Disclaimer: JKR’s character, plot loosely inspired by Hana Yori Dango (if you don’t know what that is, check out my bio, there’s some useful links to guide you)
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Chapter 6: Advancing the Offense
Ginny stifled a yawn as she staggered through the Great Hall, her eyes heavy with fatigue. By the time they’d finished cleaning and closing down the restaurant, it had been very late, and Ginny had still had a Potions essay to complete. Luckily, Hermione was feeling particularly generous towards her friend, given her rather difficult evening, and the two had worked together at it. Looking over it now, Ginny grimaced, noting that it wasn’t her best work, but she was happy that it was at least finished. Her pocket was feeling heavy with the bit of extra gold Rosmerta had paid her in return for hostessing last night, and as she rounded the corner into the corridor where her broom cupboard was, her thoughts turned to the ongoing list she kept in her head of the things that she needed to buy the next time she had a few extra Sickles. Shutting her broom safely inside, Ginny ruefully decided that what she needed most was a new set of quills.
“Practical necessities before pleasure,” she muttered to herself, hearing her mother’s words in her ears even as she spoke them. Unexpectedly, Ginny felt a faint wave of homesickness wash over her. Today was supposed to have been the day she would have spent with her parents, had their schedules not changed. With a sad smile, she picked up her books and started making her way towards class, barely noticing as others pointed at her still-blue sweater, whispering conspiratorially to each other as they pondered the fate of the girl who’d gotten a Howler and had refused to quietly leave the school.
It was only when she re-entered the Great Hall during the lunch hour, feeling ravenous and desperately in need of the sugar rush her pumpkin juice was sure to supply, that she noticed the pointing and whispering. Moving slowly towards a table in the back, she felt their eyes on her, heard the whispered comments and the shocked laughter. There was a different atmosphere about the actions of her fellow students – the day before, when she’d been the brunt of their bullying, there’d been lots of laughing and sneering. Today, Ginny couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone around her knew something about her, some deep dark secret, that was shocking and scandalous, and they were now judging her as she walked by, whispering about her as she passed.
At first, she glanced around, thinking that maybe she was just being paranoid. Perhaps Hermione had been right, that there was something more to this “game” with Malfoy. Remembering his last words to her the night before, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, weasel – could that have been a veiled threat? Could he have done something that she hadn’t noticed? She was so consumed with trying to decipher what trap Malfoy had laid for her today that it took her almost ten minutes to see the posters, and only then, because a large group of students had gathered around the large banner that acted as their centerpiece, drawing her attention to it.
As her eyes scanned over the banner, Ginny shot out of her chair, and ran towards the crowd, pushing her way through, panic and outrage making her heedless of who she pushed aside. She stood stock still, staring at the words and images above her, hardly able to move. Strewn across the wall was a large banner, with the words “Ginny Weasley prostitutes herself in order to pay her tuition.” Decorating the banner, and the matching posters that were posted all around it, were pictures of her, which appeared – based on what she was wearing – to have been taken the night before at the reception, walking out of the Three Broomsticks with several different men. Her face began to burn as she watched her photographic self trying to keep Theodore Nott, Sr., steady as she lead him out of the bar, her hands on his arms as he tried to slide them down to grab her ass. Given the context of what had been written, it certainly looked like what the poster claimed she was doing.
“How terrible! Can you believe they let girls like this into our school?” a fourth year girl was whispering, just head of where Ginny was standing. She could hear others talking about it, not taken any care to conceal their words from her ears.
“It’s always the plain and innocent-looking ones you need to watch out for,” she could hear Pansy Parkinson saying, standing near the front of the assembled group. “It’s hard to believe, what with the way she prances around here so self-righteously, but she is dirt poor so I don’t see how this couldn’t be true.”
