A Firewhiskey-Fueled Grand Gesture
Four days later...
Hermione barely looked up from the book she was perusing while standing at the bar of the Three Broomsticks, as Ginny walked in, her shoulders slumped dejectedly. She barely glanced away from the chapter she was reading on advanced transfiguration techniques as Ginny leaned forward with a heavy sigh, and draped herself across the bar, laying her head down and staring up Hermione expectantly.
A few seconds passed as Hermione patently ignored her. Ginny sighed again, with a dramatic flair that had Hermione biting back a smile. After finishing reading the last paragraph, Hermione marked her place in the textbook with a feather, closing the large tome, and leaning forward.
“Alright, Ginny. How was your day?” she asked.
“Horrible. Completely and utterly horrible,” Ginny answered seriously. “Possibly the worst day of my life.”
“Worse than the day with the Bubotuber puss? What about the day you crashed into the Whomping Willow? Or the day with that horrible faked picture? Or the night you were abducted by Claire?” Hermione asked pointedly. It had been four days now that Ginny had come into the restaurant after her day at school, claiming dejectedly that it had been the worst day of her life, and while Hermione was an understanding friend, there was a natural limit to which she was willing to indulge Ginny’s rarely-seen flair for hyperbole.
“That was a completely different kind of horrible, Hermione, and you know it. Horrible things were happening to me. I didn’t feel as if I had done something horrible to another person,” Ginny explained, her face pale and her mouth a tight line of sadness.
“Still ignoring you, is he?” Hermione said quietly.
“He looks through me completely. We were in the same corridor this afternoon, and that damn Pansy Parkinson was hanging all over his arm, giggling away like an idiot, when that cow spotted me, and asked him in her most Pansy Parkinson tone of voice when he was going to send me another Howler to get back at me for what I’d done. Do you know what he did?” Ginny said, looking down at her hands. “He just shrugged and walked away.”
“How horrible for you. The demonic, sadistic Draco Malfoy decides that you aren't worthy of systematic torture,” Hermione said flatly. “I think you should be grateful for his restraint instead of lamenting it.”
“Perhaps I would be, if I didn't feel as if I'd done something horrible to a friend. It was so much easier to hate him when I... you know, hated him,” Ginny sighed. “Instead, knowing that I hurt him... well, it hurts me.”
“I love those who can smile in trouble, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but they whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles until death,” Hermione said.
“Are you telling me to suck it up, quit my whinging and focus on what's important?” Ginny asked, raising one eyebrow.
“It's actually Leonardo da Vinci, and that's not at all what he's telling you. Well, maybe that’s a little bit what he’s telling you, but there’s more than that, if you stop and think about it for a little while.”
“Can’t you just tell me and save me the effort?” Ginny asked with a wry smile. Hermione shook her head, and patted her friend’s arm.
“You should go change. Rosmerta has to leave early tonight, so it’s just the two of us tonight. Although, it shouldn’t be too busy - the sudden influx of Death Eaters in town have people feeling a little reluctant to gather in public places.”
Ginny sighed heavily, and picked up her book bag, heading to the back of the restaurant. Hermione was right - she needed to stop moping around and spending all her time lamenting what had happened. It had happened, and she couldn’t waste her time worrying about what she couldn’t change. All she could hope for was an opportunity to make things right.
******
“I’m terribly sorry, but we are going to require the services of a waitress who isn’t a Mudblood. I’m sure you understand - I need to limit contamination by your sort to the smallest degree possible.” The unmistakable sound of Pansy Parkinson’s voice greeted Ginny as she reentered the dining room ten minutes later.
Ginny’s heart jumped into her throat, as she spotted a large group of Slytherins sitting at the far end. While she was more than used to waiting on the insufferable crowd of rude and spoiled future Death Eaters and found them nothing more than a mild nuisance, but when she caught sight of Malfoy looming in the corner of the table, with his stone-face expression and darkly glaring eyes, it was a struggle not to retreat into the kitchen and abandon her best friend. But at the same time, the sight of him acted like a magnet, an unstoppable pull leading her out of the kitchen and towards their table.
“I can promise you that you can’t catch my Muggle heritage by my proximity, and I am the only waitress available. What can I get you to drink?” Hermione asked, her voice tight. Hermione was a pretty tough girl, but mentioning her Muggle parents touched a nerve.
“We’ll take the blood traitor. As despicable as she is, she’s better than a dirty Mudblood any day,” Pansy demanded, her eyes narrowing viciously as she spotted Ginny. With a deep breath, she gathered her courage and marched over to the table.
Twelve pairs of Slytherin eyes glared at her as she reached them and nodded to Hermione to let her know that she’d take over. She smiled brightly.
“Welcome everyone. What can I get for you today?” she asked, and was greeted by a heavy silence. Her heart started pounding as she stole a quick glance at the owner of the seventh pair of eyes, which were staring straight through her.
“Your untimely death, preferably one that’s violent and painful,” Pansy said. Ginny smiled at her rival, impressed by her rare flash of wit.
“I’m afraid that’s not on the menu. How about a beverage? We serve a lovely pumpkin juice cocktail this time of year,” Ginny said, with as much charm as she could muster. This is how it had been before Malfoy, the constant barbs and insults. She could easily slide right back into old habits.
But it wasn’t quite so easy when Malfoy was completely ignoring her existence. Ginny desperately wanted to talk to him, to steal a few minutes alone with him so she could try to apologize, to let him know her side of the story. But he wasn’t willing to listen; she knew that.
“Malfoy, wait! Please stop,” she’d yelled as she ran after him, tripping in the sand. He was only a few feet ahead of her, marching away from her and Blaise. His strides were so much longer than hers, and she needed to catch him. With a desperate leap forward, she reached out, grabbing for his arm.
He whirled around, knocking her off balance as he violently shrugged her hand off his arm. His stared at her, a terrifyingly cold and tortured glance that froze Ginny to the spot. She scarcely dared to breath, even as her lungs burned with the effort of catching up to him.
“Please,” she gasped. “It’s not what it looked like.”
“I had exactly three people in the entire world I thought I could count on, who I would trust with my life. THREE,” he cried out. Ginny’s vision became blurry as her eyes brimmed with tears. Malfoy turned away, pacing a few steps, his face in his hands. He stopped, turned back to face her, his hands clenched at his sides. “Now I have one. What can you possibly say to make that any better?”
She longed to run to him and bury her face against his chest and cry for him, for them both. Unable to speak, she stared at him, as the tears overflowed and ran down her face, meeting his eyes, trying to express everything she was feeling. She stepped forward and tried to reach for him, but he backed away as if her touch were poisonous.
“You’re nothing to me now,” he said, his words like daggers. He turned and Disapparated, disappearing into the night and the sound of the ocean.
Blaise’s hand was on her shoulder, and she suddenly remembered that he was there. She spun around and stared at him. He hadn’t even tried to say anything, to explain. Her rage swelling, she lunged forward and pushed him backwards with all the strength she could muster. Surprised, he stumbled backwards and landed in the sand, unable to keep from falling.
“What were you THINKING?” she screamed. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t offer any explanations or apologies. Blaise simply leaned back in the sand and shrugged.
She left him sitting there and raced back to the house. But by the time she got there, Malfoy was already gone.
“I have an uncle who could arrange something,” Pansy threatened darkly with a sneer, snapping Ginny back to the present.
“Oh, but Pansy, who then would you ridicule daily? Think of how empty your life would be without me in it,” Ginny said wryly.
Malfoy suddenly stood up, throwing his chair back against the wall with a clatter. Ginny stared at him, trying to understand what was happening behind his expressionless face. After a tense minute, he turned his eyes towards her, and was staring straight at her. Ginny’s heart leapt into her throat, and she scarcely dared to breath too loudly, for fear of breaking the moment.
“Blaise! Fancy seeing you here!” Goyle cried in surprise.
“Indeed. Fancy seeing you here. It’s been quite a few days since you’ve last shown your face at school,” Ginny said coldly, turning to face the newcomer with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Blaise Zabini stood in front of her, looking particularly dapper in a black woolen coat and bright green scarf, his face tinged pink from cold and a tentative smile on his face.
