This is where my super-artistic license, with respect both the the HP world and the HYD plot, comes into play, as I've been toying with many things in order to make things mesh. Hope you enjoy it.
And with this chapter, the FIA is officially caught up with all the updates that were posted elsewhere during the site down-time. A BRAND NEW chapter should be posted by the end of the week.
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Chapter 3: Life on the Other Side
“Are you sure that you’re not just being completely melodramatic about this?” Hermione asked Ginny, her skepticism plain on her face. She sat down next to her, placing an unopened Butterbeer in front of her. The two were enjoying their first break from what had been an incredibly busy night. Ginny, who was sitting with her head down on the table, replaying today’s horrible events over and over again in her head, looked up at the older girl, an expression of complete resignation on her face.
“You didn’t see his face, Hermione! He’s going to kill me! No one has ever spoken to him like that. Most people who get Howlers get them for stupid things, like bumping into him accidentally or spilling something on him, or even scoring a higher grade than him on the Potions exam. But I don’t know of anyone who has ever yelled at him the way I did! It’s all over for me,” Ginny lamented.
“You don’t know that for certain. You’re acting like they’ve already sent you a Howler. Let’s not panic until it’s a reality,” Hermione said, the voice of reason.
“I can’t believe this. I last for five years – five utterly boring years, but they were at least five utterly boring yet more or less peaceful years, and in one bloody afternoon, in the third week of September of my sixth year, I suddenly grow a conscious. Or a spine, depending on how you look at it. And now, all that effort at remaining unnoticed – except by the rich, snobby girls who love to pester me about my fashion sense – has been completely wasted!” Ginny exclaimed incredulously, as if she couldn’t quite understand her own stupidity.
“What exactly is going to happen to you?” Hermione asked, pulling out her order pad and quill.
“What are you going to do with that?” Ginny asked disdainfully, eying the quill.
“Well, it’s only logical to make a list of what to expect, that way, you can anticipate it and maybe avoid it all. I’ll take notes for you,” she said, her hand poised. “Now talk.”
”I don’t think you truly understand the level of evil genius that I’m going to be dealing with here, Hermione! How do you get into the head of someone like him? You can’t, because it’s not possible! He’s completely twisted, and all of his little cronies are going to do exactly as he says, in order to bully and torment me until I can’t take anymore, and I have to dropout,” Ginny exclaimed, standing up.
“Well, you can’t do that. Your mother would bombard you with Howlers, and hers are particularly potent. I think the bullying and tormenting is the pleasanter option,” Hermione said with a smile. Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes, but she did appreciate her friend’s effort to make her laugh. “And you can get into this Malfoy’s head. Didn’t you tell me that you knew what he was going to make Somerby do to that Corner boy before he even said it?”
“You’re missing the point. It doesn’t matter. I have no choice – I have to stay in Hogwarts. Dropping out is not an option. I’m just going to have to face the music, and wish for the rest of my life that I’d kept my mouth shut,” Ginny said fatalistically.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Madame Rosmerta already asked me to cover for you tonight, so you can pick up your broomstick from the repair shop,” Hermione said, switching to a more pleasant topic.
“Perfect! I’ve got Quidditch practice tomorrow, and I’d hate to have to borrow a school broom. My Comet 64 is not the greatest model out there, but it’s much better than the ones they have at the school. Plus, Oliver Wood promised to make some adjustments for me,” Ginny said, perking up.
“See, it’s not all that bad after all!” Hermione laughed, completely baffled by the younger girl’s obsession with that “silly” sport.
“You say that, but it’s costing me almost a month’s pay to have it fixed. But participation in Quidditch adds an extra few points that contributes to my scholarship, so it’s a necessary expense,” Ginny explained grimly.
“Plus, you’re completely obsessed with that game. Honestly, I don’t see the point of flying around on broomsticks, batting balls at each other and trying to throw them through hoops. Alright, we should get back to work, so that you can get out of here on time to pick up your broom,” Hermione said, cutting off Ginny’s sputtering outrage at her Quidditch comment, switching to a bright subject to stem the flow of the lecture she knew the redheaded girl would give her on the “glorious and proud history of the great sport of Quidditch.”
“Excellent thinking! You really are a brilliant witch – for a Mudblood, anyway,” Ginny said with a wicked smile, as she tied her apron around her waist, ready for work again. She started to head towards the kitchen when Hermione called her back.
“Hey, Ginny. If it’s any consolation, I think you did the right thing, no matter what happens tomorrow,” Hermione said, with serious eyes and an authoritative tone in her voice. Ginny smiled, and with a quick nod, headed into the kitchen to check the status of her tables.
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Ginny’s ride the next morning had been completely exhilarating. The modification and repairs that Oliver Wood had made to her broomstick made it fly like it had never flown before – faster, with better response times, allowing for quicker maneuvering. She was so excited; it was like having a brand new broomstick!
She was so consumed, thinking about how great Quidditch practice that day was going to be on her newly improved broomstick, that it took her almost three minutes to realize that everyone was staring at her as she moved through the hallway. It was fairly crowded, being that it was only a few minutes before the first class was to start, but everyone was moving out of her way as she walked past, pointing and staring at her. When she finally realized what was happening, she looked around in horror, her heart pounding, eyes searching above her for the telltale owl, bearing that dreaded blue envelope. She had almost forgotten the heavy sense of dread that had been following her around since lunch the day before, and it returned with a vengeance. The tight knot of dread in her stomach eased slightly, as she saw that the air was clear of any flying birds bearing life-destroying blue envelopes.
A growing group of people seemed to be forming around her, and her audience started to giggle as they noticed her looking to the ceiling in horror. As she sighed with relief, they laughed even harder, all seeming to know something that she didn’t. Ginny frowned, scanned the room, attempting to identify the source of their amusement. She spotted Claire – her height and her bright blond hair could set her apart in any crowd – and she was trying to gesture to her. She squinted, trying to discern what her friend’s frantic gestures could possibly mean, when she heard what sounded like crinkling paper, coming from behind her.
As she turned, she caught sight of the group of seventh year Slytherins, watching the commotion from near the top of the staircase. Feeling her stomach drop to her knees, she looked up and took in the sight of the satisfied smirk on Draco Malfoy’s face. Gritting her teeth, she stared straight up at him, locking eyes with him, hoping to appear defiant, as the source of the strange flapping noise came into her line of sight.
It was a piece of blue paper, folded to into the shape of a bird and charmed to fly and flap its tiny paper wings as if it were a real bird. Feeling her temper flare slightly, she assumed it had been following her since she stepped into the school, and was the reason everyone had been pointing and laughing at her, as it flapped on behind her back without her knowledge. A message of inescapable doom had been following in her wake without her knowledge. Frowning, she reached out and plucked it out of the air, and it instantly unfolded itself in her hand, and revealed that it wasn’t just a piece of blue paper – it was a blue envelope.