At these words, Ginny released a strangled cry of outrage, and suddenly, everyone was staring at her. The judgmental looks in their eyes felt like a punch to the stomach and even though she knew that there was no truth in what the poster claimed, she still felt a flood of shame. Her eyes unexpectedly began to sting with tears. She dashed forward, elbowing her way through the hostile crowd, until she was standing right below the banner. Trembling with anger, Ginny jumped up, trying desperately to grab a corner of the banner so she could tear it down. She missed the first time, but unable to give up, she tried again, and again. The students started laughing, and someone cast a spell, causing the poster to hover lower as she prepared to jump for it, then raising it as she tried futilely to grab for it.
Finally, she snagged a corner, and a brief ripping noise quelled some of the laughter. However, only a small piece of the banner had ripped off. Her face burning and the tears in her eyes dangerously close to overflowing, Ginny turned and pushed her way back through the crowd, stopping only to tear down one of the smaller posters displaying the moving photo of her with Theodore Nott, Sr. She crumpled it up and tossed it into the crowd, a small rush of triumph fueling her steps as it hit Pansy Parkinson squarely on the forehead. She then turned and ran from the Great Hall.
She ran until she found an empty corridor, where she slid to the ground, releasing a few shuddering gasps. Her mind spun through the scenario, and her focus shifted from the humiliation of the moment to the possible culprits. Her mind zeroed in on Malfoy, considering his words and actions from the night before, and his insistence that everyone could be bought. She began to shake with rage as she remembered that she had escorted the older men from the party to their carriages at his demand. Jumping up and angrily wiping her tears away, she grabbed her bag and started running down the hall, determined that she was going to find Malfoy and make him pay.
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Draco was sitting in the courtyard with his friends, idly enjoying the fresh air and debating whether or not he should take his broom down to the Quidditch pitch to fly around with Zabini for a bit, in an effort to shake his friend out of the fog he’d been wandering around in for the past few weeks. His quiet deliberation was interrupted every few moments as Crabbe and Goyle’s game of Exploding Snap progressed. Despite the chill in the air, the sun was warm and it was nice to be away from the group of brown-nosers that usually hung around when they ate lunch in the Great Hall.
The quiet was shattered completely as a spitting-mad redhead marched into the courtyard, walking straight up to him and standing in front of where he sat on the stone bench, arms crossed and cheeks stained pink with rage. Feigning disinterest, Draco turned his head towards her and stared back, giving her a casual shrug of his shoulder.
“My purchase of your services ended last night, weasel. You don’t have to see to my needs anymore,” he said with a haughty smile.
“You must think you’re extremely clever,” she snapped. Her brown eyes were dark and intense as she stared at him, pure defiance.
“Only because I am,” he said matter-of-factly. She rolled her eyes in disgust, and took a step forward.
“I thought that I made it perfectly clear last night, but as you seem to be a little slow in grasping the concept, I’ll indulge your stupidity and repeat myself. I cannot be bought, not by you or anyone else, and not for any price. For you to imply otherwise, and with such an outright and completely ridiculous lie, is just petty, tasteless and tacky,” she cried. He sat up straighter, leaning his head to one side and raising an eyebrow.
“Weasley, a girl of your background? Of course you have a price!” he laughed arrogantly. “The game is only going to stop when I found out what that price is.”
“I expected dirty tricks – you’re a Slytherin, they’re the only things you know. But I thought they might be at least a little bit on the cunning side. But telling everyone I work as prostitute to pay my tuition? It’s devoid of any creativity and completely tacky, even for someone like you!” she shouted. “While I may be poor, it does not mean I’m devoid of any morals. Yes, I have to pay my own way through school, but I do it waitressing to arrogant brats like you, not the way that you’ve claimed. I’ll have you know that my…” she stammered, searching awkwardly for the right word, “…my…virtue is fully intact and nothing you say to slander me can change that fact!”
With an angry toss of her hair, the Weasley girl turned on her heel and started marching away, not seeing the way that Crabbe and Goyle were practically choking on their laughter.