“Not a lot to amuse oneself with in Hogsmeade in this type of weather,” Blaise said, shrugging.
“Funny. Didn’t realize life had gotten so boring for you here,” Ginny said cuttingly, her hand on her hip. She had a dreadful realization that she was emulating her mother scolding the twins when they’d done something naughty, and hastily removed it.
“What’s it to you, Weasel? Unless I’ve missed something important, it’s not any of your business how Blaise spends his time. He doesn’t have to explain himself to something like you,” Pansy sneered.
“For once, Parkinson, I think we agree. He doesn’t have to explain himself to me,” Ginny said pointedly. “Now, can I please take your drink orders?”
“Since you so carelessly disregarded my excuse for coming here, Ginny, I might as well get it over with,” Blaise said. “I thought - if you weren’t busy Saturday, that is - that you might like to go out with me.”
Ginny stared at him stupidly for a moment, unsure how to react, particularly with half the Slytherin seventh years watching the whole thing in perplexed silence.
“I work Saturday night,” she blurted out, knowing that she’d stood in a painful silence for too long.
“Saturday afternoon it is, then. I’ll meet you here, if you’d like,” he said with a quick smile.
“What IS IT about this girl? First Malfoy loses his head over her and now Zabini?” Milicent Bulstrode exclaimed incredulously. At his name, Ginny’s head snapped back towards where he was standing in imposing silence. For the first time since he’d walked away from her that horrid night, he was looking at her.
Remembering something he’d said to her one night, when he’d booked the entire Three Broomsticks just so he could talk to her alone - back when she still insisted that he was her mortal enemy, Ginny decided it was time for Malfoy to make good on one of his promises.
“When Blaise comes back, if you're still convinced you're in love with him and that he's what you want, I won't stand your way," Malfoy had declared. Ginny remembered how unbelievably arrogant he’d seemed that night - the first time he’d declared Ginny his - and how utterly unshakeable his belief that, should anything occur between Ginny and Blaise, it was doomed to failure.
“That sounds nice, Zabini. About 2, then?” she said in reply. She supposed it was probably terribly bad form to accept a date from one boy while completely unable to tear her eyes off another, but she’d finally remembered what he’d said to her that night, and some of the pressure of the guilt she’d been carrying around for days began to lessen.
Malfoy reached into his pocket, and after throwing down a handful of coins on the table, marched out of the bar, leaving a hoard of murmuring Slytherins behind him.
*******
“Pretty quiet in here for a Friday night, isn’t it Rosmerta?” Ginny asked, scanning the half empty bar with a critical eye.
“Ginny, haven’t you heard what happened this afternoon?” Rosmerta asked. With a pointed look at a specific table, filled with known Death Eaters, she leaned towards Ginny and lowered her voice. “A Ministry taskforce came into town this afternoon, brining with them a dozen Dementors. The whole city is on edge. They’re looking for someone, or something, but no one seems to know what it is. We’re all petrified that we’re going to be asked, though.”
“That certainly explains it,” Ginny said with a shiver. “McGonagall looked rather tense in her class this afternoon. She’d never let a Dementor onto the Hogwarts grounds, but with a headmistress like batty Beatrix Lestrange, she might not always have that choice.”
“We all need to be careful,” Rosmerta said, with a pointed look in Hermione’s direction. She was waiting on a table in the far corner, busily taking an order. But from their vantage point, Ginny could count the number of people staring at her with distaste.
“You’re worried about Hermione,” Ginny stated. Rosmerta nodded, her usually pretty face heavy with worry.
“Whatever people say about your family, my dear, your pure blood will always keep you safe. Your father may not be popular, but there’s a strange honour code among these people that will remember you come from a long line of wizards and witches. But Hermione... After tonight, she won’t be working after dark, if I can help it. People are much less likely to do and say horrible things to a teenaged girl in the daylight.”
“Have you told Hermione this? She’s not going to like it,” Ginny said.
“Not yet. But her opinion hardly matters in this case. It’s my job to keep my employees safe, and to protect my business. It wasn’t a popular choice, hiring her in the first place. And now, with you running around with all those Slytherin boys and causing scenes, I need to take a few extra precautions,” Rosmerta, shooting Ginny a sly smile.
“I am hardly the one causing scenes. It’s all on them - when they inherit their parents’ power, heaven help us all as I’m convince they just might destroy the world with it,” Ginny sighed.
“Oh, come now, Ginny. Tell me all about the beautiful boy who you have date with tomorrow afternoon. With all this gloom in the air, I need a bit of silly gossip to lighten the mood,” Rosmerta said, prodding Ginny with her elbow and a laugh.
“There’s not too much to say - I have no idea what possessed him to ask me out in the first place. After he kissed me in front of Malfoy last weekend, he completely disappeared. He did nothing to make things right with Malfoy and I, and left me alone to deal with the consequences of his actions. I mean, I guess I did push him, but that’s not really an excuse. I can’t believe he thought I’d actually agree!”
“Oh, my dear, what I wouldn’t give to be your age again,” Rosmerta sighed.
“Why would you possibly want that? Haven’t you been listening?” Ginny cried, incredulously.
“Oy, Rosmerta! We’re running low on Fire Whiskey again,” Michael, the bartender, said, interrupting Rosmerta’s explanation. “I thought you had ordered more.”
“I have, Michael. Certain things have become a bit difficult for some people to purchase right now, that’s all,” she said tensely. “Aberforth might be able to spare some - I’m going to run out quickly and ask him.”
“I’ll go,” Ginny offered.
“Didn’t a word of the conversation we just had sink into that thick head of yours, girl? It’s not safe for anyone to be out at night these days,” Rosmerta chastised Ginny.
“I’ll take my broomstick. I’m also quite quick with my wand - growing up with six older brothers, a girl has to be. I’ll be perfectly fine,” Ginny said, drawing her wand suddenly to demonstrate her skills.
“Be very quick, Ginny... Oh, how I wish they’d restore the Floo Network - life was so much less cumbersome back when we could just pop through the fireplace,” Rosmerta said, with a sigh of nostalgia. “And put your wand away - let’s not provoke anyone needlessly.”
“Ha! This girl could provoke a flobberworm just by walking into a room,” Michael scoffed. Ginny made a face at him, and then ran to the back to fetch her cloak and broomstick.
******
Something terrible was happening inside the Three Broomsticks.
She could tell as soon as she landed her broomstick at the backdoor in the alleyway behind the pub. Rosmerta had been right about the entire city being on edge - she’d barely seen a single person out on the streets as she flew overhead, and there hadn’t been any patrons at all in the Hog’s Head.
She dismounted slowly and quietly, and flinched as the snow crunched loudly beneath her feet. Her senses began to jangle with worry. The past few days had been warmer than usual, and Ginny’s sock had been damp from stepping in a puddle of slush before she’d taken off on her errand. The temperature must have dropped suddenly.
Ginny opened the back door cautiously, and crept inside, pulling her wand out of her pocket. As she made her way through the silent kitchen, walking past Rosmerta’s dark and empty office and walked up to the doors of the main dining room, she began to shiver. She leaned her ear against the door, hoping to hear what was happening inside the bar.
“You expect us to believe that you don’t know anything?” a gruff voice demanded. Ginny pushed the door open slightly, crouching down and peeking through the crack. Her heart leapt her throat as she counted five black-clad Death Eaters, and discovered the source of the sudden drop in temperature. The Death Eaters had brought two Dementors with them.
“She’s telling the truth. Look at her - she’s a Mudblood, for goodness sake. Who would talk to her? Who would pass any information to her? Why would anyone trust her? I have to double-check all her receipts each night to make sure she’s not robbing me blind,” Ginny heard Rosmerta say. She recognized the confident, flirty tone that she used with the most difficult Ministry patrons who came in. But the Dementors’s presence must have been taking its toll - her voice was shaky and desperate.
“Then why hire her at all? Why take that chance?” the Death Eater demanded.
“Would you prefer I waste the talents of purebloods by hiring them to serve drinks?” she shot back.