The other students started to cheer when they saw this, and push in closer to her, chanting for her to open it. They pressed in closer to her, and the sense of being trapped started to grow, to the point where it was almost overbearing. Clutching at the envelope, she tried to push her way through the crowd, needing space, needing to breath, but it proved fruitless. They weren’t going to let her get away.
“Open it! Open it!” they were chanting, as they pushed in closer, knocking her off balance. Catching herself before she fell, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hermione’s words from the night before rang in her head: “I think you did the right thing, no matter what happens tomorrow.” Snapping her eyes open, she cast the most loathing and rebellious look she could muster in Draco Malfoy’s direction, ignoring the strange look in his eyes, and ripped open the envelope.
The familiar evil-sounding laughter filled the corridor, and silenced the chanting. She felt a strange tingling sensation wash over her body, and when she looked down, she noted that her sweater had indeed changed color. It was now the bright blue of the other unfortunates who’d been marked before her.
All around her, the crowd circled in excitement, cheering and pushing each other around, turning the corridor into a scene of chaos. The games had begun, and it was now open season on Ginny Weasley.
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Pansy Parkinson was preening in front of the mirror of the third floor girls’ lavatory. Snapping open her cosmetic bag, she selected her choice of lip-gloss and began to meticulously reapply it. It certainly wouldn’t do for the daughter of the world famous creator of the most exclusive line of beauty potions to be seen around school with poorly applied lip-gloss. There were images to maintain, and more importantly, the attention of certain male classmates to attract.
“What was with the enchanted Howler this morning? It didn’t have quite the dramatic effect of an owl,” she asked Millicent Bullstrode, who was freshening her own makeup at the mirror beside her.
“I’m not quite sure. Vincent said that it was Draco’s idea – he’s even the one who worked out the charm to make it work. I thought it was rather strange,” she said, holding a tube of mascara in one hand.
“It could be his way of acknowledging that this is the first time a girl has been given an Howler. You can’t really push a girl into the center of the Great Hall and let everyone take a swing at her the way you could with a guy. This one is going to be more interesting, that way,” Pansy said, with a mischievous smirk.
“Although, wouldn’t it be great to have that self-righteous grin wiped off her face? She’s been walking around here like she actually belongs, the bloody pauper! I’m just surprised that something like this hasn’t happened sooner,” Millicent said, throwing her makeup back into her bag, punctuating the disgust in her voice. Pansy followed suit, and with one last careful glance in the mirror, followed her friend out into the hall.
“How right you are, Millicent. Well, I bet she won’t last the day. She may have acted tough yesterday, but after a full day of everyone in the school ganging up on her to make her life unbearable, she won’t be able to take it,” Pansy boasted, pulling Millicent around the corner, where they had a bird’s eye view of the staircase, and she pointed.
An exhausted-looking and rather disheveled Ginny Weasley was trudging up the staircase, dragging her book bag – the bottom of which seemed to have given out – along with her. A fourth year Ravenclaw was walking down, and with a sly glance behind her, the Ravenclaw carefully stuck her wand out and whispered a spell. A wide smile lit Pansy’s face as she saw the product of the charm she’d spent ten minutes teaching the young, clever Ravenclaw, and its results had Millicent almost choking with laughter.
“It’ll be quite difficult for her to play the dignified little Gryffindor wearing such a short skirt,” Pansy said cunningly. The Ravenclaw’s spell, which legend had it was invented quite a while ago by skirt-chasing male Gryffindor who had taught every other boy in his year how to cast it, had shortened Weasley’s skirt. Now, instead of falling below the knee, it was now several inches shorter – precariously shorter. “We’ll see how long her superior attitude will last now!”
“Ooh, look, here comes Draco!” Millicent hissed in excitement. Pansy leaned over the railing, watching as the most eligible Slytherin in her year made his way up the staircase. He didn’t seem to notice the way that the other students practically dove out of his way, or that there was a lot of pointing and gawking as he passed – or that his latest victim was only a few feet ahead of him.
“Draco! Up here!” Pansy called out cheerfully, waving at him. His head snapped up, and when he saw her, he nodded in acknowledgement. The Weasley girl, meanwhile, had frozen in her slow-moving tracks. Pansy grinned maliciously as her face seemed to pale a few shades, and she hitched her broken bag over her shoulder, as if preparing to sprint away if necessary. Draco’s eyes, as he’d looked up to see who’d called him, fell on the redhead in front of him, and he slowed his ascent up the steps.
As he climbed the narrow staircase past where Ginny Weasley had stopped, he paused, leaning over her. He seemed about to say something, but she jumped slightly as she realized how close he was to her, and tried to move away, starting to run up the stairs. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. Pansy leaned forward, straining to hear what he was going to say, as Ginny gasped at his touch and started struggling to squirm away.
“Plain white cotton. Just what I’d expect from such a self-righteous little Gryffindor,” he said coolly, an eyebrow raised teasingly, his gaze trailing from her eyes down to her skirt. Frowning in confusion at his words, Ginny followed his gaze downwards, then cried out in horror as she realized both what he was referring to, and why.
Millicent was practically doubled over with laughter as the Weasley girl’s face turned as red as her hair, her expression frozen in horror as she tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying to cover more skin. Malfoy released her wrist, and Pansy imagined that the girl was now trembling with the thought that she’d been walking around in a skirt short enough for the whole school to determine the color of her knickers. Weasley stared at him, unable to speak, until finally the bright red color drained from her face, when she then turned, and ran, dragging her book bag behind her. Millicent chortled as she saw the redhead make a dash for the girls’ washroom, but Pansy was focused on something entirely different.
Even from where she was standing, she could see a very disconcerting thing in Draco Malfoy’s eyes – something she hadn’t seen in quite a while. Interest.
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Ginny slammed the door to the bathroom stall shut behind her as she frantically pulled out her wand, trying to remember the counter-spell that would return the length of her skirt to normal. She could still feel her face burning, and her hands were shaking with anger and embarrassment. That awful smirk and mocking tone in Malfoy’s voice was enough to make her want to scream at the injustice and indignity of it all. As she recalled the situation, her eyes burned as tears of humiliation threatened to overpower her control.
It had been a terrible day so far. It seemed as though the student population were even more enthusiastic to torture her than they were of the usual victims of Slytherin tyranny. Sighing to herself, she assumed that it was because she was a definite outsider – the dirt poor Weasley, whose parents had neither money nor influence, but they did have a reputation for asking dangerous questions and passive aggressively snubbing authority – and this made her a much easier person to target.
Everywhere she had gone, she’d been met with nasty tricks and hostile attitudes. Her book bag had miraculously split open a number of times, spilling its contents (including her last bottle of ink) everywhere, despite how many times she’d repaired it with a Stitching Charm. She had also become the clumsiest girl at Hogwarts, tripping over everything – chairs, desks, steps and other students. And of course, no one seemed to notice how objects would miraculously move into her path. Someone had replaced her ink jar with a bottle of Vanishing Ink, so that the answers to the test they’d written that morning had disappeared shortly before Professor Flitwick had had a chance to grade them. Staring up at his favorite student, he’d shaken his head sadly, thinking that she had purposely tried to play a trick on him, taking advantage of his favor in order to garner some extra time to study before having to rewrite the test. He’d refused, and she’d had no choice but to accept a zero.