“Could have fooled me!” he called after her. She paused for a mere moment, as if contemplating turning back around to face off with him again, before she ran off. Draco was slightly disappointed; harassing her was a highly entertaining activity. He turned to his friends, shooting them a baffled look. “What was that all about? And did she just say what I thought she just said?”
“Didn’t you see the poster in the Great Hall?” Goyle asked through his laughter. “It was Pansy’s doing, I helped her put it up this morning. It’s hilarious because if she wasn’t so poor, there is no way anyone would believe it. I mean, just look at the girl.”
“Too bad this scene hadn’t taken place in a more public area. The way she marched down here to prudishly declare to Malfoy that she’s actually a virgin and not a prostitute like Pansy’s poster would lead one to believe would be proof enough to anyone that the poster’s all nonsense,” Goyle chortled. Draco chuckled a bit, his eyes staring off in the direction that she’d gone.
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Ginny ran all the way down to the Quidditch pitch, and once she reached there, she was still so angry, she threw her book bag, swinging it around and releasing it so that it flew a quarter of the way across the open field. Flopping down in the grass, Ginny’s mind was stewing over her confrontation with Malfoy, and she was kicking herself for letting him get away so easily. She had gone to find him, fully intending to attack him, to use one of the curses her brothers had taught her, to do something to make him pay for what he’d done, but the instant she saw him, all those plans had eluded her, and she found herself yelling at him.
As her mind shifted to what she actually said, her face began to burn. She covered her face with her hands, and groaned.
“Did I really tell him that my virtue is still intact?” she groaned to herself, hardly believing that she could have actually have said that. It sounded so prim and ridiculous, the kind of thing you’d find in cheesy historical romance novels. Wallowing for a few moments in her regrettable choice of words, she eventually started to question herself why it bothered her so much that she’d made an idiot of herself in front of Malfoy. He was her nemesis, someone determined to bully and harass her, it shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. Even though she kept telling herself this, she couldn’t escape the knowledge that even though it shouldn’t matter, it did.
“That was some interesting choice of dialogue, Weasley,” a cool voice said, light with amusement. Ginny started, having been lost in her thoughts, surprised to find Blaise Zabini stretching out on the grass beside her. She stiffened, reaching hastily to straighten her blouse and ensure that the hem of her skirt was pulled down, determined that this was one Slytherin she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in front of… at least not this time.
“Heard about it already?” she asked cautiously, turning to face Blaise as she spoke. After a moment, she grew conscious of the fact that she was looking at him, and that if she looked too long, it would seem like she was staring at him. She quickly faced forward again, trying to satisfy herself with taking in his appearance from of the corner of her eyes.
“Actually heard the entire conversation. I went looking for the guys, and when I found them… you were busy giving Malfoy a tongue-lashing. It happens so rarely, I couldn’t bear to interrupt,” he said, with a crooked half-smile that Ginny could see out of the corner of her eyes. He was flipping through a magazine, not even looking at her as he spoke so she felt that it was safe to turn her head back in his direction, taking a few seconds to once again admire his beauty. But then the horrible realization that he’d heard the entire dreadful and absolutely humiliating speech she’d given hit her, and Ginny once again wished she knew a spell that would make the earth open up and swallow her whole.
“Do you know what time it would be in Japan right now?” he asked, his voice distant, as if he didn’t really expect her to answer.
“I’m not exactly sure,” Ginny answered regretfully. He shrugged, and continued flipping pages in the magazine. Curious, Ginny leaned over to see what he was reading so intently, feeling uncomfortable with his silence, and felt a rush of excitement as she recognized the article. It was one she herself had read, while waiting in line at the owl post office, all about the national Quidditch team, with a spotlight on the new Seeker, the first woman ever to play in the World Cup.
