. Draco forced down the bout of jealousy that was threatening to show itself and simply raised an eyebrow at the oblivious pair.
“Good game.” Creevey had finally arrived. “But I have to get back to Gryffindor Tower now; I promised Dennis some brother time.”
“What about his little girlfriend?” Blaise questioned, obviously amused. Creevey rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Dennis guaranteed me that she would be otherwise occupied,” he answered with a shrug.
“What about you, Little One?” Blaise asked Weasley. Draco stifled his surprise at hearing the endearment – it did not sound particularly romantic. Perhaps they were only friends. For now, he amended as the little weasel rolled her eyes at the nickname.
“I will be locked away in my room,” she began dramatically, “reading,” she finished decisively. “Hermione got me some books for Christmas” – Draco noticed she seemed upset about something at the reminder of the mudblood – “and I’m looking forward to reading them. But,” she turned to Blaise, “I would really appreciate it if you could help me with my History of Magic essay tomorrow?”
“We have a History of Magic essay?” Creevey asked, looking perplexed. “When was it assigned? When is it due?”
“You were asleep when it was assigned, and it’s not due until the week after classes start up again after the holidays,” Weasley informed him, still looking to Blaise for a response to her request.
Blaise seemed to be considering something, and he cast a glance at Draco, which made the blond boy very wary, before responding. “Sure, we could meet in the library tomorrow afternoon.” Weasley’s smile seemed to freeze when he continued, “Draco should come as well, as two of his ancestors were founders,” but she quickly recovered and turned to Draco with a questioning look on her small face.
Draco, after sending a pointed look informing Blaise that he would pay for this later – which his friend simply smirked at – nodded in confirmation. “I suppose we’ll see you then.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Weasley gave him a forced smile before saying goodbye and heading back to the castle with Creevey. As soon as they were out of sight, Draco turned on his housemate.
“What the hell was that about?” he practically snarled. Blaise just chuckled a bit.
“What?” he questioned, feigning innocence. “I thought you had some sort of revenge plotted for her, though I have no idea what it is she has done to you. I thought getting closer to her would help you,” he said, with the air of one who was ‘only trying to help.’
Draco eyed his friend carefully. “I thought you liked her,” he replied. “Why would you help me do anything to her?”
Blaise laughed now – really laughed, which disturbed Draco slightly, for he had rarely heard the sound come from his friend before. “Oh, please, Draco,” he scoffed, calming down slightly, “it’s not as though you’ll really be harming her in any way.” At the blonde’s pointed look, Blaise sobered quickly and continued. “A prank or two is fine, Draco; Ginny is really a good sport about those things, after having lived with those Weasley twins.” He took one step toward the other boy. “But if you do anything to seriously harm her, nothing will save you from what I will do to you.” Silver eyes clashed with gold as the two shared an intense face-off. Draco was the first to look away, smirking.
“So you will not ‘break the bond,’ eh?” he questioned sardonically, referring to the conversation in the Slytherin common room they had had a few days before the beginning of the holidays. “Where do your loyalties lay, Blaise?” he spat. “With a muggle-lover?”
“They do not lie with Voldemort, if that is what you are asking,” came the decisive response. “But you already knew that, Draco. We have always disagreed on the topic of Death Eaters. The last time we spoke on the issue, you wanted to follow your father’s footsteps, and I wanted to follow mine.” Blaise paused then, studying his friend. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what changed over the summer: you’re not sure if you want to be a Death Eater anymore,” he stated insightfully.
Draco looked away from his friend. It was true – the doubts were plaguing him. He and Blaise had never agreed on the issue of following Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but the dark-haired boy was proud of his pureblood heritage, much like Draco, so the two had never focused too much attention on their difference of opinion regarding the Dark Lord. But then Voldemort had returned, and the issue had become much more substantial. “Does it matter whether or not I want to be a Death Eater?” he finally asked vehemently. Then more quietly, “Does it matter that you don’t? He is growing stronger in power, and the old families have to align themselves with one side or another again. Your uncle is gone, Blaise. So what happens now?”
Draco looked back to his housemate when he heard no response. Blaise was looking past him, over to the lake. Keeping his eyes focused on the frozen surface of the water, he spoke carefully. “I don’t know what happens now,” he admitted softly. “Uncle Agostino joined the Death Eaters to save our family, to keep the House of Zabini safe from the Dark Lord’s attacks. My grandfather is too old to go out on muggle killing sprees,” he spat the phrase. “So now my father is considering getting that horrid mark tattooed on his arm.” Blaise finally turned to look in Draco’s eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”
Draco shook his head sadly. “Hanging around a Weasley is definitely not going to help matters any.”
Blaise’s eyes darkened. “Ginny is a pureblood. Aren’t the Weasleys related to the Blacks?” he questioned.
Draco scoffed. “Only by marriage, not by blood,” he assured.
“Still,” Blaise continued, “she isn’t like the other Gryffindors. If you gave her a fair chance, you would see that she’s not so bad.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded to appease his friend. Remembering the events of the day, he had to admit that Blaise was probably right about the girl. Quickly evaluating their current situation, he decided to let his curiosity get the best of him. “What is going on between you two? Professor Snape was quite surprised by how well you two got along, although Dumbledore seemed quite pleased.”
Blaise would not meet his eyes as he responded. “We are friends,” was the only thing he said. Draco was tempted to further interrogate him when Blaise shifted and began to walk back towards the castle. “We’ll be late for dinner if we don’t hurry,” he called back. Draco followed a bit behind him, processing and filing away the encounter they had just had to evaluate at a later time.
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The next afternoon found Ginny, Colin, Blaise, and Malfoy sharing a table in the back of the library. They were the only patrons present in the old room at the time, and Madame Pince was doing some cataloguing in her office.
“Alright,” Ginny said, quill poised over a fresh sheet of parchment. “Tell me about your ancestors: the founders of the Wizards’ Council, the men behind the titles.” Ginny seemed satisfied with that essay heading, and scratched it onto the paper. She looked up when no one spoke, and faced Blaise’s questioning, yet amused, gaze.
“What do you want to know, Weaslette?” Malfoy asked, looking like he would rather be anywhere else at the moment than helping a Gryffindor.
“Starting with the basic facts would be good,” she said, patiently ignoring the urge to throw a hex at the blond prat. “Who, what, when, where, why…”
Blaise, obviously hoping to ease the tension that seemed to be growing between Malfoy and Ginny, began to tell some of what he had learned on the topic of the founders from his family. “We know that Hogwarts was the first wizarding school built in Europe, over a thousand years ago, by Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff. The four Hogwarts founders searched throughout Europe for young witches and wizards to bring to educate at their school. Salazar Slytherin found my ancestor, Domenico Aurelio Zabini, on the Italian coast…” Blaise went on to describe his ancestor’s career after graduating Hogwarts: forming the governmental body known as the Wizards’ Council with eleven other Hogwarts graduates; the group worked to bring together a more cohesive world for wizard-kind, began the construction of Diagon Alley, and fostered a tool of mass communication – truly connecting wizards scattered across the continent – through the earliest version of a wizarding newspaper.
There were many other movements for progress in constructing the wizarding world made by the founders. Colin and Ginny listened – rarely taking notes – to the rich early annals of the society they lived in. When Blaise came to what seemed to be the conclusion of his history lesson, Malfoy decided to remind them of his presence.
“As you have heard, the Lords of the Wizards’ Council all worked together to create a world for magical people away from the persecuting muggles of the time, despite which Hogwarts founder they studied under.” Ginny frowned slightly as he continued. “Each Lord maintained a province of land, the people of which he was both responsible for, and representative of in the Council. That tradition was passed on for generations before the installment of the current Ministry of Magic.” Malfoy stood then, to gather his things. Blaise arched a dark brow at his friend, which the blonde studiously ignored. “If that is all, this afternoon has proven to be incredibly redundant.” He sneered slightly as he turned and stalked out of the library, his shoulders set. Ginny saw the flash of concern and confusion in Blaise’s eyes as he watched Malfoy leave.
Ginny turned to look down at their mostly blank scroll, then looked to Colin. “Well,” her housemate began, clearing his throat slightly, “we only have to write about one of them, right?” he asked Ginny. At her nod, he continued, “But we’re probably going to need more personal information on the particular founder, if we want to fill three feet.”