And now, here she was, hiding in the girls’ washroom, trying to restore the length of her skirt so that the entire school didn’t see her knickers as she walked past. Her knees were throbbing and undoubtedly bruised from all the tripping she’d been doing, her head was pounding where a school owl had pecked her head in an effort to free the Owl Treat someone had hidden in her braid without her knowledge, she had a tea stain on her blouse from Lavender Brown ‘accidentally’ bumping into her during Divination – all this, and it wasn’t even quite noon yet.
Finally succeeding in charming her skirt into returning to its original knee-length, she exited the stall and stood in front of the mirrors. A disheveled-looking girl, whose red hair was messily falling out of her long braid and whose face was still bright red with embarrassment, stared back at her with large, worried brown eyes. Sighing one more time, she straightened out her blouse, attempted once more to cleanse the stain, before assuming Lavender Brown had used an Adhering Charm to ensure it would be impossible to remove, and picked up her broken book bag.
Holding her head high, she was determined to brave the storm. She just had to survive until the next victim appeared. If she hadn’t broken by then, they’d grow bored. There were only so many nasty tricks in the book. Smiling slightly over the thought that her brother Fred and George would heartily disagree, she exited the girls’ washroom, her resolve restored.
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It was in Snape’s class that the biggest blow of the day came. She’d managed to find a safe corner of the castle to hide during lunch, and had limped through Potions, despite having her supplies vanish and unneeded ingredients appear in her cauldron without her knowledge, turning her Pepper Up potion into a putrid concoction that had a distinct odor of steamed broccoli. Luckily, her recent bout of clumsiness didn’t seem to affect her as she cleaned it out, so that none of the disgusting mixture ended up on her clothing, a fact of which she was very relieved.
Sitting down at her desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts, she looked over to see Claire sitting three seats over from her, instead of occupying the desk next to her, where she normally sat. When Ginny’s eyes met hers, Claire looked away guiltily and refused to look back up at her. Feeling slightly stung by her friend’s snub, Ginny plucked her quill from the bag, and prepared to write the test Snape had set for that day. During lunch, she’d offered to help Madame Pince re-shelve some books in exchange for the loan of a bottle of ink, determined that this morning’s mishap wouldn’t reoccur. Despite their mutual animosity, her best marks were in Snape’s class, a fact that only infuriated the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor even more.
“Miss Weasley, so glad to see you’ve decided to grace us with your punctuality this afternoon,” Snape commented snidely as he entered the classroom.
“Wouldn’t want to be late for your test, sir. You know how I look forward to them,” she said with a bright smile. She could feel the hostile stares of her classmates on her, and tried to shrug it off as Snape passed around the test papers. She needed to relax and focus – after the incident in Charms today, she needed to make sure she scored a good mark to make up for it.
Her eyes scanned over the paper and she smiled to herself. Snape was nothing if not predictable, and she’d anticipated almost exactly what he was going to ask on the test. Happily, she started writing, and became so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice as the students around her started tossing little bits of paper onto her desk. It wasn’t until one hit her squarely in the forehead, causing her to cry out in surprise, that she noticed the folded pieces of paper that littered the top of her desk.
Snape’s eyes snapped up from the book he’d been reading while the class wrote the test, and settled on her.
“Is there a problem, Weasley?” he demanded coolly. Ginny felt a shiver of panic – there was one thing she never did, and that was to cause any trouble during a test. Snape was known to kick students out of class for so much as sneezing while there was a test being written.
“Of course not, sir,” she answered, but at that moment, the person behind her threw yet another bit of paper on her desk. Snape’s eyes widened, and he stood up and marched over to her desk.
“What have we here, Weasley?” he demanded. He reached out and snatched a piece of paper, opening it up. His eyes narrowed as he read, and then he looked down at her menacingly. “This is the answer to question 5. Care to explain?”
“I have no idea – someone threw that at my desk. I had nothing to do with it, nor did I look at it,” Ginny said, as calmly as she could. It would not serve her cause to lose her temper with Snape now, as he was snatching at the other pieces of paper, opening them and reading them as she spoke. She could see a vein in his forehead was started to throb in anger.
“I have often wondered how a student with your obvious lack of commitment to academics continued to succeed in my class, but I never would have imagined you’d be foolish enough to attempt to cheat,” he seethed, grabbing her test paper out of her hands. “You will, of course, receive a zero for this test, and I will be reassessing your marks on your previous work this term. If I decide that there have been other instances of cheating, your mark on those assignments will be lowered. You can wait outside while the rest of the class finishes the test.”
This was too much for her, and after a day of being tripped, spilt upon and tortured by her fellow students, the accusation of cheating was just too much for her pride to handle, and she snapped.
“I did not cheat!” she cried out, jumping out of her chair. Snape turned to her, staring at her impassively with those cold eyes. “I was just sitting here, writing my test. They threw the answers at me, I didn’t even open them! Unless I have the ability to read through crumpled up paper, there is no way I could have cheated!”
“Why would anyone take the time to write out the answers and place them on your desk, so that you could not open them?” Snape asked, mockingly.
“Obviously so that you would catch me and give me a zero!” Ginny cried, almost near tears.
“Miss Weasley, you and your kind are always full of excuses, always searching to transfer blame for the situations you get yourself into onto someone else. It’s not going to work this time, not with me,” he said. Ginny felt a wave of rage wash over her. You and your kind? What did he mean by that?
“You can ask anyone here! They threw them at me! I didn’t do anything wrong!” she cried out, gesturing to the students around here.
“Did anyone see what Weasley is talking about?” Snape asked. Her classmates stared back at him, in silence. Desperate, Ginny turned around to look at them, hoping to find one friendly face, someone to back up her story. Her eyes feel on Claire, who looked uncomfortable, fidgeting in her seat.
“Claire?” Ginny asked meekly. The blond girl lifted her eyes up, meeting Ginny’s for a second, before she shook her head and looked away.
“As no one is willing to corroborate your story, Weasley, I’ll repeat my request that you wait outside until everyone is finished writing the test,” Snape said, a glint of malicious pleasure in his eyes. Trembling with anger, Ginny snatched her book bag from the floor and stormed out of the classroom.
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So caught up in her anger, Ginny was oblivious to her surroundings. She ran right into Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be waiting for her, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face that instantly had Ginny wary.
“Watch where you’re going, Weasley,” she demanded, pushing the shorter girl back.
“Sorry,” Ginny said, taking a step back, preparing to continue storming down the corridor.
“Your own friend wouldn’t even stick up for you, the one that got you into this mess in the first place,” Pansy said, shaking her head sadly. Ginny frowned up at her.
“How do you know that?” she demanded. It had just happened, there was no way that Pansy could know.