“Come on, girl. We have witnesses who saw you meeting an unidentified wizard in the alleyway behind the owlery two days ago. Just tell us who you were meeting and why. Staying quiet won’t make this any easier on you. Or the people you work with,” the Death Eater threatened.
Hermione, what have you been up to? Ginny wondered to herself. She knew she had to be careful, that she would come under more suspicion than anyone else.
“Just tell us what you were doing,” a seductively cool and quiet voice said. Ginny squinted, trying to make out what was happening. A tall Death Eater was standing in front of Hermione, with a Dementor hovering just steps behind him. Ginny struggled to keep her teeth from chattering as her heart was seized with panic and concern for her best friend. She willed Hermione to use every ounce of her intelligence to come up with a satisfactory answer.
“Tell us why you were there, and who you were meeting, and we can forget all about this,” the Death Eater’s calm voice said.
“I was picking up a package, something that is quite typical to do at the owlery,” Hermione answered.
“What was in the package?”
“A book.”
“What kind of book?”
“A textbook.”
“I didn’t realize you were a Hogwarts student. I didn’t think we let your sort in there nowadays.”
“I’m not. I’m taking correspondent courses through Beauxbatons. History of Magic and Basic Charms,” Hermione answered truthfully. Those were the only courses she was officially registered for, but Ginny knew for a fact that she was following a full course load that only full-blood wizards and witches were entitled to study. Whatever textbook was in that package was probably something she’d bought through the underground magical textbook black market.
“Who were you meeting?”
“I wasn’t meeting anyone.”
“Then who was in that alleyway with you?”
“I’m a teenaged girl. You’ve implied that I was illicitly meeting someone in an alleyway, and you’d like me to reveal who that was to you, in front of all these people? I have my reputation to consider,” Hermione said primly.
“Quit trying my patience - I promise you that I do not possess any. Now answer my question directly, or my friend behind me will come a bit closer, and you’ll be begging me to hear your answer then,” the tall Death Eater said, his voice cold as ice. The other Dementor, sensing the fresh burst of terror in the room, drifted closer. Ginny clutched her wand, her mind racing with possible ways to help her friend. Horrible visions of what could happen began to dance through her mind, and she shut her eyes, knowing that it was just the Dementors, their poisonous aura sucking any pleasant thoughts from her mind.
“It was an older man - he didn’t give me his name. He was selling an old textbook to me,” Hermione answered.
“You know the rules - all magical books are to be bought and sold through Ministry-owned booksellers, so that all owners can be registered,” a Death Eater posted near the door called out.
“Which is why, one may assume, that the man wasn’t eager to share with me his name,” Hermione said petulantly. The tall Death Eater stepped backwards, crossing his arms in front of him.
“You aren’t telling me everything.”
Ginny’s eyes were locked on the Dementors, who seemed to be drifting ever closer to her friend. She wracked her mind, trying to remember anything she’d learned about them, but the Ministry kept pretty tight control over any information about them - all the better to keep the public terrified of them. All she really knew was that they fed on emotions, destroyed happiness and magnified your worst fears.
But she remembered one thing, a complex spell her guardians would take turns casting when she was a terrified little girl separated from her family, calming her from her nightmares by telling her it was the exact opposite of a Dark Mark, made from light and happiness.
But Sirius and Remus had never been able to teach her how to conjure one. By the time she was old enough to even have a chance at successfully casting the Patronus Charm, her mother had practically had kittens over the idea, protesting that it was too dangerous - the magic too advanced, the knowledge too dangerous to possess.
“I’ve told you everything there is to tell,” Hermione said, her voice trembling.
Ginny watched helplessly as the tall Death Eater gestured to the Dementors, who lunged towards Hermione hungrily.
“I don’t believe you,” the terrifyingly cold voice of the Death Eater said. The dark, bony hands of the first Dementor reached out, grabbing Hermione’s shoulders, while she stood there, frozen with fear.
Ginny gripped her wand tightly, her mind whirling as she tried to remember what Sirius has whispered to her one night, out of her mother’s earshot.
“Happiness is the only thing that can defeat a Dementor. Patronuses are the magical manifestation of a pure happy memory. You have to think of the happiest you’ve ever been in your life, and channel all of that when you cast the charm,” he’d explained.
“Expecto Patronum,” she muttered, testing the words, and her wand glowed for a split second. The other people in the room hadn’t noticed her yet, as focused as they were on the terrible scene playing out in front of them. Hermione was thrashing at the decaying hands that were holding her.
“I’ve told you everything!” Hermione cried out desperately, her voice sending a bolt of ice through Ginny’s body. She closed her eyes, searching for a happy memory - playing with her brothers, cooking with her mum, the day she was finally reunited with her entire family after the Dark Mark incident... Her wand grew warm in her hand, but as the cold air in the room ran through her body, she knew it wasn’t enough.
“I knew that the vixen all dressed in red couldn’t be anyone else but you,” he’d whispered, his breath tickling against her ear, sending warm waves of sensation throughout her body.
Hermione’s head suddenly dropped backwards, her body growing limp in the grip of the Dementors.
“Was that your first kiss? ... Not exactly the way you’d imagined it. Just be a good girl and hold still, and we’ll see if we can’t create something a touch more romantic,” he’d whispered, before he pulled her against him, cupping her face, guiding it towards her as he kissed her.
“Stop this! She’s just a girl!” Rosmerta was screaming, struggling to free herself of the two Death Eaters who were holding her in place.
“Have you figured it out, little weasel? Why I came? Because I’m in love with you, silly girl. I’m an unfortunate fool who has fallen in love with someone who is quite possibly the most stubborn and difficult girl in the wizarding world.”
Ginny’s eyes snapped open, and she slammed through the doors to the dining room, her wand burning in her outstretched arm as she screamed the enchantment. A silver light exploded from her wand, charging towards the Dementors. She had just enough time to watch them scatter, dropping an unconscious Hermione to the ground, before the spell hit her. Ginny felt herself being thrown upwards, heard herself scream as she hit the wall, felt the pain explode across her back.
Breath knocked out of her, she was just taking her first painful gasping breath when the tall Death Eater leaned over her, his wand held out in front of her.
“Impressive display. Impressive, but shockingly foolish,” he said, his voice terrifyingly soft and quiet . Ginny stared at his eyes, glaring at her coldly through his Mask, and braced herself.
“Crucio,” he hissed, and then every molecule in Ginny’s body exploded.
* * *
Something cold pressed against her forehead, jolting her awake. She moaned loudly, every single muscle in her body protesting against her movements. She opened her eyes, squinting at the light.
“Oh bloody hell, remind me never to do that again,” Ginny groaned. Hermione was leaning over her, a wet cloth in her hands.
“Ginny,” she said, her voice strained as she fought to hold back tears. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
“Ginevra Molly Weasley! What were you thinking? Attacking a Death Eater?” Rosmerta’s voice shouted. Ginny grabbed her head, closing her eyes, as waves of pain and nausea rolled over her at the sudden noise.
“Am I dying? I feel like you should all be nicer to me if I’m dying,” Ginny grunted. Despite her better judgement, she lifted her head and opened her eyes, and was surprised to find herself lying on the floor of the Three Broomsticks, surrounded by broken glass. She slowly moved herself into a sitting position, jerking away as Hermione tried to help her, her friend’s hands jarring her injuries.
“You are lucky to be alive,” Rosmerta said seriously, crouching down in front of her young employee. “What your mother would do to me if she found out what happened tonight.”
“Let’s not tell her, and we’ll all be better for it,” Ginny said seriously, dropping her head into her hands. “What exactly happened?”
“You attacked a Death Eater and two Dementors. The Death Eater Crucio’d you. Oh Ginny, he was so angry, I was sure he was going to kill you,” Rosmerta said, her voice shaky, as she reached out and clutched Ginny’s hand.
“But he didn’t. Why didn’t he? We’re all still here - the Death Eaters are gone. How is that possible?” Ginny asked.
“Another Death Eater came in, and told him to stop. That they found the information they were looking for,” Hermione said.
“Excellent timing. Would you ladies mind helping me up?” Ginny asked. Rosmerta and Hermione glanced at each other, before they reached out and helped Ginny to her feet. She bit back a cry of pain as her ribs ached and her ankle throbbed from her weight. Ginny couldn’t wait until she was alone and could whimper over her aches and bruises without an audience.