Ginny understood the dilemma and stood. “Blaise, you tell Colin about your ancestor, okay?” she asked her older friend, who looked a bit uncertain. “I will go hunt down Malfoy and get him to help. Don’t worry about me,” she cut in as both boys started to protest. She noticed that both seemed a bit uncomfortable at being left alone together, without her, though Blaise hid it quite well. She smiled slightly. “You two will be fine without me here,” she rolled her eyes, slightly exasperated by the hesitation she could sense coming from both of them. “I’ll see you later,” and with that, she strode off purposely in search of a blond ferret. She did not see Colin’s light blush, or Blaise’s slightly nervous smirk, as she exited the library, leaving the two to their own devices.
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Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, frightening the little first year that had stayed behind for the holidays as well. He climbed the stairs to his dorm, and slammed the door shut behind him, before throwing himself unceremoniously onto his bed.
The topic in the library had touched much too close to the problems he was facing at hand. He had sat through as much as he could stand, and he found the general history of the Wizards’ Council bearable. But he did not want to go into the particular roles of his ancestors, into the origins of the great Houses of Malfoy and Black. Draco let out a sigh of frustration he would never let anyone else hear, and flipped over onto his back.
Most of the afternoon hadn’t been too bad, he admitted. He had spent a good majority of the time in the library covertly studying Ginny Weasley. She had listened so intently while Blaise spoke, her eyes riveted to his face. He could see her thirst for knowledge being quenched in her open features. It was obvious her feelings for his best mate were strong; he could see that in the way she looked at him. But a nagging feeling at the back of his head told him not to assume anything about their relationship. His more logical, Slytherin-controlled mind told him the answer was in front of him, and he just seemed to be refusing to accept it.
Draco sat up quickly, refusing to continue thinking of the little Weasley brat in the manner he had been for too long now. He slowly pulled out the last of his homework – an essay on the Patronus charm for Flitwick – and got to work, pushing thoughts of a particular red head far to the back of his mind.
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Ginny had searched all over the castle for Malfoy, but couldn’t seem to find Ferret Boy anywhere. As she neared her starting point of the library once more, she concluded that the older boy must have retreated to the sanctuary of the Slytherin dungeons.
“Ms. Weasley,” she was startled out of her internal tirade at the cowardly blonde by a familiar, wizened voice. “How, may I ask, are your holidays proceeding?” Professor Dumbledore smiled down at the young girl.
“Professor, hello,” she returned the smile, covering her surprise quickly. “The holidays are going very well, sir, although I definitely missed Mum’s special rum cake yesterday.” The headmaster chuckled slightly at this admission.
“Yes,” he agreed, “Molly does make a mean dessert.” He studied her for a moment before continuing, “Your family missed you yesterday; actually, much of the Order did,” he said quietly.
Ginny did not really know what to say to this statement, as she did not believe it, so she forced a smile and said as pleasantly as she could, “I highly doubt they even noticed my absence, Professor, but that was kind of you to say.”
Dumbledore continued to smile slightly at her, if not a bit sadly, before speaking again. “It is always difficult to watch our loved ones be placed in danger,” he said quietly. “You are a very lucky girl to have so many who love you, and wish to keep you out of harm’s way.”
Ginny took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, greatest sorcerer of the age, and the only wizard that You-Know-Who was afraid of – it would not do to yell at or try to hex such a person. “With all due respect, Professor, I thought that each witch and wizard is a culmination of their choices. That is how we grow, learn, and develop into productive members of society. Am I not to be granted the natural right to choose my own path, to make my own mistakes, and my own successes? I’m sorry if I seem offensive, Professor, but you and I both know that my family’s insistence on keeping me ‘out of harm’s way’ is more for their benefit than mine.” She looked directly into the old wizard’s eyes now, breathing slightly heavily from having rushed out her passionate words. “While I appreciate their regard for my safety, I deplore the use of that regard as an excuse to keep me from helping a cause that I believe in. I would do whatever I had to, to bring the Dark Lord down. And I will,” she said decisively, “whether the Order of the Phoenix will have me or not.”
Dumbledore returned her intense gaze with a piercing look of his own, until Ginny had to turn away from the sheer power the man possessed behind those usually twinkling blue orbs. He sighed slightly then, an indication of how tired he must be. She figured he probably thought he was too old to be running around fighting Voldemort at his age. “Ms. Weasley,” he said, bringing her attention back to their present discussion, “when the time is right, I am sure you will make an invaluable addition to the Order.” Ginny’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his solemn statement. He smiled then, eyes twinkling once more, and changed the topic. “I recently came across Mr. Creevey working with Mr. Zabini in the library,” he hinted his interest and approval of the inter-house cooperation.
Ginny nodded, relieved that the earlier issue was no longer being discussed. “Yes, Blaise and Malfoy were helping Colin and me with our History of Magic essay on a witch or wizard from the Middle Ages.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she had seen a flash of surprise cross the older wizard’s face at the mention of Malfoy. “Blaise is telling Colin about his ancestor, one of the founders of the Wizards’ Council, and I was trying to find Malfoy to drill him on his ancestors, but I think he has retreated back to the dungeons.” She shrugged slightly in acceptance of her predicament.
“Ah, witches and wizards of the Middle Ages,” Dumbledore nodded, seeming to approve of the topic. “Much more fascinating than the goblin rebellions Professor Binns has always insisted on focusing on,” he shared an amused look with his student. “Now, for me personally, the sorcerers of the earlier Middle Ages have always held interest. Tales of Merlin, and the tempting enchantress who stole his heart, were the stories my mother told when I was a young boy,” his eyes were distant, reminiscing.
Ginny considered this for a moment. Choosing another witch or wizard would save her the trouble of hunting down Malfoy, and actually asking him for the favor of helping her. Her Weasley pride balked at the idea of her turning to a Malfoy for any reason. “Perhaps I will study one of the earlier sorcerers of the era, Professor. Thanks,” she smiled at the great wizard before her, knowing that, generations from now, schoolchildren would be writing essays on him; that is, if they weren’t already. He seemed to come back to himself at the sound of her voice, and gave her a benign grin.
“Well you had better get to work then, Ms. Weasley,” he turned to go. “I shall not keep a young mind from seeking out knowledge.” Ginny watched him leave, and then made her way back to the library, hoping to catch Colin and Blaise.
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Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall when the owls arrived. The original tables had been returned that morning, as the rest of the students would be arriving back from break in two days’ time. The holidays had passed quickly, and the blonde now found himself nursing a coffee, after imbibing in too much alcohol the night before, in celebration of the New Year. He ignored Aries, when the owl landed next to him carrying the Daily Prophet. So Blaise relieved the bird of its burden, before feeding it some of his toast. The clatter of fallen silverware, and the hush descending the large room, caused Draco to look up from the entrancing steam of his hot drink. Blaise was perfectly still, his face an emotionless mask as he read the story on the front cover. But Draco noted that his friend had definitely lost a few shades of color. He quickly glanced around to see that all of the students were huddled around different copies of the morning paper, and that most of the teachers were missing from the Head Table, including Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall.
Draco tensed when he looked back to find Blaise’s intense golden eyes locked on him, as he silently handed him the newspaper. Draco took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he knew was most likely on the front page. He looked down to find exactly what he had expected, what he had known would happen eventually. And as he read the lead article, he found that he had not been ready for this day at all.
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Ginny heaved all of the contents of her stomach into the toilet, in the last stall at the far end of the first floor girls’ bathroom. Granted, there had not been much in her stomach anyway, as her breakfast had been interrupted early on by the arrival of the owls with the Daily Prophet. She sighed then, sitting back against the stall door, curling herself into a little ball, wishing reality were not so harsh. In the stall beside her, Moaning Myrtle was being eerily quiet.
The Death Eaters who had been captured at the Department of Mysteries, near the end of Ginny’s fourth year, had escaped. But that, in itself, was not too shocking a revelation. Really, everyone had expected it happen – well, everyone who knew how vulnerable Azkaban was after the desertion of the Dementors.
No, it was what Voldemort and his Death Eaters had done after the not-so-spectacular New Year’s Eve escape.
Attacks on muggle-borns and their families.
Attacks on Hogwarts students who had gone home for the holidays.
Ginny crawled back to the toilet to retch again, but only released dry heaves, as she had nothing inside her left to purge. And when she realized this, the tears she had been so valiantly trying to hold back came in full force. She turned a bit, resting her head on the cool surface of the stall wall, as her body was racked with sobs.
It was almost too much to bear, thinking about what had happened. How had her family survived this the first time around? How had the wizards and witches that lived twenty years ago, during the First War, gone on each day, knowing that an evil wizard with no conscience, and his willing followers, were killing people for sport, for their prejudicial cause?