“You’re reading about Cho Chang? I think she’s a fabulous Seeker. Did you know she went to Hogwarts? I think she was about two years ahead of me. Did you know her?” Ginny asked energetically. Cho Chang’s success as a female Quidditch star was one thing she often flaunted in front of her brothers, whenever they tried to keep her on the sidelines when they scrimmaged, using the excuse that she was girl and they didn’t want her to get hurt. Given her popularity at being the first female on the national team, Cho Chang’s picture was everywhere, and she had become quite a celebrity in the Wizarding world, endorsing products, modeling for ads and speaking in public regularly in between games.
“We’re very good friends,” Blaise answered, his eyes meeting hers. Ginny felt herself flush, thinking that perhaps her exuberance was a little too much, but she’d found an area of mutual interest between the two of them, and she wasn’t about to let the subject drop.
“She’s one of the reasons I ever decided to try playing as a Seeker. Everyone kept telling me that girls should only play as Chasers, but her success proved that a girl could actually do it. Of course, I eventually grew to like playing as a Chaser better, but at least I got to try it,” she said, remembering her tryouts for the Quidditch team in her third year. “I guess the semi-finals for the Quidditch World Cup are happening today, right? Is that why you were wondering about the time difference between here and Japan?”
He nodded distractedly, eyes still fixed on the photo of a smiling Cho Chang, holding her broomstick out proudly, clutching a Snitch whose wings were still flapping, trying to get away.
“It would be brilliant if they win, and go on to the finals, wouldn’t it? The first female Seeker to win the World Cup… that would be fantastic,” Ginny sighed. Blaise turned his head slowly.
“I suppose it would be,” he said with a shrug. Ginny frowned, wondering if she’d said something that he disagreed with. He kept his eyes trained on the magazine, and she awkwardly began playing with the blades of grass, uncomfortable in his return to silence. She was just running through a list of topics in her mind, planning to try to strike up another conversation with him when she heard a couple gasps from behind her. She turned around, and saw Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode standing at the entrance to the pitch, the expressions on their faces full of shock and surprise.
“What are you doing talking to her?” Pansy shrieked in outrage, her eyes fixed on Blaise. Ginny’s temper prickled, but she was conscious of the fact that Blaise was sitting right next to her, had already witnessed one embarrassing rampage by her today, and decided to hold her tongue, not wanting to make yet another bad impression.
“We weren’t talking,” Blaise said, as he stood up. He left the pitch, walking past his friends without even another word or a glance in their direction. Ginny watched him go, inwardly cursing Pansy and Millicent for interrupting the most productive interaction she’d ever had with him. Pansy, obviously affronted by Blaise’s slight, strutted over to where Ginny was sitting and glared down at her.
“Even if you are a complete slut, the Slytherin boys are completely out of your league and would never take the time to even notice a plain little whore like you. Especially Blaise Zabini,” she spat, her face burning red with rage. Ginny smiled.
“If that’s the case, then you should have nothing to worry about, even if he was talking to me,” Ginny with a smile as she stood up, brushed the stray grass from her skirt and walked back towards the school, debating whether she should owl the twins for some practical joke consultation. After all, she owed Malfoy a favor.
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All Hallows, Hogsmeade’s only nightclub, was incredibly crowded when Draco Malfoy walked in. Despite the crush of people on the dance floor, his arrival drew quite a bit of attention as a number of girls rushed forward, eager to meet the infamous son of one of the most powerful men in their world. Brushing past them, he headed straight towards the staircase that lead him to where he knew he’d find his friends, the VIP lounge.
It was a typical Friday night; Crabbe had a witch that was at least ten years older than him in one corner, Goyle had some insipid blonde giggling after everything ridiculous thing he said, Blaise was perched on the plush sofa by the window that looked out over the dance floor, distractedly staring at that infernal magazine that he’d been carrying around with him for days, while Parkinson and her group of girls perked up as soon as he entered, apparently having been waiting for him.