She glanced around the restaurant. Broken glass was scattered across the floor, and a few of the heavy wooden tables were overturned. She turned to the wall behind her, and noticed damage to the plaster, which she assumed were caused by her body.
“This place is a mess,” she said. “I’m going to grab a broom.”
“Ginny, sit down. You’re in no condition to start sweeping my floors,” Rosmerta commanded. “That can wait until tomorrow.”
“Fine, then I’m going home,” Ginny announced. She hurt. Everything hurt, and the longer she was awake, the more it hurt. She guessed that the shock was wearing off. She needed to get home while she could still walk.
She turned to walk towards the door. Hermione ran up behind her, grabbing her arm.
“Ginny, wait! You can’t just leave like this. We need to make sure you’re okay!” she said, her voice shrill with worry. Ginny wrenched her arm away.
“No, we don’t need to do anything. You need to go home, and stay there,” Ginny said, her voice stern. The horrible, frozen shock of fear she’d felt as she’d watched helplessly as a Dementor closed in on her best friend returned in a rush.
“You’re the one whose injured,” Hermione said, frowning at Ginny’s tone.
“And I don’t mean your home in Hogsmeade. You need to go home home - back to your Muggle parents, and the Muggle world. I can’t believe a girl as smart as you could be so incredibly stupid - you know what’s been happening here, and how unsafe it is for you in Hogsmeade! How could you risk everything for some worthless textbook?” Ginny shouted.
“You’re one to talk!” Hermione shot back, her cheeks pink with anger.
“I understand - magic would be hard to walk away from. But you need to do that. Now. Before they come for you again,” Ginny said, her eyes burning with tears. “Go to my parents instead, if you insist on staying around wizards, but promise me you’ll get out of Hogsmeade. Tonight.”
“I won’t,” Hermione said, her voice defiant.
“Then start watching your back and covering your tracks. Use that brilliance of yours. Goodnight,” Ginny said, as she eased open the heavy wooden front door of the Three Broomsticks and walked out into the cold night air.
* * *
The short distance between the Three Broomsticks and Ginny’s flat felt like an implausible distance. Every step had become excruciating, and she cursed her temper - she should have stayed at the Three Broomsticks and allowed Rosemerta and Hermione to fuss over her, but she’d been far too angry with them, and with herself, to stay. Despite the cold air, a trickle of sweat was running down the back of her neck from the effort it was taking her to put one foot in front of the other.
There was a tall, dark figure standing under the lamplight in front of the building. There was a shadow over his face, and she couldn’t see who it was. Ginny stopped her torturously slow progress, and felt her heart begin to pound in panic. She stopped in her tracks, and stared at the person waiting for her warily. She was so tired that lying down in the street seemed like the most appealing alternative than walking past that person standing under the lamp and finding out what they wanted.
She took a clumsy step forward, and stumbled. At the sound, the person’s head turned, and she could make out his face.
“Come to finish me off, have you Malfoy?” Ginny muttered. She held her head up and began walking past him, feeling a strange mix of trepidation and relief. She’d hurt him, and as angry and volatile as he could be, instinctively she just knew that Malfoy would never hurt her.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She steeled herself, and then looked up at his face. His eyes were red and unfocused, and though he was standing still, he seemed to sway, as if he had trouble keeping his balance.
“Rather a late night for you, don’t you think, weasel? I thought you’d be tucked in bed early, getting your beauty sleep for the big date tomorrow,” he said, his words slurring alarmingly.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy? Are you drunk?” Ginny asked, surprised.
“One has to do what one has to do. A man has his pride, and a Malfoy has much more than any ordinary man. If I were to come here to say what I needed to say, I’d have to throw away all of my pride to say it. And in order to do that, I had to be blissfully, mind-numbingly pissed,” he said.
“How lucky am I to see the great Draco Malfoy tossing away his pride. You should have warned me, I could have sold tickets to this historical event,” Ginny said, acerbically. “Whatever you have to say, Malfoy, just save it. I don’t actually want to hear it.”
“Believe me, you do. It’s rather monumental,” he said. He walked closer to her, his steps swaying only slightly. When he was close enough, he reached out, clamping his arms on her shoulders, holding her in place. “Because I can’t seem to be able to do anything right now - thinking, eating sleeping, functioning as a human being... I can’t get you out of my head, to the point where I actually think I’ve gone quite mad. But maybe if I just say it, then all of that will finally go away.”
It was taking all of Ginny’s strength to stay standing. Her muscles were aching all over, and there was a tight band of pain around her rib cage, spreading across her back.
“Malfoy, please. Let me go. Please, just let me walk away,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Malfoy stared at her - a long, searching look - before he reached up and cradled her face with his hands, tilting her head upwards. He leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers.
“Don’t go tomorrow,” he said, his voice soft. She could smell the Firewhiskey on his breath. “Tell me that you won’t go with him.”r32;
“Malfoy, stop,” she whispered pleadingly, trying to turn her head away from him. He held it firmly in place, pressing his forehead against hers.
“Tell me that you don’t like him, that you don’t care about him. Say that you it’s me you care about, and that everything I saw was just a big mistake, a misunderstanding. Please, just tell that’s true, please,” he said, his voice desperate, his grip on her tight.
“No,” she said, reaching up and wrenching his fingers away, breaking free. She staggered away, gasping.
“Why does it have to be him?” he cried, any control he’d managed to maintain shattering completely. Her eyes were burning, threatening tears. Ginny needed to get away from him, away from the evidence that her actions had hurt him in any way. The guilt she had been feeling, which had finally begun to lessen, slammed back into her with a such a rush that it felt like a physical blow. She turned to him, needing to lash out.
“I’ve always liked him, and you’ve always known that. Besides, don’t you remember what you so arrogantly promised me? You told me that if he came back and I still liked him, that you wouldn’t stand in the way,” she gasped. “You were so convinced I’d be so blinded by you that I wouldn’t be able to see anyone else.”
“That was predicated on one very important fact, little weasel,” Malfoy said darkly, stepping towards her slowly. “I said I wouldn’t stand in the way if you were still deluded by the belief that you actually liked him.”
“You were fairly convinced that I do just a few moments ago,” she spat. “I don’t believe you care about me at all. It’s your ego I’ve wounded, not your heart.”
“Foolish weasel,” he said quietly, his eyes reflecting gravely at her under the lamplight.
“This alcohol-fueled grand gesture of yours isn’t going to work, Malfoy. I’m sorry,” she said, her anger exhausted. She summoned her strength and pushed past him as she walked towards the entrance of the building. He grabbed her arm, yanking her around to face him. He pulled her close, his strong arms tightening around her body even as she struggled against him. He kissed her, a desperate, furious kiss that threatened to consume her. The world danced about for a dizzying moment. Her eyelids slid closed and almost everything seemed to slip away except the feel of his lips against hers, his hand on the side of her face, the feel of his warm breath against her cheek.
But then his hand pressed against the left side of her back, trying to eradicate even the smallest amount of distance between them, and a flash of pain exploded across her body. Blindly, she pushed against his arms, clamped so tightly around her, desperate to free herself, and a strangled cry of pain shattered the quiet night air around them.
His arms fell limp, releasing her instantly, and she stumbled backwards, gasping. Her knees were weak, and the very ground beneath her felt uneven as every breath she took throbbed red-hot with pain.
Malfoy stared at her, his face horrified. He reached forward tentatively, his hands finding hers, steadying her as she began to recover. His solemn, observant eyes were glancing her over, searching to find what was wrong. But it was all too raw and Ginny was too vulnerable. She avoided his eyes, and slipped her hands out of his, and ran, leaving Malfoy standing alone in the empty street, staring after her.
Four days later...
Hermione barely looked up from the book she was perusing while standing at the bar of the Three Broomsticks, as Ginny walked in, her shoulders slumped dejectedly. She barely glanced away from the chapter she was reading on advanced transfiguration techniques as Ginny leaned forward with a heavy sigh, and draped herself across the bar, laying her head down and staring up Hermione expectantly.