She had thought she knew the cruelty of Voldemort through her encounter with Tom Riddle’s diary. She had thought she understood what Voldemort’s return to power meant for the wizarding world, when she had raised her glass in memory of Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory. She had thought the war had seemed real when Sirius had fallen through the veil, one of the first casualties of these now dark times that she had known on a somewhat personal basis.
But none of that had prepared her for the truth.
She had had no idea.
The Second War had begun, and the wizarding world reeked of the stench of death. And no one – old, young, pureblood, half-blood, muggle-born – could escape its nauseating reach.
“Ginny?” came Colin’s tentative voice. She could tell by the hoarseness that he was trying not to cry. Ginny flushed the remains of her ill-received breakfast away, and stood slowly, taking large calming breaths to try and stem the flow of tears. She opened the stall door to find Colin peeking in the entrance of the bathroom. When he caught sight of her, her face streaked with the salty wetness of tears and blotchy from her crying, he stepped into the room and simply held out his arms slightly – an invitation to share in the comfort he could hopefully give her. She rushed into his arms, grateful for his solid form, grounding her.
She did not realize that he was just as grateful to have her there, keeping him from toppling over into the dark abyss.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, and Warner Bros., among others. Only the plot and any unfamiliar characters are mine.
NOTE: Thanks for reading. Please review and let me know what you think.
He was rudely interrupted from his attempt to slumber by a pillow that had been thrown at his back. He did not have to turn to identify the culprit: only one person in Slytherin was bold enough – or stupid enough – to throw anything at him.
“Go away, Blaise,” he mumbled into his pillow. He had sneaking suspicion that his friend may have had something to do with his missing bed hangings.
“Get out of bed, Draco,” his friend returned sternly. “Today is the last day of classes before the holidays.” When Draco still refused to rise, he coaxed, “You can sleep all through the break.” He heard Blaise sigh, then heard his footstep leave the room and fade away. Draco carefully opened one eye to see that he was now alone in the room. He pulled himself out of bed, noting absently that his drapes were not missing, but had simply been pulled back.
Forty-five minutes later, a very well-groomed, though irate, Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall for breakfast. He stalked directly over to the spot reserved for him at the Slytherin table, between Blaise and Pansy, who were already seated. He nodded to those he – or his father – considered worthy of acknowledgement as he took his seat, and then proceeded to help himself to a large cup of coffee. He noticed Pansy eye him curiously for a few moments, but she said nothing as he cast her a pointed look. Blaise remained wisely quiet as well. Delilah Windholm, however, did not seem to have gotten the message to steer clear of Draco that morning.
“Draco, darling,” she cooed, placing herself directly across from him, squeezing in between a grumbling Crabbe and an obviously annoyed Goyle. “I missed you last night,” she continued suggestively, as he felt her foot travel up his calf under the table. He controlled his reflexes enough to keep from jumping at the unexpected physical contact. He was in no mood for her this morning.
“Delilah,” he said in a strained drawl, that she obviously misinterpreted as being from pleasure instead of aggravation, as she smirked seductively. “Perhaps it would be best if we finished this later,” he said meaningfully, ready to do just about anything to rid himself of this headache at the moment.
She nodded, understanding, and stood. “Until then, baby,” she reached over and pecked his lips with a small kiss, before leaving to sit with the other fifth year Slytherin girls.
“Until then, baby,” Pansy drawled in his ear, mocking the younger girl.
“Enough, Pansy,” Draco sneered, though it was weak in his apparent state of distress. She simply smirked before returning to her breakfast.
Draco had to stop himself from rubbing his face in frustration – an awkward habit and sign of weakness that no Malfoy could afford to show in public. He really could not wait for this day to be over. He quickly surveyed the room, and sneered when his eyes landed on Gryffindor’s heroic trio. He looked away quickly, though not before noticing that the littlest Weasley was absent. He then proceeded to mentally slap himself for noting on the whereabouts of a Weasley. Draco quickly drained the rest of his coffee, and stood; he reasoned that the sooner the day ‘began,’ the sooner it could end. Pansy and Blaise had already finished their meals, so they joined him in heading to their first class.
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While, unknown to Ginny, Malfoy, Parkinson, and Blaise sat through their last Ancient Runes class before the holidays, the fifth year Gryffindor was trying valiantly to stay awake in History of Magic. After a restless night, and an early morning spent evading the Dream Team, she was exhausted. Last night her lack of sleep had not been due to Voldemort or the Chamber. Instead, her own guilt at having caused the pain she saw in Hermione’s eyes played a large part in keeping her awake until sunrise. She really was too soft, she scolded herself. Yet she could not help it – she was not frozen enough inside to enjoy the pain of others; excluding Voldemort, of course, whose cruelty and lack of conscience had been the cause of so much death and destruction.
She was more hesitant to identify the other factor of her sleepless night: a particular blond ferret.
Ginny let out a silent sigh and repositioned herself so that her posture was not conducive to sleeping. Professor Binns was lecturing about some goblin rebellion or other, and she struggled for the next ninety minutes with her drooping eyelids. Finally, the ghost professor seemed to have wrapped up his lecture, and he announced that there would be an assignment due a week after the Monday that they returned to classes following break. He continued to speak over the groans of the few students who were awake enough to have understood what he had said.
“I have decided to tell you about the assignment now, so that those of you staying at Hogwarts over the holidays may use the library to complete this essay early over break.” Ginny sat up slightly and poised her quill to take down the assignment. “I expect three feet of parchment,” he continued in his monotonous tone as the groans grew louder, “detailing the livelihood and achievements of any great wizard or witch from the Middle Ages. Obvious choices would be Merlin or Morgan Le Fay, from the earlier Middle Ages, or any of the four Hogwarts founders or the twelve founders of the original Wizards’ Council, from the later Middle Ages.” Ginny saw Theresa Kensington give a smug smile and lean over to whisper to the other two Gryffindor girls in the class. “These are all acceptable choices, but you are encouraged to choose a lesser known magical person.” The bell rang then and class was dismissed.
Ginny made her way to a surprisingly uneventful Care of Magical Creatures, and then headed back to the Great Hall for lunch with Colin. The two had avoided discussing what had transpired in the common room after their return, as Colin knew that Ginny would come to him to talk when she was ready. Lunch was strained: Colin and Ginny sat with Neville, only a few seats away from Ron, Harry, and Hermione. Ron had a reddish tinge the whole meal, and Hermione and Harry seemed to be keeping him from saying anything. Poor Neville did not understand the tension, but tried to make the best of the situation by babbling on about the coming holidays, and keeping silence at bay by questioning nearby students of their plans. After that, afternoon classes breezed by, and before Ginny knew it, evening had come, and most students were excitedly packing their trunks to take with them on the Hogwarts Express the next morning. Hoping to avoid the Gryffindor trio and her giggling dorm mates, Ginny decided to take a short trip down to the lake before dinner. As she walked the powdered grounds by the iced lake, bundled up in her ratty second hand robes and cloak, protected by the strongest warming charm she could conjure on herself, she could not keep her thoughts from returning to the night before.
Perhaps she had been too harsh with Harry and Hermione. Perhaps it was only the trio’s worry for her that caused them to treat her so badly.
'And perhaps Draco Malfoy is really a cuddly little kneazle underneath that cold, hard exterior!' she thought sarcastically.
It was ridiculous of her to make excuses for the actions of others. She admitted that her own behavior with Hermione may have been a bit extreme. Though, really, Ginny had only spoken the truth as it was portrayed to her.
She was forced to file her internal diatribe away for another time when she heard footsteps crunching on the fresh snow. She turned, ready to greet Blaise, when a smooth drawl reached her ears, sending an unnatural flutter through her stomach.
“Fancy meeting you here, Weaslette,” Draco Malfoy smirked.
“Malfoy,” she nodded slightly, her eyes instantly wary. She sighed when he simply stood there, watching her, with that infuriating smirk of his still in place. “What are you doing out here?”
He shrugged slightly, and raised a single pale brow. “What are you doing out here?” he returned the question. Ginny rolled her eyes, then answered with a shrug of her own, though not as graceful as the older boy’s. “I simply came out to enjoy the weather,” he said sarcastically.
“It’s freezing out here,” she replied tersely.
“Oh?” he looked amused. “Are you cold now?” She scowled at him. “Great thing, magic,” he shook his head slightly at her feigned ignorance.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ginny was already sleep-deprived because of this boy, but his presence now was simply irritating her. At least, that was what she assumed that fizzling feeling, making its way through her system due to his closeness, was: irritation.