He ignored their eager glances, and instead sat next to Blaise who barely looked up at him as he passed him the folded piece of parchment he’d been carrying in his hand. Blaise unfolded the crumpled parchment, and his eyes scanned over it, and then looked up, frowning over his friend’s sulking expression.
“He seemed rather pleased with the reports of the event. You should be relieved, not looking as though someone kicked your Kneazle,” Blaise said, exasperated. Draco glared at him.
“Oh he’s very pleased, his son can act as a competent poster boy whenever he can’t make his own public appearances. If I keep demonstrating such astounding levels of competency, my exciting future of stroking the egos of the same old men, over and over again while discussing the same topics over and over again and occasionally frightening small children will be cemented,” Draco sneered sarcastically, then sighed heavily. “They’re all the same, all of them, so dull that just talking to them makes me consider stabbing my own eyes out just to get out of these functions, and I’ll be plagued with them for the rest of my life. An endless parade of monotony.”
“Your reception the other night stands out for me, Draco,” Pansy said, sauntering over to them. “Of course, the live entertainment you provided in the form of the Weasel definitely added some spice.”
Draco glared at her for her interruption but it was short lived as he realized that she was right – watching Weasley answer to the ridiculous demands of his friends with that tight smile and barely concealed contemptuous look in her eyes had been very entertaining. He’d made sure he’d been able to see as much of her as possible that night, simply so he could gauge her reactions.
In response to Pansy’s interruption, Blaise simply stood up and walked away without another word, but that was a usual practice for Zabini – he wasn’t known for being one to make much small talk. It was actually the reason that so many girls were eager to snare him – the mysterious, stoic and notoriously anti-social Blaise Zabini was considered quite the catch. Pansy waited until he was out of hearing range before settling down next to Draco, leaning in conspiratorially.
“I can’t abide by that Weasley girl anymore, I don’t know how you’ve tolerated her for this long. I think it’s time we made a final strike, eliminated her once and for all,” Pansy said, a malicious glint in her eyes. Draco studied her for a moment.
“Weasley is mine. I’ll decide when and what needs to be done to handle her,” he said authoritatively, with the air of someone who was completely certain of being obeyed. “I won’t have any more disasters like the Green and Stanley incident last week.”
“Are you sure about that? That she’s all yours, I mean. I think Blaise has been messing with her as well,” Pansy said innocently.
“What do you mean?” Draco asked suspiciously, his jaw hardening at her words.
“I saw them together down at the pitch this afternoon. You should have seen it because it was so bizarre. The girl was practically throwing herself at him, and he actually seemed to like it! He was even talking to her!” Pansy said incredulously. “I think that’s why we need to crush her, before she gets any big ideas about Zabini.”
A long moment of silence followed, and Pansy noted the way that Draco was glaring moodily off into space, as if lost in thought. Blaise Zabini, at that moment, called out that he was leaving and that he’d see them all later, and that seemed to snap Draco’s focus back to what Pansy was saying.
“Parkinson,” he said, his voice level but edged with a frostiness that caused Pansy to draw back, “Weasley is mine to deal with. Blaise is utterly indifferent to what happens, he’s completely wrapped up with the idea that Cho could be coming back in only a few days, and he never gets involved in the game. If you ever try to imply that he would do something behind my back ever again, you’ll have a taste of what life is like for the weasels in this world.”
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It took less than a day for the twins to answer Ginny’s plea for help, and another two days for her to collect the necessary ingredients and make the preparations. The only thing that made this stretch of time in any form bearable was the weekend liberated her from the Slytherins reach for a blissful forty-eight hours. But the other two days were filled with constant harassment – the banner prank and its allegations that Ginny was a prostitute was a concept that everyone seemed to latch on to with delight. She came to expect the word ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ to be scrawled across her desk in almost every classroom, no matter how many times she would wipe it away. Some more aspiring student had charmed one of the smaller posters to follow her around all day, floating after her. She’d grab it, tear it to pieces, but soon enough, another would appear to take its place. But the one that really irritated her was the continual use of the blasted skirt-shrinking charm that they’d used on her the day she’d received the blue Howler, but after the third try one day, she started wearing a pair of shorts under her kilt, thus circumventing any embarrassment caused by that trick.