A few seconds passed as Hermione patently ignored her. Ginny sighed again, with a dramatic flair that had Hermione biting back a smile. After finishing reading the last paragraph, Hermione marked her place in the textbook with a feather, closing the large tome, and leaning forward.
“Alright, Ginny. How was your day?” she asked.
“Horrible. Completely and utterly horrible,” Ginny answered seriously. “Possibly the worst day of my life.”
“Worse than the day with the Bubotuber puss? What about the day you crashed into the Whomping Willow? Or the day with that horrible faked picture? Or the night you were abducted by Claire?” Hermione asked pointedly. It had been four days now that Ginny had come into the restaurant after her day at school, claiming dejectedly that it had been the worst day of her life, and while Hermione was an understanding friend, there was a natural limit to which she was willing to indulge Ginny’s rarely-seen flair for hyperbole.
“That was a completely different kind of horrible, Hermione, and you know it. Horrible things were happening to me. I didn’t feel as if I had done something horrible to another person,” Ginny explained, her face pale and her mouth a tight line of sadness.
“Still ignoring you, is he?” Hermione said quietly.
“He looks through me completely. We were in the same corridor this afternoon, and that damn Pansy Parkinson was hanging all over his arm, giggling away like an idiot, when that cow spotted me, and asked him in her most Pansy Parkinson tone of voice when he was going to send me another Howler to get back at me for what I’d done. Do you know what he did?” Ginny said, looking down at her hands. “He just shrugged and walked away.”
“How horrible for you. The demonic, sadistic Draco Malfoy decides that you aren't worthy of systematic torture,” Hermione said flatly. “I think you should be grateful for his restraint instead of lamenting it.”
“Perhaps I would be, if I didn't feel as if I'd done something horrible to a friend. It was so much easier to hate him when I... you know, hated him,” Ginny sighed. “Instead, knowing that I hurt him... well, it hurts me.”
“I love those who can smile in trouble, who can gather strength from distress, and grow brave by reflection. 'Tis the business of little minds to shrink, but they whose heart is firm, and whose conscience approves their conduct, will pursue their principles until death,” Hermione said.
“Are you telling me to suck it up, quit my whinging and focus on what's important?” Ginny asked, raising one eyebrow.
“It's actually Leonardo da Vinci, and that's not at all what he's telling you. Well, maybe that’s a little bit what he’s telling you, but there’s more than that, if you stop and think about it for a little while.”
“Can’t you just tell me and save me the effort?” Ginny asked with a wry smile. Hermione shook her head, and patted her friend’s arm.
“You should go change. Rosmerta has to leave early tonight, so it’s just the two of us tonight. Although, it shouldn’t be too busy - the sudden influx of Death Eaters in town have people feeling a little reluctant to gather in public places.”
Ginny sighed heavily, and picked up her book bag, heading to the back of the restaurant. Hermione was right - she needed to stop moping around and spending all her time lamenting what had happened. It had happened, and she couldn’t waste her time worrying about what she couldn’t change. All she could hope for was an opportunity to make things right.
******
“I’m terribly sorry, but we are going to require the services of a waitress who isn’t a Mudblood. I’m sure you understand - I need to limit contamination by your sort to the smallest degree possible.” The unmistakable sound of Pansy Parkinson’s voice greeted Ginny as she reentered the dining room ten minutes later.
Ginny’s heart jumped into her throat, as she spotted a large group of Slytherins sitting at the far end. While she was more than used to waiting on the insufferable crowd of rude and spoiled future Death Eaters and found them nothing more than a mild nuisance, but when she caught sight of Malfoy looming in the corner of the table, with his stone-face expression and darkly glaring eyes, it was a struggle not to retreat into the kitchen and abandon her best friend. But at the same time, the sight of him acted like a magnet, an unstoppable pull leading her out of the kitchen and towards their table.
“I can promise you that you can’t catch my Muggle heritage by my proximity, and I am the only waitress available. What can I get you to drink?” Hermione asked, her voice tight. Hermione was a pretty tough girl, but mentioning her Muggle parents touched a nerve.
“We’ll take the blood traitor. As despicable as she is, she’s better than a dirty Mudblood any day,” Pansy demanded, her eyes narrowing viciously as she spotted Ginny. With a deep breath, she gathered her courage and marched over to the table.
Twelve pairs of Slytherin eyes glared at her as she reached them and nodded to Hermione to let her know that she’d take over. She smiled brightly.
“Welcome everyone. What can I get for you today?” she asked, and was greeted by a heavy silence. Her heart started pounding as she stole a quick glance at the owner of the seventh pair of eyes, which were staring straight through her.
“Your untimely death, preferably one that’s violent and painful,” Pansy said. Ginny smiled at her rival, impressed by her rare flash of wit.
“I’m afraid that’s not on the menu. How about a beverage? We serve a lovely pumpkin juice cocktail this time of year,” Ginny said, with as much charm as she could muster. This is how it had been before Malfoy, the constant barbs and insults. She could easily slide right back into old habits.
But it wasn’t quite so easy when Malfoy was completely ignoring her existence. Ginny desperately wanted to talk to him, to steal a few minutes alone with him so she could try to apologize, to let him know her side of the story. But he wasn’t willing to listen; she knew that.
“Malfoy, wait! Please stop,” she’d yelled as she ran after him, tripping in the sand. He was only a few feet ahead of her, marching away from her and Blaise. His strides were so much longer than hers, and she needed to catch him. With a desperate leap forward, she reached out, grabbing for his arm.
He whirled around, knocking her off balance as he violently shrugged her hand off his arm. His stared at her, a terrifyingly cold and tortured glance that froze Ginny to the spot. She scarcely dared to breath, even as her lungs burned with the effort of catching up to him.
“Please,” she gasped. “It’s not what it looked like.”
“I had exactly three people in the entire world I thought I could count on, who I would trust with my life. THREE,” he cried out. Ginny’s vision became blurry as her eyes brimmed with tears. Malfoy turned away, pacing a few steps, his face in his hands. He stopped, turned back to face her, his hands clenched at his sides. “Now I have one. What can you possibly say to make that any better?”
She longed to run to him and bury her face against his chest and cry for him, for them both. Unable to speak, she stared at him, as the tears overflowed and ran down her face, meeting his eyes, trying to express everything she was feeling. She stepped forward and tried to reach for him, but he backed away as if her touch were poisonous.
“You’re nothing to me now,” he said, his words like daggers. He turned and Disapparated, disappearing into the night and the sound of the ocean.
Blaise’s hand was on her shoulder, and she suddenly remembered that he was there. She spun around and stared at him. He hadn’t even tried to say anything, to explain. Her rage swelling, she lunged forward and pushed him backwards with all the strength she could muster. Surprised, he stumbled backwards and landed in the sand, unable to keep from falling.
“What were you THINKING?” she screamed. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t offer any explanations or apologies. Blaise simply leaned back in the sand and shrugged.
She left him sitting there and raced back to the house. But by the time she got there, Malfoy was already gone.
“I have an uncle who could arrange something,” Pansy threatened darkly with a sneer, snapping Ginny back to the present.
“Oh, but Pansy, who then would you ridicule daily? Think of how empty your life would be without me in it,” Ginny said wryly.
Malfoy suddenly stood up, throwing his chair back against the wall with a clatter. Ginny stared at him, trying to understand what was happening behind his expressionless face. After a tense minute, he turned his eyes towards her, and was staring straight at her. Ginny’s heart leapt into her throat, and she scarcely dared to breath too loudly, for fear of breaking the moment.
“Blaise! Fancy seeing you here!” Goyle cried in surprise.
“Indeed. Fancy seeing you here. It’s been quite a few days since you’ve last shown your face at school,” Ginny said coldly, turning to face the newcomer with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed. Blaise Zabini stood in front of her, looking particularly dapper in a black woolen coat and bright green scarf, his face tinged pink from cold and a tentative smile on his face.
“Not a lot to amuse oneself with in Hogsmeade in this type of weather,” Blaise said, shrugging.
“Funny. Didn’t realize life had gotten so boring for you here,” Ginny said cuttingly, her hand on her hip. She had a dreadful realization that she was emulating her mother scolding the twins when they’d done something naughty, and hastily removed it.