“Manners, Little Weasel,” Malfoy tutted mockingly. He took a step towards her, and Ginny had to stop herself from taking an instinctive step back. She remained un-moving as he bent down to whisper in her ear, reminiscent of the previous night. “Is this how you treat all the lads who save you from a night’s detention in the dungeons” he questioned, “or am I just special?”
Ginny took a deep breath – trying to ignore how his scent made her slightly dizzy – and turned her head slightly to give her response. “You’re just special,” she answered, forcing a sarcastic tone, layered with mock sweetness. Malfoy stiffened, and backed away from her. He then turned to make a swift exit back to the castle, but not before sending her one last sneer. Ginny released a sigh of relief as Malfoy’s form drew further from her sight. His closeness had wreaked havoc on her senses, and she spent the next ten minutes staring out onto the frozen surface of the lake, trying to gather herself enough to go in and face what was surely waiting for her at dinner.
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Draco strode quickly over to the Slytherin table and took his seat. His face was a calm mask, but behind his silver steel eyes was a good amount of anger, annoyance, and confusion. He ignored Pansy and Blaise, who simply raised a dark eyebrow and turned away from the Slytherin Prince, as he filled his plate half-heartedly for dinner. As he ate sparingly – a Malfoy does not ‘pick at his food’ – he thought over his earlier interaction with the Weasley girl.
He had been on his way to the Great Hall from meeting with McGonagall regarding a Transfiguration assignment due after the break, when he had looked out of one of the hall windows to see the little red head walking towards the lake. His decision to follow her had been impulsive, much like his ridiculous act of kindness the night before in Snape’s dungeon. He still blamed that action on his lack of sleep, ignoring the little jolt he felt inside, when he remembered the surprised look she had directed his way; usually, her eyes were filled with anger, malice, annoyance, or some other negative emotion when she looked at him, but last night, those had been absent. He refused to evaluate why her opinions of him should affect him in any way.
He had stepped out into the cold unthinkingly, casting a quick warming charm, before making his way up behind where she had stopped by the lake. When she had first turned, his breath had almost been knocked out of him by the light he saw in her eyes. She must have been expecting someone else, though – 'Probably Blaise,' he thought bitterly – since her eyes had become immediately guarded, and degrees cooler, when she had realized it was him. He had been so angry that the happiness had left her gaze that he tried to provoke her. A plan which, he admitted now, had failed remarkably. When he had felt her hot breath on the side of his face, it had almost been his undoing. And so he had found himself – a Slytherin, a Malfoy, a Black – retreating once more; all because of one little girl.
The same little girl that had just entered the hall, and was now making her way to sit with Camera Boy – Draco made a mental note to learn his name – and Longbottom at the Gryffindor table. Draco focused one of his most intense glares on the girl that had kept him from sleep the night before, and had stirred such turmoil within him during the waking hours.
“Draco,” Blaise tried to get his friend’s attention. He followed the blond boy’s gaze, and smirked slightly when he identified the source of Draco’s troubles. “You know,” he began, amusement coloring his tone, “she won’t burst into flames simply because you will it.” He held back a chuckle as Draco turned his deadly gaze from the Weasley girl onto Blaise. “You should know by now that that look does not work on me. I was simply saying that concentrating so much focus on the girl, through a death glare from across the hall, will accomplish nothing.”
“So what should I do? Go over to the Gryffindor table, where she has an army to protect her, and force her into a duel?” he asked in mock-seriousness.
“Or perhaps a more Slytherin approach?” At his friend’s raised eyebrow, Draco scowled.
“Are you saying that you would be… supportive of any plans I make to put the little trollop in her place?” Draco questioned carefully, as he knew she was a friend of Blaise’s, or at least a close acquaintance.
Blaise paused for a moment, seeming to think the situation over. Then, with an eerily satisfied smile that Draco should have been very wary of – and would have been if he had not been so distracted by watching the smallest weasel turn red as her brother gestured wildly while speaking beside her – Blaise nodded.
“Good,” Draco said curtly, and quickly left the hall, having watched his target exit only moments before. His attention was focused on catching the little brat, so he did not see the satisfied smirk on Blaise’s face, or the curious look that Pansy shot at her dark-haired friend.
“Draco,” he was stopped by a sultry voice on his way to confronting the youngest Weasley. He paused, annoyed, to face Delilah Windholm.
“What is it?” he asked, in a patient tone that his breeding required in such situations.
“Well,” she smiled seductively as she stepped closer to him, “I’m leaving in the morning, and you did say that we would get together later. And this is later,” she giggled. Draco was not fooled. Delilah was as cruel and conniving as the next Slytherin. He knew the ‘bubbly temptress’ was simply an act she played to get what she wanted.
“Not now,” he answered, turning and looking to his right, and then left, to ascertain where the red head had gone.
The little smile was wiped off of Delilah’s face as she stepped over to place herself in front of him once more. “Yes, now, Draco,” she said, the frigidness in her voice matching the coldness of her eyes. Draco looked down at the girl, seething at her audacity in telling him – him! – what to do. Her assumption that they would be together just because she wanted it was one that he would have to eradicate… eventually. He glanced up and down the hallway once more, and, upon finding no trace of Ginny Weasley, he made his decision. He smirked at the fifth-year girl before him, before leading her back to the Slytherin Common Room, and then up to his dorm. She seemed pleased with her success, with the power she thought she held over the Malfoy heir. He would let her believe what she wanted for now. As they took part in the ritual they had practiced many times before, Draco let his mind wander. And this time, when flashes of a small red head invaded his mind, he did not try to force the images away. He would deal with Ginny Weasley later. And he would make sure that Delilah Windholm never forgot the true power of Draco Malfoy.
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Ginny was hidden in a corner of the Astronomy Tower when Blaise finally found her a few hours after dinner.
“What happened?” he questioned, obviously knowing that something was bothering her.
Ginny did not turn or say anything in acknowledgement, but she scooted over slightly to allow him room to sit beside her. There was silence for a few minutes, but it was far from uncomfortable.
And then Ginny began to speak.
She started with her family, and their over-protectiveness. She told him about her first year, and how that experience had just supported her family’s belief that she would always need to be taken care of. She left out the fact that Tom Riddle bore a striking resemblance to her friend, as the tale alone was upsetting enough. And then she spoke about the D.A., and what had happened at the Department of Mysteries. She spent a good amount of time letting out her feelings about her exclusion the previous summer, while being careful to keep any details of the Order she did know – such as the location of its headquarters – out of her story. And then she went on to describe what had transpired the night before, as well as the confrontation that had occurred at the Gryffindor table over dinner, earlier that evening.
Ron had come out of nowhere, it seemed. She had been expecting to face the Dream Team when she first arrived at dinner, but as they had been peculiarly absent, she had enjoyed the company of Neville and Colin. Ginny had been talking quietly with the two Gryffindor boys regarding nothing of consequence, when her brother had barreled over to her, sans Harry and Hermione. He had called her a selfish brat, among other things, and angrily told her that she had had no right to say what she had to his two best friends. He had then proceeded to list her faults, beginning with her mistake first year. Thankfully, he had not been yelling this time, but enough of the Gryffindor table heard what he said about her setting the basilisk loose on the students – a fact which had been kept very quiet from the rest of the school. She had felt her face flush in hurt and anger, as she turned to look at her fellow Gryffindors. They were looking at her as though she had just been declared Voldemort’s heir, which very well may have been how they interpreted the information. She could not sit there a moment longer, under their accusing gazes, and had stood to rush out of the Great Hall, leaving a still fuming Ron with an even angrier Colin Creevey.
Blaise listened to what she said, voicing no judgments. When she had finished, a new silence descended upon them. Ginny was slightly worried now. She wondered if it had been wise to confide in the older boy. They had always steered clear of topics such as their families and Voldemort.
Finally, Blaise broke the silence. “I see now why Creevey sent me to find you.” The comment seemed directed more at himself than to her.
Ginny looked over at Blaise for the first time that night. “Was he okay?” she questioned. She had already confided in Colin, Luna, and Neville about Riddle and the diary, but being reminded of his petrification by the basilisk in first year always got to Colin.
Blaise shrugged slightly. “He seemed more angry than upset when I spoke with him. That Ravenclaw you hang around – Lovegood – she was trying to stop him from going to hex Weasley.” He paused for a moment, then added, “Personally, knowing what I know now, I’m tempted to do more than hex the bastard.” He smiled at her slightly as he heard her sigh in relief. “What,” he asked teasingly, “did you think I’d stop spending time with you because you were manipulated by an older dark wizard when you were eleven?”