“It would be best for you to realize that I know and see and hear everything that happens at Hogwarts. Everything,” she said, menacingly taking a step towards Ginny. “I have to say that I find it rather amusing to see how cheap the friendship of the poor truly is. She turned on you, afraid to face the music if she’s nice to you.”
“What do you know about friendship? People are only nice to you because of your parents’ money,” Ginny muttered, rolling her eyes. Pansy’s face turned red.
“Watch what you say to me, you dirty pauper!” she snapped, pushing Ginny backwards. She stumbled, and reached her hand out to gain purchase against the wall, only to find that there wasn’t a wall behind her, but the giant Mimbulus Mimbletonia that filled the little nook where a suit of armor had stood, until it wandered away one afternoon, finding another location in the castle to occupy that was more to its liking. The vicious plant instantly reacted to the contact with her skin, and its boils burst, spewing a large amount of Stinksap at her. Pansy managed to jump out of its way, and immediately burst into mocking laughter.
Wiping the putrid substance from her face and shaking it off her hands, she regarded Pansy with loathing.
“I have never done anything to you, Parkinson! Why are you doing this?” she demanded.
“You don’t belong here. You never did. Now that you’ve been marked with a Howler, I have the opportunity to cleanse these prestigious halls of the filth you’ve brought in,” she cried viciously. Staring back at her, Stinksap dripping from her clothing, Ginny just shook her head, and turned, running away as fast as she could.
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She hadn’t quite made it to the Quidditch pitch before her emotions got the better of her and what had been weighing on her mind erupted out of her mouth before she had any chance of quelling the urge to scream.
“DAMMIT!” she screamed, collapsing to her onto the green turf of the pitch, and listened with a satisfaction as her voice echoed throughout the empty stadium. “DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT! What the hell was I thinking yesterday?”
She took a deep, calming breath, feeling slightly better now that she’d been able to unleash some of her temper. But she still felt like she was about to cry – the events in Snape’s class coupled with the unfounded hatred she’d encountered with Pansy had got the better of her. She could feel tears welling up, and was blinking furiously to keep them from spilling over. It didn’t help that the Stinksap was burning furiously.
“Could you, in the future, refrain from yelling down here?” a quiet voice asked. Startled, Ginny whipped her head around and came face-to-face with the mysterious seventh year Slytherin with the attractive, dark eyes. Blaise Zabini, much like he had been the day before, was lounging in the grass, a book in his hand. He hadn’t even glanced up at her. Ginny’s pride was screaming at her – of all people to catch her covered in smelly goo and near tears, it had to be Draco Malfoy’s best friend (who also happened to be the best looking boy in school).
“Sorry,” she whispered, which was the best she could manage considering she was near tears.
“This is my spot, this is where I come to get away from those annoying girls and ridiculous…” he trailed off as he idly flipped a page, still not looking away from his book. “This is my spot and I’d like you to stop coming here to vent. You’re too noisy.”
Ginny sat there, the grass prickling at the bare skin of her knees, and she fought for the strength to stand up and walk away. But a calming breeze was blowing, and the pitch was so peaceful and empty, empty of all those staring eyes, mocking laughter and pointing wands. She just wanted a moment of peace, so that she could pull herself together and walk back to the school, collect her broomstick and Quidditch uniform with her head held high, ready to face anything that the Slytherin minions would throw at her. Sniffing slightly, she started to stand up when she felt those dark eyes on her again.
He stood up, book in hand. He was only a few feet away from her, and there was no doubt that that lovely calming breeze was also carrying quite a bit of the stench of Stinksap with it. He stood there, casting an assessing glance over her. She froze, under the weight of his gaze, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t figure out why, after all that his group had done to her that day, she was trying to acquiesce to his demand, but she decided that she’d had enough for one day, and started to slowly walk away, lacking the heart to move quickly.
“Hold on,” his voice called out, low and silky. She turned around nervously, completely fazed by the fact that he was even talking to her.
“Yes?” she asked, tentatively.
“You can stay. It looks like you could use it more than I,” he said with a casual shrug and an amused smile, his eyes resting on the green glob of Stinksap nestled in her hair. Ginny stood, startled by the unexpected kindness from one of the enemies, watching as his tall frame moved away from the pitch, headed back towards the castle.
Her mind was buzzing from this encounter. The dark and mysterious Blaise Zabini had not only spoken to her, but he’d done something unexpected and kind, by letting her stay there to calm down before having to return to the castle – and he’d kind of smiled at her. Smiling despite herself and even blushing slightly, it took her a full minute to realize that the hottest boy in school had smiled at her, while she was covered in, and smelled like, the very wretched substance that oozed from the boils covering a Mimbulus Mimbletonia.
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Charging away from the school, Ginny was so angry she could barely speak. Arriving back at the Quidditch pitch after the final class had ended, broom in tow, she’d been greeted with the members of her team, stony-faced and grim-looking.
“Sorry Ginny, you know how it is. We’ve decided to find a new Seeker. You’ve become too much of a liability now, you see,” the Gryffindor captain, Marcus McCutcheon, said. Ginny had angrily warned them of their slim chances of finding anyone as good as she was, but it had been to no avail.
“You’re supposed to be Gryffindors,” she hollered at them as she stormed away. “Try showing a little courage every now and again!”
So, Draco Malfoy’s Howler had managed to destroy the few things she thought she could count on in life: her dignity, Quidditch, her integrity and her academic standing, which was needed to keep her scholarship. She was so caught up in angry thoughts of how to seek revenge, while admitting to herself that she was helpless to do anything but take it all, that she didn’t notice the group of seventh year Slytherins huddled by the entryway.
“Now, what is awful stench? Oh look boys, it’s the Weasley,” a snide voice called out. Turning around, her mind still on the Quidditch, she just glared at them all as they giggled nastily at Vincent Crabbe’s comment. She paused, as Draco Malfoy spotted her, his pale gray eyes locking on her, and he started to move towards her, like a Bludger hurtling towards an oblivious Chaser.
“Still here, Weasley?” he asked, his head tilted and a slight smile on his lips as he surveyed her. Probably assessing the damage, she thought to herself, and tried to ignore the shiver that ran up her spine as his eyes moved over her for the second time that day.
She didn’t reply, and after shooting a loathing glance in Pansy Parkinson’s direction, she walked away, and tried to ignore his footsteps as he followed behind her.
“You’ve lasted the whole day, which has earned you two things,” he said, his soft voice so disturbing that she stopped in her tracks. She could feel him behind her, could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck as he leaned down closer, practically whispering in her ear. “You have my respect. And my promise that we’re just going to try even harder tomorrow.”
It took the entire ride home for the tingling sensation in her spine that his words caused to dissipate.
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b>A/N /b>: More to come soon! Thanks for reading! Hope you're enjoying the CRACK AU. Drawn from HYD: 1) the fact that Ginny gets a "Howler" (it's a red warning tag in HYD) for standing up to Malfoy 2) Claire ignoring Ginny 3) Ginny coming across Blaise in "his" spot, him asking her to leave before changing his mind, telling her that she looks like she needs it more than him.