“What’s it to you, Weasel? Unless I’ve missed something important, it’s not any of your business how Blaise spends his time. He doesn’t have to explain himself to something like you,” Pansy sneered.
“For once, Parkinson, I think we agree. He doesn’t have to explain himself to me,” Ginny said pointedly. “Now, can I please take your drink orders?”
“Since you so carelessly disregarded my excuse for coming here, Ginny, I might as well get it over with,” Blaise said. “I thought - if you weren’t busy Saturday, that is - that you might like to go out with me.”
Ginny stared at him stupidly for a moment, unsure how to react, particularly with half the Slytherin seventh years watching the whole thing in perplexed silence.
“I work Saturday night,” she blurted out, knowing that she’d stood in a painful silence for too long.
“Saturday afternoon it is, then. I’ll meet you here, if you’d like,” he said with a quick smile.
“What IS IT about this girl? First Malfoy loses his head over her and now Zabini?” Milicent Bulstrode exclaimed incredulously. At his name, Ginny’s head snapped back towards where he was standing in imposing silence. For the first time since he’d walked away from her that horrid night, he was looking at her.
Remembering something he’d said to her one night, when he’d booked the entire Three Broomsticks just so he could talk to her alone - back when she still insisted that he was her mortal enemy, Ginny decided it was time for Malfoy to make good on one of his promises.
“When Blaise comes back, if you're still convinced you're in love with him and that he's what you want, I won't stand your way," Malfoy had declared. Ginny remembered how unbelievably arrogant he’d seemed that night - the first time he’d declared Ginny his - and how utterly unshakeable his belief that, should anything occur between Ginny and Blaise, it was doomed to failure.
“That sounds nice, Zabini. About 2, then?” she said in reply. She supposed it was probably terribly bad form to accept a date from one boy while completely unable to tear her eyes off another, but she’d finally remembered what he’d said to her that night, and some of the pressure of the guilt she’d been carrying around for days began to lessen.
Malfoy reached into his pocket, and after throwing down a handful of coins on the table, marched out of the bar, leaving a hoard of murmuring Slytherins behind him.
*******
“Pretty quiet in here for a Friday night, isn’t it Rosmerta?” Ginny asked, scanning the half empty bar with a critical eye.
“Ginny, haven’t you heard what happened this afternoon?” Rosmerta asked. With a pointed look at a specific table, filled with known Death Eaters, she leaned towards Ginny and lowered her voice. “A Ministry taskforce came into town this afternoon, brining with them a dozen Dementors. The whole city is on edge. They’re looking for someone, or something, but no one seems to know what it is. We’re all petrified that we’re going to be asked, though.”
“That certainly explains it,” Ginny said with a shiver. “McGonagall looked rather tense in her class this afternoon. She’d never let a Dementor onto the Hogwarts grounds, but with a headmistress like batty Beatrix Lestrange, she might not always have that choice.”
“We all need to be careful,” Rosmerta said, with a pointed look in Hermione’s direction. She was waiting on a table in the far corner, busily taking an order. But from their vantage point, Ginny could count the number of people staring at her with distaste.
“You’re worried about Hermione,” Ginny stated. Rosmerta nodded, her usually pretty face heavy with worry.
“Whatever people say about your family, my dear, your pure blood will always keep you safe. Your father may not be popular, but there’s a strange honour code among these people that will remember you come from a long line of wizards and witches. But Hermione... After tonight, she won’t be working after dark, if I can help it. People are much less likely to do and say horrible things to a teenaged girl in the daylight.”
“Have you told Hermione this? She’s not going to like it,” Ginny said.
“Not yet. But her opinion hardly matters in this case. It’s my job to keep my employees safe, and to protect my business. It wasn’t a popular choice, hiring her in the first place. And now, with you running around with all those Slytherin boys and causing scenes, I need to take a few extra precautions,” Rosmerta, shooting Ginny a sly smile.
“I am hardly the one causing scenes. It’s all on them - when they inherit their parents’ power, heaven help us all as I’m convince they just might destroy the world with it,” Ginny sighed.
“Oh, come now, Ginny. Tell me all about the beautiful boy who you have date with tomorrow afternoon. With all this gloom in the air, I need a bit of silly gossip to lighten the mood,” Rosmerta said, prodding Ginny with her elbow and a laugh.
“There’s not too much to say - I have no idea what possessed him to ask me out in the first place. After he kissed me in front of Malfoy last weekend, he completely disappeared. He did nothing to make things right with Malfoy and I, and left me alone to deal with the consequences of his actions. I mean, I guess I did push him, but that’s not really an excuse. I can’t believe he thought I’d actually agree!”
“Oh, my dear, what I wouldn’t give to be your age again,” Rosmerta sighed.
“Why would you possibly want that? Haven’t you been listening?” Ginny cried, incredulously.
“Oy, Rosmerta! We’re running low on Fire Whiskey again,” Michael, the bartender, said, interrupting Rosmerta’s explanation. “I thought you had ordered more.”
“I have, Michael. Certain things have become a bit difficult for some people to purchase right now, that’s all,” she said tensely. “Aberforth might be able to spare some - I’m going to run out quickly and ask him.”
“I’ll go,” Ginny offered.
“Didn’t a word of the conversation we just had sink into that thick head of yours, girl? It’s not safe for anyone to be out at night these days,” Rosmerta chastised Ginny.
“I’ll take my broomstick. I’m also quite quick with my wand - growing up with six older brothers, a girl has to be. I’ll be perfectly fine,” Ginny said, drawing her wand suddenly to demonstrate her skills.
“Be very quick, Ginny... Oh, how I wish they’d restore the Floo Network - life was so much less cumbersome back when we could just pop through the fireplace,” Rosmerta said, with a sigh of nostalgia. “And put your wand away - let’s not provoke anyone needlessly.”
“Ha! This girl could provoke a flobberworm just by walking into a room,” Michael scoffed. Ginny made a face at him, and then ran to the back to fetch her cloak and broomstick.
******
Something terrible was happening inside the Three Broomsticks.
She could tell as soon as she landed her broomstick at the backdoor in the alleyway behind the pub. Rosmerta had been right about the entire city being on edge - she’d barely seen a single person out on the streets as she flew overhead, and there hadn’t been any patrons at all in the Hog’s Head.
She dismounted slowly and quietly, and flinched as the snow crunched loudly beneath her feet. Her senses began to jangle with worry. The past few days had been warmer than usual, and Ginny’s sock had been damp from stepping in a puddle of slush before she’d taken off on her errand. The temperature must have dropped suddenly.
Ginny opened the back door cautiously, and crept inside, pulling her wand out of her pocket. As she made her way through the silent kitchen, walking past Rosmerta’s dark and empty office and walked up to the doors of the main dining room, she began to shiver. She leaned her ear against the door, hoping to hear what was happening inside the bar.
“You expect us to believe that you don’t know anything?” a gruff voice demanded. Ginny pushed the door open slightly, crouching down and peeking through the crack. Her heart leapt her throat as she counted five black-clad Death Eaters, and discovered the source of the sudden drop in temperature. The Death Eaters had brought two Dementors with them.
“She’s telling the truth. Look at her - she’s a Mudblood, for goodness sake. Who would talk to her? Who would pass any information to her? Why would anyone trust her? I have to double-check all her receipts each night to make sure she’s not robbing me blind,” Ginny heard Rosmerta say. She recognized the confident, flirty tone that she used with the most difficult Ministry patrons who came in. But the Dementors’s presence must have been taking its toll - her voice was shaky and desperate.
“Then why hire her at all? Why take that chance?” the Death Eater demanded.
“Would you prefer I waste the talents of purebloods by hiring them to serve drinks?” she shot back.
“Come on, girl. We have witnesses who saw you meeting an unidentified wizard in the alleyway behind the owlery two days ago. Just tell us who you were meeting and why. Staying quiet won’t make this any easier on you. Or the people you work with,” the Death Eater threatened.
Hermione, what have you been up to? Ginny wondered to herself. She knew she had to be careful, that she would come under more suspicion than anyone else.