Ginny tried to return his smile, but failed. So she settled for leaning on her strong friend. “You should have seen the way the other Gryffindors looked at me, Blaise.” She sniffled a bit, as the memory assaulted her, and he wrapped his arm around her in a comforting embrace. “They think I’m evil, I saw it in their eyes.”
“They’re Gryffindors, Ginny. They think everyone who isn’t just like them is evil,” he finished gently, though she definitely caught traces of sarcasm in his voice.
“You know,” she admitted hesitantly, “the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, before I insisted that I was meant to be a Gryffindor. It was even seriously considering Ravenclaw before it gave in to my pleading and put me where my brothers were.” Her face was almost buried in his chest, so she did not see the look of surprise pass swiftly across his face, or the unreadable emotion in his eyes that lingered long after the look had passed. “I wonder sometimes – okay, a lot of times,” she corrected with no prodding, “if I really would have been better off in another house. At the time, the idea of being the first Weasley not sorted into Gryffindor was too terrifying. I mean, what would my parents have thought if I broke the tradition? But now,” she admitted, still not looking up, “I think it would have been for the best.” Her confession was followed by a beat of silence, before Blaise decided to share an admission of his own.
“I was hoping to be in Ravenclaw, like my Madrina, my godmother,” he said, tightening his grip on Ginny as she shifted closer into a more comfortable position. “But my family had their own expectations for me, much like yours did. The men of my family have been Slytherins for generations, back to Domenico Aurelio Zabini, one of the first students educated at Hogwarts. He was chosen to come here by Salazar Slytherin himself. After him, an endless number of Zabini Lords could cite Hogwarts, and Slytherin House, as their alma mater.”
“Will you be a Zabini Lord, Blaise?” Ginny questioned curiously. She really did not know much about the Lords of the Wizards’ Council, and it would be fascinating to hear the history of the twelve founders from a direct descendent. Of course, she could probably have gone to Theresa Kensington, but Ginny wanted to be spared from having to endure the conceitedness of the girl.
“No,” he answered, and he did not sound the least bit disappointed. “The title – and all of the land, wealth, and responsibilities it entails – has always been passed down to the eldest son. My Nonno, or grandfather, is the current Lord of the House of Zabini, but my father had an elder brother, who had his own son before he died,” he explained. “My cousin Dorian graduated a few years before I came to Hogwarts. He was a Slytherin, of course,” he added unnecessarily.
“Blaise,” Ginny sat up, clearly excited about something. Blaise eyed her warily, slightly disconcerted by her swift change in attitude. “You have to help me with my History of Magic essay. We have to choose an important witch or wizard from the Middle Ages in wizarding history, and write a three-foot essay. Can you tell me about your ancestor?” she questioned eagerly. Blaise eyed her oddly for a moment, before nodding hesitantly.
“If that is what you want,” he stated, “I could help you over the holidays. You are still staying, right?” he questioned.
“Of course I’m staying. There is no way I could spend the next two weeks anywhere near Ron!” Blaise frowned slightly, clearly regretting having brought the topic up, when her happiness visibly diminished at the reminder of what had happened at dinner.
“Come on, ‘Lina,” he stood, then offered his hand to help her up. “Let’s go see if the house elves have any more of that chocolate cake left,” he suggested with a mischievous smirk. Ginny laughed lightly at his obvious addiction as they made their way out of the Astronomy Tower and toward the kitchens.
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Draco considered his reflection in the mirror. It was Christmas morning, and he had already opened all of his presents – his mother had outdone herself this year to apologize for his having to stay at school. But he truly did not mind having had to stay at the castle: The first few days of the break had passed uneventfully. Draco had watched two morning ago as the carriages made their way from the school towards Hogsmeade Station, where the students would board the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross Station. He had then spent the rest of that day doing some of his holiday schoolwork, practicing quidditch and playing chess with Blaise. Yesterday had gone much the same as well, although he had sent his gifts to his mother with his eagle owl Aries in the morning.
He quickly ran his fingers through the loose, soft strands of his hair, and brushed the front of his casual black robes to rid it of any microscopic lint. He then turned to head down to the common room to meet Blaise and go for a walk on the grounds. The boys made a quick stop at the kitchens for some coffee and scones, and then continued out of the castle after the light meal.
“Shall we play a round of quidditch later?” Blaise asked.
“Sure,” came the unenthusiastic response. At his friend’s arched eyebrow, Draco elaborated. “Perhaps if we had a few more players…” he trailed off as a white blur crashed into the side of Blaise’s head. The two Slytherins stood perfectly still for a few moments, snow dripping down the taller boy’s face, before both turned face the culprit, who turned out to be a little red head who was obviously struggling to hold back laughter. She looked up at the boys, and Draco saw amusement turn to excited fright as she turned and began to run. He barely had time to register what had happened, when Blaise took off after the younger girl, a nice big snowball in his hands. Draco watched as the much taller Blaise easily caught up with the young Gryffindor and attempted to pummel her with his ill-formed weapon. Ginny Weasley had apparently been in a lot of snowball fights, however, as she expertly dodged the attack, and turned to flee once more. But Blaise proved to be too fast and too strong for her, as he overcame her and they tumbled to the ground.
Draco leisurely made his way over to the pair, ignoring the unusual feeling that was growing inside of him at seeing one of his best mates so close to this girl that still haunted his nights. He approached them just as Blaise was helping the now-snow-covered Weasley off of the ground. As she looked up at him, he was satisfied to note – as much as he tried to deny it – that the excitement and happiness did not desert her eyes.
“Weasley,” he said in quite a civil tone, “is there something you needed, or do you make it a habit of throwing things at unsuspecting civilians?”
She rolled her eyes at his formal stance, and replied, “Colin and I were having snowball fight when I spotted Blaise,” she turned to the dark-haired boy then and gave him a sweet smile that caused that unusual feeling growing inside of Draco to peak up, “and decided to invite him to play.”
“And what an invitation it was,” Blaise stated wryly, though the amusement in his eyes was clearly showing. “Where is Creevey anyway?” he questioned, looking around a bit. Ginny shrugged slightly, but a spatter of snow hitting her in the stomach answered that question. She let out a little squeal and pulled Blaise to stand in front of her as a shield.
“So,” she asked urgently, “are you guys in or out?” Draco kept his surprise at her including him in her invitation from showing on his face, but he was sure Blaise saw it anyway. His friend gave him a questioning look, to which Draco answered with a slight shrug, before he was shoved roughly into the snow by his smirking housemate. As Draco looked up in shock, Blaise gathered some more snow in his hands and took off, presumably to go attack this ‘Creevey’ person. Creevey… hmm… and then it clicked – Camera Boy! So that was his name…
He was kept from pondering this discovery for too long by a tap on his shoulder. “Are you just going to lie there all day, or do you plan on actually getting Blaise back for his little stunt?” the littlest Weasley questioned with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. He studied the girl for a moment, in her old cloak, and with her hair pulled back. Her face was flushed from her running, and her eyes were so bright that the gold flecks were prominent. She raised an eyebrow when it took him more than a minute to respond, and smirked slightly as he shook his head to clear it of the image of her amused face. She offered her gloved hand to him to help him up, and, after a moment’s consideration, he accepted the assistance. He ignored the tingle he felt, even through the thick wool and dragon-hide, at being in physical contact with the girl.
He turned to ask her where he could find Blaise, when she hit him with a snowball she had apparently been hiding behind her back with her other hand. He stood, stunned for moment, before sending her one of his best glares. She simply shrugged and gave him a small smile.
“What did you expect me to do when you offer such a tempting stationary target?” She must have seen the calculating glint in his eyes, for she then immediately turned and ran off again. Draco gathered some snow in his hands, forming a packed ball, before running off after the girl.
This, he decided, was war.
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“Did you have to use your wand to send twenty snowballs at me at once?” Blaise complained as he, Malfoy, Colin, and Ginny sat down for some hot chocolate in front of the fireplace in the kitchens.
“Yes,” came Malfoy’s simple response to Blaise’s lament. He smirked as Blaise cast a few drying charms on his clothes and hair.
Ginny held back a giggle at the memory of Blaise, the human snowman. The morning had been more fun than she had expected. After opening her Birthday/Christmas presents from her family and friends – and Harry and Hermione – she and Colin had left Gryffindor Tower and gone straight onto the grounds for a snowball fight. Blaise and Malfoy’s arrival on the scene had been an unexpected, but pleasant surprise.