And with this chapter, the FIA is officially caught up with all the updates that were posted elsewhere during the site down-time. A BRAND NEW chapter should be posted by the end of the week.
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Chapter 3: Life on the Other Side
“Are you sure that you’re not just being completely melodramatic about this?” Hermione asked Ginny, her skepticism plain on her face. She sat down next to her, placing an unopened Butterbeer in front of her. The two were enjoying their first break from what had been an incredibly busy night. Ginny, who was sitting with her head down on the table, replaying today’s horrible events over and over again in her head, looked up at the older girl, an expression of complete resignation on her face.
“You didn’t see his face, Hermione! He’s going to kill me! No one has ever spoken to him like that. Most people who get Howlers get them for stupid things, like bumping into him accidentally or spilling something on him, or even scoring a higher grade than him on the Potions exam. But I don’t know of anyone who has ever yelled at him the way I did! It’s all over for me,” Ginny lamented.
“You don’t know that for certain. You’re acting like they’ve already sent you a Howler. Let’s not panic until it’s a reality,” Hermione said, the voice of reason.
“I can’t believe this. I last for five years – five utterly boring years, but they were at least five utterly boring yet more or less peaceful years, and in one bloody afternoon, in the third week of September of my sixth year, I suddenly grow a conscious. Or a spine, depending on how you look at it. And now, all that effort at remaining unnoticed – except by the rich, snobby girls who love to pester me about my fashion sense – has been completely wasted!” Ginny exclaimed incredulously, as if she couldn’t quite understand her own stupidity.
“What exactly is going to happen to you?” Hermione asked, pulling out her order pad and quill.
“What are you going to do with that?” Ginny asked disdainfully, eying the quill.
“Well, it’s only logical to make a list of what to expect, that way, you can anticipate it and maybe avoid it all. I’ll take notes for you,” she said, her hand poised. “Now talk.”
”I don’t think you truly understand the level of evil genius that I’m going to be dealing with here, Hermione! How do you get into the head of someone like him? You can’t, because it’s not possible! He’s completely twisted, and all of his little cronies are going to do exactly as he says, in order to bully and torment me until I can’t take anymore, and I have to dropout,” Ginny exclaimed, standing up.
“Well, you can’t do that. Your mother would bombard you with Howlers, and hers are particularly potent. I think the bullying and tormenting is the pleasanter option,” Hermione said with a smile. Ginny sighed and rolled her eyes, but she did appreciate her friend’s effort to make her laugh. “And you can get into this Malfoy’s head. Didn’t you tell me that you knew what he was going to make Somerby do to that Corner boy before he even said it?”
“You’re missing the point. It doesn’t matter. I have no choice – I have to stay in Hogwarts. Dropping out is not an option. I’m just going to have to face the music, and wish for the rest of my life that I’d kept my mouth shut,” Ginny said fatalistically.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Madame Rosmerta already asked me to cover for you tonight, so you can pick up your broomstick from the repair shop,” Hermione said, switching to a more pleasant topic.
“Perfect! I’ve got Quidditch practice tomorrow, and I’d hate to have to borrow a school broom. My Comet 64 is not the greatest model out there, but it’s much better than the ones they have at the school. Plus, Oliver Wood promised to make some adjustments for me,” Ginny said, perking up.
“See, it’s not all that bad after all!” Hermione laughed, completely baffled by the younger girl’s obsession with that “silly” sport.
“You say that, but it’s costing me almost a month’s pay to have it fixed. But participation in Quidditch adds an extra few points that contributes to my scholarship, so it’s a necessary expense,” Ginny explained grimly.
“Plus, you’re completely obsessed with that game. Honestly, I don’t see the point of flying around on broomsticks, batting balls at each other and trying to throw them through hoops. Alright, we should get back to work, so that you can get out of here on time to pick up your broom,” Hermione said, cutting off Ginny’s sputtering outrage at her Quidditch comment, switching to a bright subject to stem the flow of the lecture she knew the redheaded girl would give her on the “glorious and proud history of the great sport of Quidditch.”
“Excellent thinking! You really are a brilliant witch – for a Mudblood, anyway,” Ginny said with a wicked smile, as she tied her apron around her waist, ready for work again. She started to head towards the kitchen when Hermione called her back.
“Hey, Ginny. If it’s any consolation, I think you did the right thing, no matter what happens tomorrow,” Hermione said, with serious eyes and an authoritative tone in her voice. Ginny smiled, and with a quick nod, headed into the kitchen to check the status of her tables.
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Ginny’s ride the next morning had been completely exhilarating. The modification and repairs that Oliver Wood had made to her broomstick made it fly like it had never flown before – faster, with better response times, allowing for quicker maneuvering. She was so excited; it was like having a brand new broomstick!
She was so consumed, thinking about how great Quidditch practice that day was going to be on her newly improved broomstick, that it took her almost three minutes to realize that everyone was staring at her as she moved through the hallway. It was fairly crowded, being that it was only a few minutes before the first class was to start, but everyone was moving out of her way as she walked past, pointing and staring at her. When she finally realized what was happening, she looked around in horror, her heart pounding, eyes searching above her for the telltale owl, bearing that dreaded blue envelope. She had almost forgotten the heavy sense of dread that had been following her around since lunch the day before, and it returned with a vengeance. The tight knot of dread in her stomach eased slightly, as she saw that the air was clear of any flying birds bearing life-destroying blue envelopes.
A growing group of people seemed to be forming around her, and her audience started to giggle as they noticed her looking to the ceiling in horror. As she sighed with relief, they laughed even harder, all seeming to know something that she didn’t. Ginny frowned, scanned the room, attempting to identify the source of their amusement. She spotted Claire – her height and her bright blond hair could set her apart in any crowd – and she was trying to gesture to her. She squinted, trying to discern what her friend’s frantic gestures could possibly mean, when she heard what sounded like crinkling paper, coming from behind her.
As she turned, she caught sight of the group of seventh year Slytherins, watching the commotion from near the top of the staircase. Feeling her stomach drop to her knees, she looked up and took in the sight of the satisfied smirk on Draco Malfoy’s face. Gritting her teeth, she stared straight up at him, locking eyes with him, hoping to appear defiant, as the source of the strange flapping noise came into her line of sight.
It was a piece of blue paper, folded to into the shape of a bird and charmed to fly and flap its tiny paper wings as if it were a real bird. Feeling her temper flare slightly, she assumed it had been following her since she stepped into the school, and was the reason everyone had been pointing and laughing at her, as it flapped on behind her back without her knowledge. A message of inescapable doom had been following in her wake without her knowledge. Frowning, she reached out and plucked it out of the air, and it instantly unfolded itself in her hand, and revealed that it wasn’t just a piece of blue paper – it was a blue envelope.
The other students started to cheer when they saw this, and push in closer to her, chanting for her to open it. They pressed in closer to her, and the sense of being trapped started to grow, to the point where it was almost overbearing. Clutching at the envelope, she tried to push her way through the crowd, needing space, needing to breath, but it proved fruitless. They weren’t going to let her get away.