“Just tell us what you were doing,” a seductively cool and quiet voice said. Ginny squinted, trying to make out what was happening. A tall Death Eater was standing in front of Hermione, with a Dementor hovering just steps behind him. Ginny struggled to keep her teeth from chattering as her heart was seized with panic and concern for her best friend. She willed Hermione to use every ounce of her intelligence to come up with a satisfactory answer.
“Tell us why you were there, and who you were meeting, and we can forget all about this,” the Death Eater’s calm voice said.
“I was picking up a package, something that is quite typical to do at the owlery,” Hermione answered.
“What was in the package?”
“A book.”
“What kind of book?”
“A textbook.”
“I didn’t realize you were a Hogwarts student. I didn’t think we let your sort in there nowadays.”
“I’m not. I’m taking correspondent courses through Beauxbatons. History of Magic and Basic Charms,” Hermione answered truthfully. Those were the only courses she was officially registered for, but Ginny knew for a fact that she was following a full course load that only full-blood wizards and witches were entitled to study. Whatever textbook was in that package was probably something she’d bought through the underground magical textbook black market.
“Who were you meeting?”
“I wasn’t meeting anyone.”
“Then who was in that alleyway with you?”
“I’m a teenaged girl. You’ve implied that I was illicitly meeting someone in an alleyway, and you’d like me to reveal who that was to you, in front of all these people? I have my reputation to consider,” Hermione said primly.
“Quit trying my patience - I promise you that I do not possess any. Now answer my question directly, or my friend behind me will come a bit closer, and you’ll be begging me to hear your answer then,” the tall Death Eater said, his voice cold as ice. The other Dementor, sensing the fresh burst of terror in the room, drifted closer. Ginny clutched her wand, her mind racing with possible ways to help her friend. Horrible visions of what could happen began to dance through her mind, and she shut her eyes, knowing that it was just the Dementors, their poisonous aura sucking any pleasant thoughts from her mind.
“It was an older man - he didn’t give me his name. He was selling an old textbook to me,” Hermione answered.
“You know the rules - all magical books are to be bought and sold through Ministry-owned booksellers, so that all owners can be registered,” a Death Eater posted near the door called out.
“Which is why, one may assume, that the man wasn’t eager to share with me his name,” Hermione said petulantly. The tall Death Eater stepped backwards, crossing his arms in front of him.
“You aren’t telling me everything.”
Ginny’s eyes were locked on the Dementors, who seemed to be drifting ever closer to her friend. She wracked her mind, trying to remember anything she’d learned about them, but the Ministry kept pretty tight control over any information about them - all the better to keep the public terrified of them. All she really knew was that they fed on emotions, destroyed happiness and magnified your worst fears.
But she remembered one thing, a complex spell her guardians would take turns casting when she was a terrified little girl separated from her family, calming her from her nightmares by telling her it was the exact opposite of a Dark Mark, made from light and happiness.
But Sirius and Remus had never been able to teach her how to conjure one. By the time she was old enough to even have a chance at successfully casting the Patronus Charm, her mother had practically had kittens over the idea, protesting that it was too dangerous - the magic too advanced, the knowledge too dangerous to possess.
“I’ve told you everything there is to tell,” Hermione said, her voice trembling.
Ginny watched helplessly as the tall Death Eater gestured to the Dementors, who lunged towards Hermione hungrily.
“I don’t believe you,” the terrifyingly cold voice of the Death Eater said. The dark, bony hands of the first Dementor reached out, grabbing Hermione’s shoulders, while she stood there, frozen with fear.
Ginny gripped her wand tightly, her mind whirling as she tried to remember what Sirius has whispered to her one night, out of her mother’s earshot.
“Happiness is the only thing that can defeat a Dementor. Patronuses are the magical manifestation of a pure happy memory. You have to think of the happiest you’ve ever been in your life, and channel all of that when you cast the charm,” he’d explained.
“Expecto Patronum,” she muttered, testing the words, and her wand glowed for a split second. The other people in the room hadn’t noticed her yet, as focused as they were on the terrible scene playing out in front of them. Hermione was thrashing at the decaying hands that were holding her.
“I’ve told you everything!” Hermione cried out desperately, her voice sending a bolt of ice through Ginny’s body. She closed her eyes, searching for a happy memory - playing with her brothers, cooking with her mum, the day she was finally reunited with her entire family after the Dark Mark incident... Her wand grew warm in her hand, but as the cold air in the room ran through her body, she knew it wasn’t enough.
“I knew that the vixen all dressed in red couldn’t be anyone else but you,” he’d whispered, his breath tickling against her ear, sending warm waves of sensation throughout her body.
Hermione’s head suddenly dropped backwards, her body growing limp in the grip of the Dementors.
“Was that your first kiss? ... Not exactly the way you’d imagined it. Just be a good girl and hold still, and we’ll see if we can’t create something a touch more romantic,” he’d whispered, before he pulled her against him, cupping her face, guiding it towards her as he kissed her.
“Stop this! She’s just a girl!” Rosmerta was screaming, struggling to free herself of the two Death Eaters who were holding her in place.
“Have you figured it out, little weasel? Why I came? Because I’m in love with you, silly girl. I’m an unfortunate fool who has fallen in love with someone who is quite possibly the most stubborn and difficult girl in the wizarding world.”
Ginny’s eyes snapped open, and she slammed through the doors to the dining room, her wand burning in her outstretched arm as she screamed the enchantment. A silver light exploded from her wand, charging towards the Dementors. She had just enough time to watch them scatter, dropping an unconscious Hermione to the ground, before the spell hit her. Ginny felt herself being thrown upwards, heard herself scream as she hit the wall, felt the pain explode across her back.
Breath knocked out of her, she was just taking her first painful gasping breath when the tall Death Eater leaned over her, his wand held out in front of her.
“Impressive display. Impressive, but shockingly foolish,” he said, his voice terrifyingly soft and quiet . Ginny stared at his eyes, glaring at her coldly through his Mask, and braced herself.
“Crucio,” he hissed, and then every molecule in Ginny’s body exploded.
* * *
Something cold pressed against her forehead, jolting her awake. She moaned loudly, every single muscle in her body protesting against her movements. She opened her eyes, squinting at the light.
“Oh bloody hell, remind me never to do that again,” Ginny groaned. Hermione was leaning over her, a wet cloth in her hands.
“Ginny,” she said, her voice strained as she fought to hold back tears. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”
“Ginevra Molly Weasley! What were you thinking? Attacking a Death Eater?” Rosmerta’s voice shouted. Ginny grabbed her head, closing her eyes, as waves of pain and nausea rolled over her at the sudden noise.
“Am I dying? I feel like you should all be nicer to me if I’m dying,” Ginny grunted. Despite her better judgement, she lifted her head and opened her eyes, and was surprised to find herself lying on the floor of the Three Broomsticks, surrounded by broken glass. She slowly moved herself into a sitting position, jerking away as Hermione tried to help her, her friend’s hands jarring her injuries.
“You are lucky to be alive,” Rosmerta said seriously, crouching down in front of her young employee. “What your mother would do to me if she found out what happened tonight.”
“Let’s not tell her, and we’ll all be better for it,” Ginny said seriously, dropping her head into her hands. “What exactly happened?”
“You attacked a Death Eater and two Dementors. The Death Eater Crucio’d you. Oh Ginny, he was so angry, I was sure he was going to kill you,” Rosmerta said, her voice shaky, as she reached out and clutched Ginny’s hand.
“But he didn’t. Why didn’t he? We’re all still here - the Death Eaters are gone. How is that possible?” Ginny asked.
“Another Death Eater came in, and told him to stop. That they found the information they were looking for,” Hermione said.
“Excellent timing. Would you ladies mind helping me up?” Ginny asked. Rosmerta and Hermione glanced at each other, before they reached out and helped Ginny to her feet. She bit back a cry of pain as her ribs ached and her ankle throbbed from her weight. Ginny couldn’t wait until she was alone and could whimper over her aches and bruises without an audience.
She glanced around the restaurant. Broken glass was scattered across the floor, and a few of the heavy wooden tables were overturned. She turned to the wall behind her, and noticed damage to the plaster, which she assumed were caused by her body.