Despite all these efforts, the actions of her classmates and the Slytherins were almost subdued, compared to the level they’d been at directly after she’d received the Howler. It was as if they were waiting for something, carrying on only as much as necessary to remind her that she was still a marked person, but nothing more. It no longer seemed as though they were trying to break her, and they were proceeding with a great deal more caution than before. Ginny often amused herself with the notion that maybe, because she hadn’t broken, because she’d struck back and lived to tell about it, they were frightened of her. Especially because, now, when they tripped or pushed her, she would push right back and throw in a curse or two for good measure.
But the posters continued to follow her around, a constant reminder of the horrible way that arrogant prat had damaged her reputation and mortified her beyond measure. Arriving for school on Tuesday morning, armed with her plans for retaliation, Ginny walked into the school, proudly wearing her blue sweater against the late autumn chill that had descended over the city, ready to glory in her opponent’s comeuppance, as delivered by her.
It arrived at lunch, so that everyone could see.
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One of the results of Draco Malfoy’s status as one of the most desirable boys at Hogwarts, considering his family’s wealth and standing with the Lord Voldemort, was that he was often plagued with secret admirers, who would bestow a number of small gifts and sweets on him, as a sign of their affection and admiration. The older he got, the more common the sight of a handful of owls flying towards his table during lunch, bearing tokens from these admirers, became, to the point where few even remarked upon it any longer. Depending on his mood, Draco would either make a big show of unwrapping their contents, measuring the sincerity of the gift based on what it turned out to be – the girls who had the audacity to proffer some homemade confection were clearly uncommitted in their efforts – often distributing its contents among his friends as he bragged about his popularity and greatness, as evidenced by his desirability among the female population of Hogwarts.
Which is why, when a small package arrived by owl Tuesday afternoon at lunch, it was hardly noted as an irregular occurrence. Draco, who had been looking rather pensive throughout the morning and had reportedly been in a terrible mood, barely glanced at it as it landed next to his plate. It was a small box, but it was finely wrapped in silver paper and tied with a green bow, and it drew Crabbe’s attention.
“Who’s this one from?” he asked, picking it up and scrutinizing it. Draco glowered at him, and shrugged it away.
“Probably from one of his many admirers,” Pansy cooed. “I was beginning to worry about your popularity – after that incident with that bloody Weasley girl, you haven’t been getting as many owls.”
“Isn’t that much better for you? Less competition?” Goyle laughed, poking Pansy jokingly as he spoke. She cast him a nasty look.
“This one at least has discerning taste,” Goyle interjected.
“And how could you possibly know that? Unless you’re the one who sent it,” Crabbe jeered, to which Goyle smacked him on the shoulder.
“The color scheme is rather appropriate. Remember the red and gold one he got a few weeks back?” he said with a mock shudder. “Gryffindor colors, hardly suitable for impressing anyone, let alone such an ardent Slytherin as our friend Draco.”
“If I open the bloody thing, will you all shut up?” Draco growled, snatching the box out of Crabbe’s hand. His friends merely smiled at his gruffness, for they were used to his moods and never took much offence to what he said or did when he was in the middle of one. Scowling at them, he tore the paper and took the lid off the box. Peering down, he snorted derisively and set it down dismissively.
“What is it?” Goyle asked, peering into the box.
“It’s just a custard cream, nothing special about it,” Draco scoffed.
“Just one?” Goyle asked, as he reached for the box. “If you’re not going to eat it, I’ll take it!”