“Open it! Open it!” they were chanting, as they pushed in closer, knocking her off balance. Catching herself before she fell, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Hermione’s words from the night before rang in her head: “I think you did the right thing, no matter what happens tomorrow.” Snapping her eyes open, she cast the most loathing and rebellious look she could muster in Draco Malfoy’s direction, ignoring the strange look in his eyes, and ripped open the envelope.
The familiar evil-sounding laughter filled the corridor, and silenced the chanting. She felt a strange tingling sensation wash over her body, and when she looked down, she noted that her sweater had indeed changed color. It was now the bright blue of the other unfortunates who’d been marked before her.
All around her, the crowd circled in excitement, cheering and pushing each other around, turning the corridor into a scene of chaos. The games had begun, and it was now open season on Ginny Weasley.
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Pansy Parkinson was preening in front of the mirror of the third floor girls’ lavatory. Snapping open her cosmetic bag, she selected her choice of lip-gloss and began to meticulously reapply it. It certainly wouldn’t do for the daughter of the world famous creator of the most exclusive line of beauty potions to be seen around school with poorly applied lip-gloss. There were images to maintain, and more importantly, the attention of certain male classmates to attract.
“What was with the enchanted Howler this morning? It didn’t have quite the dramatic effect of an owl,” she asked Millicent Bullstrode, who was freshening her own makeup at the mirror beside her.
“I’m not quite sure. Vincent said that it was Draco’s idea – he’s even the one who worked out the charm to make it work. I thought it was rather strange,” she said, holding a tube of mascara in one hand.
“It could be his way of acknowledging that this is the first time a girl has been given an Howler. You can’t really push a girl into the center of the Great Hall and let everyone take a swing at her the way you could with a guy. This one is going to be more interesting, that way,” Pansy said, with a mischievous smirk.
“Although, wouldn’t it be great to have that self-righteous grin wiped off her face? She’s been walking around here like she actually belongs, the bloody pauper! I’m just surprised that something like this hasn’t happened sooner,” Millicent said, throwing her makeup back into her bag, punctuating the disgust in her voice. Pansy followed suit, and with one last careful glance in the mirror, followed her friend out into the hall.
“How right you are, Millicent. Well, I bet she won’t last the day. She may have acted tough yesterday, but after a full day of everyone in the school ganging up on her to make her life unbearable, she won’t be able to take it,” Pansy boasted, pulling Millicent around the corner, where they had a bird’s eye view of the staircase, and she pointed.
An exhausted-looking and rather disheveled Ginny Weasley was trudging up the staircase, dragging her book bag – the bottom of which seemed to have given out – along with her. A fourth year Ravenclaw was walking down, and with a sly glance behind her, the Ravenclaw carefully stuck her wand out and whispered a spell. A wide smile lit Pansy’s face as she saw the product of the charm she’d spent ten minutes teaching the young, clever Ravenclaw, and its results had Millicent almost choking with laughter.
“It’ll be quite difficult for her to play the dignified little Gryffindor wearing such a short skirt,” Pansy said cunningly. The Ravenclaw’s spell, which legend had it was invented quite a while ago by skirt-chasing male Gryffindor who had taught every other boy in his year how to cast it, had shortened Weasley’s skirt. Now, instead of falling below the knee, it was now several inches shorter – precariously shorter. “We’ll see how long her superior attitude will last now!”
“Ooh, look, here comes Draco!” Millicent hissed in excitement. Pansy leaned over the railing, watching as the most eligible Slytherin in her year made his way up the staircase. He didn’t seem to notice the way that the other students practically dove out of his way, or that there was a lot of pointing and gawking as he passed – or that his latest victim was only a few feet ahead of him.
“Draco! Up here!” Pansy called out cheerfully, waving at him. His head snapped up, and when he saw her, he nodded in acknowledgement. The Weasley girl, meanwhile, had frozen in her slow-moving tracks. Pansy grinned maliciously as her face seemed to pale a few shades, and she hitched her broken bag over her shoulder, as if preparing to sprint away if necessary. Draco’s eyes, as he’d looked up to see who’d called him, fell on the redhead in front of him, and he slowed his ascent up the steps.
As he climbed the narrow staircase past where Ginny Weasley had stopped, he paused, leaning over her. He seemed about to say something, but she jumped slightly as she realized how close he was to her, and tried to move away, starting to run up the stairs. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. Pansy leaned forward, straining to hear what he was going to say, as Ginny gasped at his touch and started struggling to squirm away.
“Plain white cotton. Just what I’d expect from such a self-righteous little Gryffindor,” he said coolly, an eyebrow raised teasingly, his gaze trailing from her eyes down to her skirt. Frowning in confusion at his words, Ginny followed his gaze downwards, then cried out in horror as she realized both what he was referring to, and why.
Millicent was practically doubled over with laughter as the Weasley girl’s face turned as red as her hair, her expression frozen in horror as she tugged at the hem of her skirt, trying to cover more skin. Malfoy released her wrist, and Pansy imagined that the girl was now trembling with the thought that she’d been walking around in a skirt short enough for the whole school to determine the color of her knickers. Weasley stared at him, unable to speak, until finally the bright red color drained from her face, when she then turned, and ran, dragging her book bag behind her. Millicent chortled as she saw the redhead make a dash for the girls’ washroom, but Pansy was focused on something entirely different.
Even from where she was standing, she could see a very disconcerting thing in Draco Malfoy’s eyes – something she hadn’t seen in quite a while. Interest.
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Ginny slammed the door to the bathroom stall shut behind her as she frantically pulled out her wand, trying to remember the counter-spell that would return the length of her skirt to normal. She could still feel her face burning, and her hands were shaking with anger and embarrassment. That awful smirk and mocking tone in Malfoy’s voice was enough to make her want to scream at the injustice and indignity of it all. As she recalled the situation, her eyes burned as tears of humiliation threatened to overpower her control.
It had been a terrible day so far. It seemed as though the student population were even more enthusiastic to torture her than they were of the usual victims of Slytherin tyranny. Sighing to herself, she assumed that it was because she was a definite outsider – the dirt poor Weasley, whose parents had neither money nor influence, but they did have a reputation for asking dangerous questions and passive aggressively snubbing authority – and this made her a much easier person to target.
Everywhere she had gone, she’d been met with nasty tricks and hostile attitudes. Her book bag had miraculously split open a number of times, spilling its contents (including her last bottle of ink) everywhere, despite how many times she’d repaired it with a Stitching Charm. She had also become the clumsiest girl at Hogwarts, tripping over everything – chairs, desks, steps and other students. And of course, no one seemed to notice how objects would miraculously move into her path. Someone had replaced her ink jar with a bottle of Vanishing Ink, so that the answers to the test they’d written that morning had disappeared shortly before Professor Flitwick had had a chance to grade them. Staring up at his favorite student, he’d shaken his head sadly, thinking that she had purposely tried to play a trick on him, taking advantage of his favor in order to garner some extra time to study before having to rewrite the test. He’d refused, and she’d had no choice but to accept a zero.