“This place is a mess,” she said. “I’m going to grab a broom.”
“Ginny, sit down. You’re in no condition to start sweeping my floors,” Rosmerta commanded. “That can wait until tomorrow.”
“Fine, then I’m going home,” Ginny announced. She hurt. Everything hurt, and the longer she was awake, the more it hurt. She guessed that the shock was wearing off. She needed to get home while she could still walk.
She turned to walk towards the door. Hermione ran up behind her, grabbing her arm.
“Ginny, wait! You can’t just leave like this. We need to make sure you’re okay!” she said, her voice shrill with worry. Ginny wrenched her arm away.
“No, we don’t need to do anything. You need to go home, and stay there,” Ginny said, her voice stern. The horrible, frozen shock of fear she’d felt as she’d watched helplessly as a Dementor closed in on her best friend returned in a rush.
“You’re the one whose injured,” Hermione said, frowning at Ginny’s tone.
“And I don’t mean your home in Hogsmeade. You need to go home home - back to your Muggle parents, and the Muggle world. I can’t believe a girl as smart as you could be so incredibly stupid - you know what’s been happening here, and how unsafe it is for you in Hogsmeade! How could you risk everything for some worthless textbook?” Ginny shouted.
“You’re one to talk!” Hermione shot back, her cheeks pink with anger.
“I understand - magic would be hard to walk away from. But you need to do that. Now. Before they come for you again,” Ginny said, her eyes burning with tears. “Go to my parents instead, if you insist on staying around wizards, but promise me you’ll get out of Hogsmeade. Tonight.”
“I won’t,” Hermione said, her voice defiant.
“Then start watching your back and covering your tracks. Use that brilliance of yours. Goodnight,” Ginny said, as she eased open the heavy wooden front door of the Three Broomsticks and walked out into the cold night air.
* * *
The short distance between the Three Broomsticks and Ginny’s flat felt like an implausible distance. Every step had become excruciating, and she cursed her temper - she should have stayed at the Three Broomsticks and allowed Rosemerta and Hermione to fuss over her, but she’d been far too angry with them, and with herself, to stay. Despite the cold air, a trickle of sweat was running down the back of her neck from the effort it was taking her to put one foot in front of the other.
There was a tall, dark figure standing under the lamplight in front of the building. There was a shadow over his face, and she couldn’t see who it was. Ginny stopped her torturously slow progress, and felt her heart begin to pound in panic. She stopped in her tracks, and stared at the person waiting for her warily. She was so tired that lying down in the street seemed like the most appealing alternative than walking past that person standing under the lamp and finding out what they wanted.
She took a clumsy step forward, and stumbled. At the sound, the person’s head turned, and she could make out his face.
“Come to finish me off, have you Malfoy?” Ginny muttered. She held her head up and began walking past him, feeling a strange mix of trepidation and relief. She’d hurt him, and as angry and volatile as he could be, instinctively she just knew that Malfoy would never hurt her.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. She steeled herself, and then looked up at his face. His eyes were red and unfocused, and though he was standing still, he seemed to sway, as if he had trouble keeping his balance.
“Rather a late night for you, don’t you think, weasel? I thought you’d be tucked in bed early, getting your beauty sleep for the big date tomorrow,” he said, his words slurring alarmingly.
“What are you doing here, Malfoy? Are you drunk?” Ginny asked, surprised.
“One has to do what one has to do. A man has his pride, and a Malfoy has much more than any ordinary man. If I were to come here to say what I needed to say, I’d have to throw away all of my pride to say it. And in order to do that, I had to be blissfully, mind-numbingly pissed,” he said.
“How lucky am I to see the great Draco Malfoy tossing away his pride. You should have warned me, I could have sold tickets to this historical event,” Ginny said, acerbically. “Whatever you have to say, Malfoy, just save it. I don’t actually want to hear it.”
“Believe me, you do. It’s rather monumental,” he said. He walked closer to her, his steps swaying only slightly. When he was close enough, he reached out, clamping his arms on her shoulders, holding her in place. “Because I can’t seem to be able to do anything right now - thinking, eating sleeping, functioning as a human being... I can’t get you out of my head, to the point where I actually think I’ve gone quite mad. But maybe if I just say it, then all of that will finally go away.”
It was taking all of Ginny’s strength to stay standing. Her muscles were aching all over, and there was a tight band of pain around her rib cage, spreading across her back.
“Malfoy, please. Let me go. Please, just let me walk away,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Malfoy stared at her - a long, searching look - before he reached up and cradled her face with his hands, tilting her head upwards. He leaned in, his forehead almost touching hers.
“Don’t go tomorrow,” he said, his voice soft. She could smell the Firewhiskey on his breath. “Tell me that you won’t go with him.”r32;
“Malfoy, stop,” she whispered pleadingly, trying to turn her head away from him. He held it firmly in place, pressing his forehead against hers.
“Tell me that you don’t like him, that you don’t care about him. Say that you it’s me you care about, and that everything I saw was just a big mistake, a misunderstanding. Please, just tell that’s true, please,” he said, his voice desperate, his grip on her tight.
“No,” she said, reaching up and wrenching his fingers away, breaking free. She staggered away, gasping.
“Why does it have to be him?” he cried, any control he’d managed to maintain shattering completely. Her eyes were burning, threatening tears. Ginny needed to get away from him, away from the evidence that her actions had hurt him in any way. The guilt she had been feeling, which had finally begun to lessen, slammed back into her with a such a rush that it felt like a physical blow. She turned to him, needing to lash out.
“I’ve always liked him, and you’ve always known that. Besides, don’t you remember what you so arrogantly promised me? You told me that if he came back and I still liked him, that you wouldn’t stand in the way,” she gasped. “You were so convinced I’d be so blinded by you that I wouldn’t be able to see anyone else.”
“That was predicated on one very important fact, little weasel,” Malfoy said darkly, stepping towards her slowly. “I said I wouldn’t stand in the way if you were still deluded by the belief that you actually liked him.”
“You were fairly convinced that I do just a few moments ago,” she spat. “I don’t believe you care about me at all. It’s your ego I’ve wounded, not your heart.”
“Foolish weasel,” he said quietly, his eyes reflecting gravely at her under the lamplight.
“This alcohol-fueled grand gesture of yours isn’t going to work, Malfoy. I’m sorry,” she said, her anger exhausted. She summoned her strength and pushed past him as she walked towards the entrance of the building. He grabbed her arm, yanking her around to face him. He pulled her close, his strong arms tightening around her body even as she struggled against him. He kissed her, a desperate, furious kiss that threatened to consume her. The world danced about for a dizzying moment. Her eyelids slid closed and almost everything seemed to slip away except the feel of his lips against hers, his hand on the side of her face, the feel of his warm breath against her cheek.
But then his hand pressed against the left side of her back, trying to eradicate even the smallest amount of distance between them, and a flash of pain exploded across her body. Blindly, she pushed against his arms, clamped so tightly around her, desperate to free herself, and a strangled cry of pain shattered the quiet night air around them.
His arms fell limp, releasing her instantly, and she stumbled backwards, gasping. Her knees were weak, and the very ground beneath her felt uneven as every breath she took throbbed red-hot with pain.
Malfoy stared at her, his face horrified. He reached forward tentatively, his hands finding hers, steadying her as she began to recover. His solemn, observant eyes were glancing her over, searching to find what was wrong. But it was all too raw and Ginny was too vulnerable. She avoided his eyes, and slipped her hands out of his, and ran, leaving Malfoy standing alone in the empty street, staring after her.
Author notes: This isn't really a complete chapter - There's a 'second half' coming that was supposed to be posted in this one, but so many people have asked if I'd abandoned the story that I felt it was time to get SOMETHING posted. I would have had the whole thing, but somewhere in the middle, things kinda jumped the shark and I found myself HERE instead of where I was supposed to be... I hope you'll stick with me until I get to where I'm supposed to be?
Plot points inspired from HYD: Blaise asking Ginny out on a date, Ginny saying yes, and Malfoy's desperate (and disastrous) attempt to keep her from going.
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