“Quit whining, Blaise,” she interrupted humorously. “If anyone here should be complaining, it’s me,” she looked pointedly at her older friend, who grinned unrepentantly at the reminder of him burying the small red head in the snow bank with the help of Colin. Surprisingly, it had been Malfoy who had helped her out, claiming that it was done out of self-preservation – he did not want to be the focus of the boys’ schemed attacks with the absence of Ginny.
“You didn’t complain, Gin, but you definitely got even,” Colin said, rubbing his shoulder, where Ginny had sent quite a memorable snowball after being rescued from the snow bank. He simply pouted when she smiled at him. “Dennis is a much easier target,” he muttered.
“Yes, well then you can go and find Dennis if you’d like.” At his horrified look, she giggled.
“Who is Dennis?” questioned Malfoy.
“My brother,” Colin answered. “He’s a third year, and he’s usually not so bad to hang around, but…” he trailed off, looking to Ginny for the correct phrasing.
“But his little girlfriend stayed for the holidays as well,” she supplied, “and Colin and I have found her to be very…” here she turned back to Colin for the correct term.
“Hyper-active.” He shook his head slightly. “I swear, she’s worse than the Energizer Bunny.” He looked up to see three blank faces. “Never mind,” he said, “it’s a muggle thing.”
Ginny shrugged slightly. “She’s really not so bad,” she added. “She just never shuts up, and can run around for hours without getting tired. Like yesterday, when we played quidditch,” she offered as an example, “we were out there for four hours, racing around in the cold, and she was still jumping around when we were ready to land. There was no way we were going to go up against that little terror in a snowball fight – we’d be out there until nightfall!”
“You played quidditch yesterday? When?” Blaise asked.
“Um, sometime in the afternoon,” Ginny looked to Colin, who nodded in confirmation.
“Draco and I were out there in the morning.” He paused, then looked to Malfoy, before continuing. “Actually, we were thinking about playing this afternoon, but preferred having a few more players. Are you interested?”
Colin and Ginny shared a quick glance before Ginny answered for them. “Sure, why not?” Blaise looked truly pleased, while Malfoy’s face was the usual unemotional mask. “Well, we’d better get back to Gryffindor to get ready for lunch. We’ll see you in the Great Hall?” At Blaise’s nod, Ginny smiled, and she and Colin got up to leave.
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As Draco changed for the lunch feast, into a dressier pair of black robes, over his black pants and Slytherin-green jumper, his mind drifted to the events of the morning. Loathe though he was to admit it, he had had fun. The littlest weasel and her friend had been entertaining company. And he had kept his snide comments to himself, which had been extremely difficult at Creevey’s mention of that muggle rabbit. He could see why Blaise liked the Weaslette so much – when she was away from the Gryffindor Dream Team, she showed herself to be an intelligent and fun-loving girl.
Draco sneered then; she was still a Weasley, and muggle-loving trash. Just because he may not approve of Voldemort’s plans of genocide, did not mean he felt that muggles were equals to wizards, or that muggle-borns should be at Hogwarts. With a renewed satisfaction – of both his appearance and his check on his beliefs – Draco left for the Great Hall. Blaise had already gone ahead, after complaining that Draco was too vain for his own good.
Upon arriving for the Christmas feast, Draco found that there was only one table, set up in the middle of the vast room. The four house tables, as well as the Head table where the teachers usually dined, were all absent. Draco made his way over to where Blaise was seated, just beside the little weasel and across from some Ravenclaw fourth year. As he took his seat on the other side of Blaise, which happened to be next to the esteemed Potions professor, he looked over to where Weasley was seated. Creevey sat to her left, and across from them sat a younger boy whom Draco assumed to be Creevey’s brother and a little blond girl. The little girl was squirming around in her seat, currently babbling to her boyfriend.
“Happy Christmas, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco looked up to find himself seated across from the Headmaster, one seat over. Dumbledore’s eyes held their usual twinkle as he greeted his student.
“Happy Christmas, Professor Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall,” he nodded to the elder witch seated directly across from him, “Professor Snape,” he nodded to the wizard to his right. The professors returned his greetings. Snape leaned over slightly and spoke with Draco.
“Mr. Zabini seems quite comfortable with young Ms. Weasley,” he commented casually, but Draco saw the question in his raised eyebrow.
“They have apparently become closer throughout the semester,” he replied quietly. Draco quickly cast a glance at the pair in question, and saw that they were busy in conversation, before continuing. “Perhaps the usual presence of most of the Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses is why the relationship has not been so obviously displayed before.”
Professor Snape nodded, then smirked. “The Headmaster did not look the least bit surprised when Mr. Zabini seated himself next to Ms. Weasley and began to converse with her.” Draco only shrugged slightly – Dumbledore seemed to always know what was going on in the castle. Draco wondered briefly if he knew about Narcissa’s revelation from a few days prior. Probably, he decided.
The tinkle of silverware on glass brought Draco’s attention back to the table, as Dumbledore stood to address the teachers, and twenty or so students who had remained for the holidays. “My dear professors and students,” he began, “it is my pleasure to wish you all Season’s Greetings, and a Happy Christmas Day.” He smiled as many at the table clapped politely, then continued on a graver note. “In the dark times that are upon us, it is important to remember and appreciate the family and friends that support us, even if they are not with us now,” he seemed to directing that statement at the little Weasley, who Draco noted was looking back defiantly into Dumbledore’s piercing eyes. “Also remember that Hogwarts will always be here; and united, we will prevail,” he had turned his gaze to Draco for that last statement. “Enjoy the feast,” he clapped his hands and a large variety of rich foods appeared on the table.
Draco spent his time speaking with both Blaise and Professor Snape during the feast, and even exchanged a few pleasantries regarding his grades with Dumbledore, and his Transfiguration essay with McGonagall. The meal passed quickly, and, after a quick game of chess, Draco and Blaise found their way out onto the quidditch pitch with two younger Gryffindors. They didn’t talk much, but started playing right away. They decided two against two – chasers only – would be the best option, so Draco and Blaise found themselves up against Weasley and Creevey. Draco had to admit that Weasley was good – he had seen her play chaser once before, in the Gryffindor - Slytherin match that had taken place last month, but had not really noticed how graceful she was while flying; he had been too busy looking for the snitch, which Potter had caught in the end, anyway. Creevey was alright as well, as he was another one of Gryffindor’s chasers. Although Draco and Blaise were at a definite disadvantage – as Draco usually played seeker, while Blaise was used to playing keeper – they put up a good fight against the two Gryffindor team chasers. They lost, of course, but not by too much, which slightly eased the pain to their Slytherin pride.
As they landed, the little weasel ran over to where Draco was standing next to Blaise, Creevey lagging along behind her. “Well,” she breathed heavily from the exertion, “that was a good game.” She smiled at them. “But you two really should stick to keeping and seeking,” she scrunched up her nose a bit as she caught the quaffle Blaise threw at her head. “Touchy, touchy,” she tsked, then laughed at Blaise’s smirk. Draco could not help but notice how comfortable and natural the two were around each other. Blaise seemed so much… happier, and less stressed, when Weasley was around him. Draco forced down the bout of jealousy that was threatening to show itself and simply raised an eyebrow at the oblivious pair.
“Good game.” Creevey had finally arrived. “But I have to get back to Gryffindor Tower now; I promised Dennis some brother time.”
“What about his little girlfriend?” Blaise questioned, obviously amused. Creevey rolled his eyes and sighed.
“Dennis guaranteed me that she would be otherwise occupied,” he answered with a shrug.
“What about you, Little One?” Blaise asked Weasley. Draco stifled his surprise at hearing the endearment – it did not sound particularly romantic. Perhaps they were only friends. For now, he amended as the little weasel rolled her eyes at the nickname.
“I will be locked away in my room,” she began dramatically, “reading,” she finished decisively. “Hermione got me some books for Christmas” – Draco noticed she seemed upset about something at the reminder of the mudblood – “and I’m looking forward to reading them. But,” she turned to Blaise, “I would really appreciate it if you could help me with my History of Magic essay tomorrow?”
“We have a History of Magic essay?” Creevey asked, looking perplexed. “When was it assigned? When is it due?”
“You were asleep when it was assigned, and it’s not due until the week after classes start up again after the holidays,” Weasley informed him, still looking to Blaise for a response to her request.
Blaise seemed to be considering something, and he cast a glance at Draco, which made the blond boy very wary, before responding. “Sure, we could meet in the library tomorrow afternoon.” Weasley’s smile seemed to freeze when he continued, “Draco should come as well, as two of his ancestors were founders,” but she quickly recovered and turned to Draco with a questioning look on her small face.