And now, here she was, hiding in the girls’ washroom, trying to restore the length of her skirt so that the entire school didn’t see her knickers as she walked past. Her knees were throbbing and undoubtedly bruised from all the tripping she’d been doing, her head was pounding where a school owl had pecked her head in an effort to free the Owl Treat someone had hidden in her braid without her knowledge, she had a tea stain on her blouse from Lavender Brown ‘accidentally’ bumping into her during Divination – all this, and it wasn’t even quite noon yet.
Finally succeeding in charming her skirt into returning to its original knee-length, she exited the stall and stood in front of the mirrors. A disheveled-looking girl, whose red hair was messily falling out of her long braid and whose face was still bright red with embarrassment, stared back at her with large, worried brown eyes. Sighing one more time, she straightened out her blouse, attempted once more to cleanse the stain, before assuming Lavender Brown had used an Adhering Charm to ensure it would be impossible to remove, and picked up her broken book bag.
Holding her head high, she was determined to brave the storm. She just had to survive until the next victim appeared. If she hadn’t broken by then, they’d grow bored. There were only so many nasty tricks in the book. Smiling slightly over the thought that her brother Fred and George would heartily disagree, she exited the girls’ washroom, her resolve restored.
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It was in Snape’s class that the biggest blow of the day came. She’d managed to find a safe corner of the castle to hide during lunch, and had limped through Potions, despite having her supplies vanish and unneeded ingredients appear in her cauldron without her knowledge, turning her Pepper Up potion into a putrid concoction that had a distinct odor of steamed broccoli. Luckily, her recent bout of clumsiness didn’t seem to affect her as she cleaned it out, so that none of the disgusting mixture ended up on her clothing, a fact of which she was very relieved.
Sitting down at her desk in Defense Against the Dark Arts, she looked over to see Claire sitting three seats over from her, instead of occupying the desk next to her, where she normally sat. When Ginny’s eyes met hers, Claire looked away guiltily and refused to look back up at her. Feeling slightly stung by her friend’s snub, Ginny plucked her quill from the bag, and prepared to write the test Snape had set for that day. During lunch, she’d offered to help Madame Pince re-shelve some books in exchange for the loan of a bottle of ink, determined that this morning’s mishap wouldn’t reoccur. Despite their mutual animosity, her best marks were in Snape’s class, a fact that only infuriated the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor even more.
“Miss Weasley, so glad to see you’ve decided to grace us with your punctuality this afternoon,” Snape commented snidely as he entered the classroom.
“Wouldn’t want to be late for your test, sir. You know how I look forward to them,” she said with a bright smile. She could feel the hostile stares of her classmates on her, and tried to shrug it off as Snape passed around the test papers. She needed to relax and focus – after the incident in Charms today, she needed to make sure she scored a good mark to make up for it.
Her eyes scanned over the paper and she smiled to herself. Snape was nothing if not predictable, and she’d anticipated almost exactly what he was going to ask on the test. Happily, she started writing, and became so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice as the students around her started tossing little bits of paper onto her desk. It wasn’t until one hit her squarely in the forehead, causing her to cry out in surprise, that she noticed the folded pieces of paper that littered the top of her desk.
Snape’s eyes snapped up from the book he’d been reading while the class wrote the test, and settled on her.
“Is there a problem, Weasley?” he demanded coolly. Ginny felt a shiver of panic – there was one thing she never did, and that was to cause any trouble during a test. Snape was known to kick students out of class for so much as sneezing while there was a test being written.
“Of course not, sir,” she answered, but at that moment, the person behind her threw yet another bit of paper on her desk. Snape’s eyes widened, and he stood up and marched over to her desk.
“What have we here, Weasley?” he demanded. He reached out and snatched a piece of paper, opening it up. His eyes narrowed as he read, and then he looked down at her menacingly. “This is the answer to question 5. Care to explain?”
“I have no idea – someone threw that at my desk. I had nothing to do with it, nor did I look at it,” Ginny said, as calmly as she could. It would not serve her cause to lose her temper with Snape now, as he was snatching at the other pieces of paper, opening them and reading them as she spoke. She could see a vein in his forehead was started to throb in anger.
“I have often wondered how a student with your obvious lack of commitment to academics continued to succeed in my class, but I never would have imagined you’d be foolish enough to attempt to cheat,” he seethed, grabbing her test paper out of her hands. “You will, of course, receive a zero for this test, and I will be reassessing your marks on your previous work this term. If I decide that there have been other instances of cheating, your mark on those assignments will be lowered. You can wait outside while the rest of the class finishes the test.”
This was too much for her, and after a day of being tripped, spilt upon and tortured by her fellow students, the accusation of cheating was just too much for her pride to handle, and she snapped.
“I did not cheat!” she cried out, jumping out of her chair. Snape turned to her, staring at her impassively with those cold eyes. “I was just sitting here, writing my test. They threw the answers at me, I didn’t even open them! Unless I have the ability to read through crumpled up paper, there is no way I could have cheated!”
“Why would anyone take the time to write out the answers and place them on your desk, so that you could not open them?” Snape asked, mockingly.
“Obviously so that you would catch me and give me a zero!” Ginny cried, almost near tears.
“Miss Weasley, you and your kind are always full of excuses, always searching to transfer blame for the situations you get yourself into onto someone else. It’s not going to work this time, not with me,” he said. Ginny felt a wave of rage wash over her. You and your kind? What did he mean by that?
“You can ask anyone here! They threw them at me! I didn’t do anything wrong!” she cried out, gesturing to the students around here.
“Did anyone see what Weasley is talking about?” Snape asked. Her classmates stared back at him, in silence. Desperate, Ginny turned around to look at them, hoping to find one friendly face, someone to back up her story. Her eyes feel on Claire, who looked uncomfortable, fidgeting in her seat.
“Claire?” Ginny asked meekly. The blond girl lifted her eyes up, meeting Ginny’s for a second, before she shook her head and looked away.
“As no one is willing to corroborate your story, Weasley, I’ll repeat my request that you wait outside until everyone is finished writing the test,” Snape said, a glint of malicious pleasure in his eyes. Trembling with anger, Ginny snatched her book bag from the floor and stormed out of the classroom.
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So caught up in her anger, Ginny was oblivious to her surroundings. She ran right into Pansy Parkinson, who seemed to be waiting for her, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face that instantly had Ginny wary.
“Watch where you’re going, Weasley,” she demanded, pushing the shorter girl back.
“Sorry,” Ginny said, taking a step back, preparing to continue storming down the corridor.
“Your own friend wouldn’t even stick up for you, the one that got you into this mess in the first place,” Pansy said, shaking her head sadly. Ginny frowned up at her.
“How do you know that?” she demanded. It had just happened, there was no way that Pansy could know.