Draco, after sending a pointed look informing Blaise that he would pay for this later – which his friend simply smirked at – nodded in confirmation. “I suppose we’ll see you then.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Weasley gave him a forced smile before saying goodbye and heading back to the castle with Creevey. As soon as they were out of sight, Draco turned on his housemate.
“What the hell was that about?” he practically snarled. Blaise just chuckled a bit.
“What?” he questioned, feigning innocence. “I thought you had some sort of revenge plotted for her, though I have no idea what it is she has done to you. I thought getting closer to her would help you,” he said, with the air of one who was ‘only trying to help.’
Draco eyed his friend carefully. “I thought you liked her,” he replied. “Why would you help me do anything to her?”
Blaise laughed now – really laughed, which disturbed Draco slightly, for he had rarely heard the sound come from his friend before. “Oh, please, Draco,” he scoffed, calming down slightly, “it’s not as though you’ll really be harming her in any way.” At the blonde’s pointed look, Blaise sobered quickly and continued. “A prank or two is fine, Draco; Ginny is really a good sport about those things, after having lived with those Weasley twins.” He took one step toward the other boy. “But if you do anything to seriously harm her, nothing will save you from what I will do to you.” Silver eyes clashed with gold as the two shared an intense face-off. Draco was the first to look away, smirking.
“So you will not ‘break the bond,’ eh?” he questioned sardonically, referring to the conversation in the Slytherin common room they had had a few days before the beginning of the holidays. “Where do your loyalties lay, Blaise?” he spat. “With a muggle-lover?”
“They do not lie with Voldemort, if that is what you are asking,” came the decisive response. “But you already knew that, Draco. We have always disagreed on the topic of Death Eaters. The last time we spoke on the issue, you wanted to follow your father’s footsteps, and I wanted to follow mine.” Blaise paused then, studying his friend. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what changed over the summer: you’re not sure if you want to be a Death Eater anymore,” he stated insightfully.
Draco looked away from his friend. It was true – the doubts were plaguing him. He and Blaise had never agreed on the issue of following Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but the dark-haired boy was proud of his pureblood heritage, much like Draco, so the two had never focused too much attention on their difference of opinion regarding the Dark Lord. But then Voldemort had returned, and the issue had become much more substantial. “Does it matter whether or not I want to be a Death Eater?” he finally asked vehemently. Then more quietly, “Does it matter that you don’t? He is growing stronger in power, and the old families have to align themselves with one side or another again. Your uncle is gone, Blaise. So what happens now?”
Draco looked back to his housemate when he heard no response. Blaise was looking past him, over to the lake. Keeping his eyes focused on the frozen surface of the water, he spoke carefully. “I don’t know what happens now,” he admitted softly. “Uncle Agostino joined the Death Eaters to save our family, to keep the House of Zabini safe from the Dark Lord’s attacks. My grandfather is too old to go out on muggle killing sprees,” he spat the phrase. “So now my father is considering getting that horrid mark tattooed on his arm.” Blaise finally turned to look in Draco’s eyes. “What am I supposed to do?”
Draco shook his head sadly. “Hanging around a Weasley is definitely not going to help matters any.”
Blaise’s eyes darkened. “Ginny is a pureblood. Aren’t the Weasleys related to the Blacks?” he questioned.
Draco scoffed. “Only by marriage, not by blood,” he assured.
“Still,” Blaise continued, “she isn’t like the other Gryffindors. If you gave her a fair chance, you would see that she’s not so bad.”
“Perhaps,” he conceded to appease his friend. Remembering the events of the day, he had to admit that Blaise was probably right about the girl. Quickly evaluating their current situation, he decided to let his curiosity get the best of him. “What is going on between you two? Professor Snape was quite surprised by how well you two got along, although Dumbledore seemed quite pleased.”
Blaise would not meet his eyes as he responded. “We are friends,” was the only thing he said. Draco was tempted to further interrogate him when Blaise shifted and began to walk back towards the castle. “We’ll be late for dinner if we don’t hurry,” he called back. Draco followed a bit behind him, processing and filing away the encounter they had just had to evaluate at a later time.
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The next afternoon found Ginny, Colin, Blaise, and Malfoy sharing a table in the back of the library. They were the only patrons present in the old room at the time, and Madame Pince was doing some cataloguing in her office.
“Alright,” Ginny said, quill poised over a fresh sheet of parchment. “Tell me about your ancestors: the founders of the Wizards’ Council, the men behind the titles.” Ginny seemed satisfied with that essay heading, and scratched it onto the paper. She looked up when no one spoke, and faced Blaise’s questioning, yet amused, gaze.
“What do you want to know, Weaslette?” Malfoy asked, looking like he would rather be anywhere else at the moment than helping a Gryffindor.
“Starting with the basic facts would be good,” she said, patiently ignoring the urge to throw a hex at the blond prat. “Who, what, when, where, why…”
Blaise, obviously hoping to ease the tension that seemed to be growing between Malfoy and Ginny, began to tell some of what he had learned on the topic of the founders from his family. “We know that Hogwarts was the first wizarding school built in Europe, over a thousand years ago, by Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff. The four Hogwarts founders searched throughout Europe for young witches and wizards to bring to educate at their school. Salazar Slytherin found my ancestor, Domenico Aurelio Zabini, on the Italian coast…” Blaise went on to describe his ancestor’s career after graduating Hogwarts: forming the governmental body known as the Wizards’ Council with eleven other Hogwarts graduates; the group worked to bring together a more cohesive world for wizard-kind, began the construction of Diagon Alley, and fostered a tool of mass communication – truly connecting wizards scattered across the continent – through the earliest version of a wizarding newspaper.
There were many other movements for progress in constructing the wizarding world made by the founders. Colin and Ginny listened – rarely taking notes – to the rich early annals of the society they lived in. When Blaise came to what seemed to be the conclusion of his history lesson, Malfoy decided to remind them of his presence.
“As you have heard, the Lords of the Wizards’ Council all worked together to create a world for magical people away from the persecuting muggles of the time, despite which Hogwarts founder they studied under.” Ginny frowned slightly as he continued. “Each Lord maintained a province of land, the people of which he was both responsible for, and representative of in the Council. That tradition was passed on for generations before the installment of the current Ministry of Magic.” Malfoy stood then, to gather his things. Blaise arched a dark brow at his friend, which the blonde studiously ignored. “If that is all, this afternoon has proven to be incredibly redundant.” He sneered slightly as he turned and stalked out of the library, his shoulders set. Ginny saw the flash of concern and confusion in Blaise’s eyes as he watched Malfoy leave.
Ginny turned to look down at their mostly blank scroll, then looked to Colin. “Well,” her housemate began, clearing his throat slightly, “we only have to write about one of them, right?” he asked Ginny. At her nod, he continued, “But we’re probably going to need more personal information on the particular founder, if we want to fill three feet.”
Ginny understood the dilemma and stood. “Blaise, you tell Colin about your ancestor, okay?” she asked her older friend, who looked a bit uncertain. “I will go hunt down Malfoy and get him to help. Don’t worry about me,” she cut in as both boys started to protest. She noticed that both seemed a bit uncomfortable at being left alone together, without her, though Blaise hid it quite well. She smiled slightly. “You two will be fine without me here,” she rolled her eyes, slightly exasperated by the hesitation she could sense coming from both of them. “I’ll see you later,” and with that, she strode off purposely in search of a blond ferret. She did not see Colin’s light blush, or Blaise’s slightly nervous smirk, as she exited the library, leaving the two to their own devices.
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Draco stormed into the Slytherin common room, frightening the little first year that had stayed behind for the holidays as well. He climbed the stairs to his dorm, and slammed the door shut behind him, before throwing himself unceremoniously onto his bed.
The topic in the library had touched much too close to the problems he was facing at hand. He had sat through as much as he could stand, and he found the general history of the Wizards’ Council bearable. But he did not want to go into the particular roles of his ancestors, into the origins of the great Houses of Malfoy and Black. Draco let out a sigh of frustration he would never let anyone else hear, and flipped over onto his back.
Most of the afternoon hadn’t been too bad, he admitted. He had spent a good majority of the time in the library covertly studying Ginny Weasley. She had listened so intently while Blaise spoke, her eyes riveted to his face. He could see her thirst for knowledge being quenched in her open features. It was obvious her feelings for his best mate were strong; he could see that in the way she looked at him. But a nagging feeling at the back of his head told him not to assume anything about their relationship. His more logical, Slytherin-controlled mind told him the answer was in front of him, and he just seemed to be refusing to accept it.
Draco sat up quickly, refusing to continue thinking of the little Weasley brat in the manner he had been for too long now. He slowly pulled out the last of his homework – an essay on the Patronus charm for Flitwick – and got to work, pushing thoughts of a particular red head far to the back of his mind.
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Ginny had searched all over the castle for Malfoy, but couldn’t seem to find Ferret Boy anywhere. As she neared her starting point of the library once more, she concluded that the older boy must have retreated to the sanctuary of the Slytherin dungeons.
“Ms. Weasley,” she was startled out of her internal tirade at the cowardly blonde by a familiar, wizened voice. “How, may I ask, are your holidays proceeding?” Professor Dumbledore smiled down at the young girl.
“Professor, hello,” she returned the smile, covering her surprise quickly. “The holidays are going very well, sir, although I definitely missed Mum’s special rum cake yesterday.” The headmaster chuckled slightly at this admission.
“Yes,” he agreed, “Molly does make a mean dessert.” He studied her for a moment before continuing, “Your family missed you yesterday; actually, much of the Order did,” he said quietly.
Ginny did not really know what to say to this statement, as she did not believe it, so she forced a smile and said as pleasantly as she could, “I highly doubt they even noticed my absence, Professor, but that was kind of you to say.”
Dumbledore continued to smile slightly at her, if not a bit sadly, before speaking again. “It is always difficult to watch our loved ones be placed in danger,” he said quietly. “You are a very lucky girl to have so many who love you, and wish to keep you out of harm’s way.”
Ginny took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, greatest sorcerer of the age, and the only wizard that You-Know-Who was afraid of – it would not do to yell at or try to hex such a person. “With all due respect, Professor, I thought that each witch and wizard is a culmination of their choices. That is how we grow, learn, and develop into productive members of society. Am I not to be granted the natural right to choose my own path, to make my own mistakes, and my own successes? I’m sorry if I seem offensive, Professor, but you and I both know that my family’s insistence on keeping me ‘out of harm’s way’ is more for their benefit than mine.” She looked directly into the old wizard’s eyes now, breathing slightly heavily from having rushed out her passionate words. “While I appreciate their regard for my safety, I deplore the use of that regard as an excuse to keep me from helping a cause that I believe in. I would do whatever I had to, to bring the Dark Lord down. And I will,” she said decisively, “whether the Order of the Phoenix will have me or not.”
Dumbledore returned her intense gaze with a piercing look of his own, until Ginny had to turn away from the sheer power the man possessed behind those usually twinkling blue orbs. He sighed slightly then, an indication of how tired he must be. She figured he probably thought he was too old to be running around fighting Voldemort at his age. “Ms. Weasley,” he said, bringing her attention back to their present discussion, “when the time is right, I am sure you will make an invaluable addition to the Order.” Ginny’s eyebrows rose in surprise at his solemn statement. He smiled then, eyes twinkling once more, and changed the topic. “I recently came across Mr. Creevey working with Mr. Zabini in the library,” he hinted his interest and approval of the inter-house cooperation.
Ginny nodded, relieved that the earlier issue was no longer being discussed. “Yes, Blaise and Malfoy were helping Colin and me with our History of Magic essay on a witch or wizard from the Middle Ages.” She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she had seen a flash of surprise cross the older wizard’s face at the mention of Malfoy. “Blaise is telling Colin about his ancestor, one of the founders of the Wizards’ Council, and I was trying to find Malfoy to drill him on his ancestors, but I think he has retreated back to the dungeons.” She shrugged slightly in acceptance of her predicament.
“Ah, witches and wizards of the Middle Ages,” Dumbledore nodded, seeming to approve of the topic. “Much more fascinating than the goblin rebellions Professor Binns has always insisted on focusing on,” he shared an amused look with his student. “Now, for me personally, the sorcerers of the earlier Middle Ages have always held interest. Tales of Merlin, and the tempting enchantress who stole his heart, were the stories my mother told when I was a young boy,” his eyes were distant, reminiscing.
Ginny considered this for a moment. Choosing another witch or wizard would save her the trouble of hunting down Malfoy, and actually asking him for the favor of helping her. Her Weasley pride balked at the idea of her turning to a Malfoy for any reason. “Perhaps I will study one of the earlier sorcerers of the era, Professor. Thanks,” she smiled at the great wizard before her, knowing that, generations from now, schoolchildren would be writing essays on him; that is, if they weren’t already. He seemed to come back to himself at the sound of her voice, and gave her a benign grin.
“Well you had better get to work then, Ms. Weasley,” he turned to go. “I shall not keep a young mind from seeking out knowledge.” Ginny watched him leave, and then made her way back to the library, hoping to catch Colin and Blaise.
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Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall when the owls arrived. The original tables had been returned that morning, as the rest of the students would be arriving back from break in two days’ time. The holidays had passed quickly, and the blonde now found himself nursing a coffee, after imbibing in too much alcohol the night before, in celebration of the New Year. He ignored Aries, when the owl landed next to him carrying the Daily Prophet. So Blaise relieved the bird of its burden, before feeding it some of his toast. The clatter of fallen silverware, and the hush descending the large room, caused Draco to look up from the entrancing steam of his hot drink. Blaise was perfectly still, his face an emotionless mask as he read the story on the front cover. But Draco noted that his friend had definitely lost a few shades of color. He quickly glanced around to see that all of the students were huddled around different copies of the morning paper, and that most of the teachers were missing from the Head Table, including Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall.
Draco tensed when he looked back to find Blaise’s intense golden eyes locked on him, as he silently handed him the newspaper. Draco took a deep breath, preparing himself for what he knew was most likely on the front page. He looked down to find exactly what he had expected, what he had known would happen eventually. And as he read the lead article, he found that he had not been ready for this day at all.
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Ginny heaved all of the contents of her stomach into the toilet, in the last stall at the far end of the first floor girls’ bathroom. Granted, there had not been much in her stomach anyway, as her breakfast had been interrupted early on by the arrival of the owls with the Daily Prophet. She sighed then, sitting back against the stall door, curling herself into a little ball, wishing reality were not so harsh. In the stall beside her, Moaning Myrtle was being eerily quiet.
The Death Eaters who had been captured at the Department of Mysteries, near the end of Ginny’s fourth year, had escaped. But that, in itself, was not too shocking a revelation. Really, everyone had expected it happen – well, everyone who knew how vulnerable Azkaban was after the desertion of the Dementors.
No, it was what Voldemort and his Death Eaters had done after the not-so-spectacular New Year’s Eve escape.
Attacks on muggle-borns and their families.
Attacks on Hogwarts students who had gone home for the holidays.
Ginny crawled back to the toilet to retch again, but only released dry heaves, as she had nothing inside her left to purge. And when she realized this, the tears she had been so valiantly trying to hold back came in full force. She turned a bit, resting her head on the cool surface of the stall wall, as her body was racked with sobs.
It was almost too much to bear, thinking about what had happened. How had her family survived this the first time around? How had the wizards and witches that lived twenty years ago, during the First War, gone on each day, knowing that an evil wizard with no conscience, and his willing followers, were killing people for sport, for their prejudicial cause?
She had thought she knew the cruelty of Voldemort through her encounter with Tom Riddle’s diary. She had thought she understood what Voldemort’s return to power meant for the wizarding world, when she had raised her glass in memory of Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory. She had thought the war had seemed real when Sirius had fallen through the veil, one of the first casualties of these now dark times that she had known on a somewhat personal basis.
But none of that had prepared her for the truth.
She had had no idea.
The Second War had begun, and the wizarding world reeked of the stench of death. And no one – old, young, pureblood, half-blood, muggle-born – could escape its nauseating reach.
“Ginny?” came Colin’s tentative voice. She could tell by the hoarseness that he was trying not to cry. Ginny flushed the remains of her ill-received breakfast away, and stood slowly, taking large calming breaths to try and stem the flow of tears. She opened the stall door to find Colin peeking in the entrance of the bathroom. When he caught sight of her, her face streaked with the salty wetness of tears and blotchy from her crying, he stepped into the room and simply held out his arms slightly – an invitation to share in the comfort he could hopefully give her. She rushed into his arms, grateful for his solid form, grounding her.
She did not realize that he was just as grateful to have her there, keeping him from toppling over into the dark abyss.
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, Scholastic, and Warner Bros., among others. Only the plot and any unfamiliar characters are mine.
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