“It would be best for you to realize that I know and see and hear everything that happens at Hogwarts. Everything,” she said, menacingly taking a step towards Ginny. “I have to say that I find it rather amusing to see how cheap the friendship of the poor truly is. She turned on you, afraid to face the music if she’s nice to you.”
“What do you know about friendship? People are only nice to you because of your parents’ money,” Ginny muttered, rolling her eyes. Pansy’s face turned red.
“Watch what you say to me, you dirty pauper!” she snapped, pushing Ginny backwards. She stumbled, and reached her hand out to gain purchase against the wall, only to find that there wasn’t a wall behind her, but the giant Mimbulus Mimbletonia that filled the little nook where a suit of armor had stood, until it wandered away one afternoon, finding another location in the castle to occupy that was more to its liking. The vicious plant instantly reacted to the contact with her skin, and its boils burst, spewing a large amount of Stinksap at her. Pansy managed to jump out of its way, and immediately burst into mocking laughter.
Wiping the putrid substance from her face and shaking it off her hands, she regarded Pansy with loathing.
“I have never done anything to you, Parkinson! Why are you doing this?” she demanded.
“You don’t belong here. You never did. Now that you’ve been marked with a Howler, I have the opportunity to cleanse these prestigious halls of the filth you’ve brought in,” she cried viciously. Staring back at her, Stinksap dripping from her clothing, Ginny just shook her head, and turned, running away as fast as she could.
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She hadn’t quite made it to the Quidditch pitch before her emotions got the better of her and what had been weighing on her mind erupted out of her mouth before she had any chance of quelling the urge to scream.
“DAMMIT!” she screamed, collapsing to her onto the green turf of the pitch, and listened with a satisfaction as her voice echoed throughout the empty stadium. “DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT! What the hell was I thinking yesterday?”
She took a deep, calming breath, feeling slightly better now that she’d been able to unleash some of her temper. But she still felt like she was about to cry – the events in Snape’s class coupled with the unfounded hatred she’d encountered with Pansy had got the better of her. She could feel tears welling up, and was blinking furiously to keep them from spilling over. It didn’t help that the Stinksap was burning furiously.
“Could you, in the future, refrain from yelling down here?” a quiet voice asked. Startled, Ginny whipped her head around and came face-to-face with the mysterious seventh year Slytherin with the attractive, dark eyes. Blaise Zabini, much like he had been the day before, was lounging in the grass, a book in his hand. He hadn’t even glanced up at her. Ginny’s pride was screaming at her – of all people to catch her covered in smelly goo and near tears, it had to be Draco Malfoy’s best friend (who also happened to be the best looking boy in school).
“Sorry,” she whispered, which was the best she could manage considering she was near tears.
“This is my spot, this is where I come to get away from those annoying girls and ridiculous…” he trailed off as he idly flipped a page, still not looking away from his book. “This is my spot and I’d like you to stop coming here to vent. You’re too noisy.”
Ginny sat there, the grass prickling at the bare skin of her knees, and she fought for the strength to stand up and walk away. But a calming breeze was blowing, and the pitch was so peaceful and empty, empty of all those staring eyes, mocking laughter and pointing wands. She just wanted a moment of peace, so that she could pull herself together and walk back to the school, collect her broomstick and Quidditch uniform with her head held high, ready to face anything that the Slytherin minions would throw at her. Sniffing slightly, she started to stand up when she felt those dark eyes on her again.
He stood up, book in hand. He was only a few feet away from her, and there was no doubt that that lovely calming breeze was also carrying quite a bit of the stench of Stinksap with it. He stood there, casting an assessing glance over her. She froze, under the weight of his gaze, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t figure out why, after all that his group had done to her that day, she was trying to acquiesce to his demand, but she decided that she’d had enough for one day, and started to slowly walk away, lacking the heart to move quickly.
“Hold on,” his voice called out, low and silky. She turned around nervously, completely fazed by the fact that he was even talking to her.
“Yes?” she asked, tentatively.
“You can stay. It looks like you could use it more than I,” he said with a casual shrug and an amused smile, his eyes resting on the green glob of Stinksap nestled in her hair. Ginny stood, startled by the unexpected kindness from one of the enemies, watching as his tall frame moved away from the pitch, headed back towards the castle.
Her mind was buzzing from this encounter. The dark and mysterious Blaise Zabini had not only spoken to her, but he’d done something unexpected and kind, by letting her stay there to calm down before having to return to the castle – and he’d kind of smiled at her. Smiling despite herself and even blushing slightly, it took her a full minute to realize that the hottest boy in school had smiled at her, while she was covered in, and smelled like, the very wretched substance that oozed from the boils covering a Mimbulus Mimbletonia.
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Charging away from the school, Ginny was so angry she could barely speak. Arriving back at the Quidditch pitch after the final class had ended, broom in tow, she’d been greeted with the members of her team, stony-faced and grim-looking.
“Sorry Ginny, you know how it is. We’ve decided to find a new Seeker. You’ve become too much of a liability now, you see,” the Gryffindor captain, Marcus McCutcheon, said. Ginny had angrily warned them of their slim chances of finding anyone as good as she was, but it had been to no avail.
“You’re supposed to be Gryffindors,” she hollered at them as she stormed away. “Try showing a little courage every now and again!”
So, Draco Malfoy’s Howler had managed to destroy the few things she thought she could count on in life: her dignity, Quidditch, her integrity and her academic standing, which was needed to keep her scholarship. She was so caught up in angry thoughts of how to seek revenge, while admitting to herself that she was helpless to do anything but take it all, that she didn’t notice the group of seventh year Slytherins huddled by the entryway.
“Now, what is awful stench? Oh look boys, it’s the Weasley,” a snide voice called out. Turning around, her mind still on the Quidditch, she just glared at them all as they giggled nastily at Vincent Crabbe’s comment. She paused, as Draco Malfoy spotted her, his pale gray eyes locking on her, and he started to move towards her, like a Bludger hurtling towards an oblivious Chaser.
“Still here, Weasley?” he asked, his head tilted and a slight smile on his lips as he surveyed her. Probably assessing the damage, she thought to herself, and tried to ignore the shiver that ran up her spine as his eyes moved over her for the second time that day.
She didn’t reply, and after shooting a loathing glance in Pansy Parkinson’s direction, she walked away, and tried to ignore his footsteps as he followed behind her.
“You’ve lasted the whole day, which has earned you two things,” he said, his soft voice so disturbing that she stopped in her tracks. She could feel him behind her, could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck as he leaned down closer, practically whispering in her ear. “You have my respect. And my promise that we’re just going to try even harder tomorrow.”
It took the entire ride home for the tingling sensation in her spine that his words caused to dissipate.
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b>A/N /b>: More to come soon! Thanks for reading! Hope you're enjoying the CRACK AU. Drawn from HYD: 1) the fact that Ginny gets a "Howler" (it's a red warning tag in HYD) for standing up to Malfoy 2) Claire ignoring Ginny 3) Ginny coming across Blaise in "his" spot, him asking her to leave before changing his mind, telling her that she looks like she needs it more than him.
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