Draco snatched it out of his friend’s grasp, glaring at him, as everyone at the table started to laugh at him. It was a well-known fact that Draco was incredibly possessive about anything that could be considered his possession, and they always joked that he was like the dragon his name implied, hoarding his ‘treasure’ and protecting it from others. Shooting them all a dangerous look, he took the pastry out of the box, and with a heavy sigh, he bit into it. After chewing tentatively for a few moments, he swallowed and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s not bad,” he pronounced, setting it down on the table in front of him. Someone further down the table said something that caught everyone’s attention, and Draco and his mysterious gift were completely forgotten. Which is why it came as such a great surprised when, less than sixty seconds later, he suddenly transfigured into a giant yellow canary.
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Ginny was watching from the hallway, peering into the door where she had a picturesque view of the Slytherin table, watching the arrival of the parcel, the exchange between him and his friends, and the beautiful culmination of four days’ effort, when the twins creation, The Canary Cream, took effect and transfigured the proudest and most arrogant student in the whole school into a giant, yellow canary. Ginny couldn’t help giggling as she watched him flap around in surprise, feathers flying everywhere as his helpless friends shot back from the table, surprised at what had happened. The noise level in the Great Hall indicated that it was absolute pandemonium, and Ginny watched with a satisfied amusement as her fellow students tripped over themselves to see what had happened.
It would only last a few minutes, Fred and George had written, before he would moult and return to the same pompous git that he’d always been, sans feathers. As Malfoy continued to flail, a harsh chirping noise escaping from his beak, feathers filled the air and it was hard to see what was going on.
“Is that a giant canary in the Great Hall?” an amused voice asked, and Ginny suddenly felt her heart leap into her throat as she recognized it. She looked up to her right, and saw him standing right next to her, a vaguely amused smile on his face.
“Haven’t you ever seen it before? It’s practically a permanent fixture these days,” she said, amazed at her own ability to speak in something beyond monosyllables or psychotic excited babble about Quidditch stars when he was in her presence. “It just decided to show off its feathers today.”
Blaise Zabini laughed. He actually threw his head back and laughed. Unsure as to what to make of it, Ginny looked straight ahead, and saw that the moulting was almost finished and it was now possible to make out Draco Malfoy’s furiously red face among the crowd and flying feathers.
“A giant yellow canary?” Blaise asked, shooting her an incredulous look. “Seriously?”
“I think the color is rather appropriate for a coward,” Ginny said in mock-defensiveness. She smiled up at him, and shrugged innocently. Blaise just shook his head, watching the drama unfold in the Great Hall as Malfoy, freed of his beak, began to shout, demanding to know what had happened and who had dared to play such an outrageous prank on him, The Great Draco Malfoy.
“At the very least, it’s a fairly clever bit of magic,” Blaise said, sounding slightly impressive. Ginny was surprised at how animated he seemed – he was usually so quiet and serious. “It must have taken you awhile to figure out how to transfigure something that large.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ginny said coyly, pure innocence. He looked down at her, his eyes sparkling with a knowing look, and she couldn’t help smiling at him, barely able to contain her giggling as her heart started beating even faster at the sight of those beautiful eyes twinkling at her as they shared a joke, just between the two of them.
It was only after he laughed one last time, and turned down the hall, away from the pandemonium, that she realized that she, in a kind-of-sort-of-maybe type of way, had flirted with Blaise Zabini!
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In the midst of the chaos, all the yelling, screaming and choked laughter, Draco Malfoy had turned his head, trying to remove a bit of feather fluff that had landed in his eyes after several unsuccessful attempts given that in place of arms, he now had wings. Through the feathers that littered the air around him, he could see two figures standing in the hall, watching the scene, laughing together as if they were sharing some secret joke.
Incensed, he started to move forward, forgetting that he didn’t have feet, but a bird’s claws, and fell over. Maneuvering his body, he shifted so he could see them through people’s feet, and he saw Blaise Zabini smiling down at that bloody Weasley girl, who was giggling with him while Draco flailed around on the floor, humiliated for all to see.
In the midst of all the commotion, Pansy’s mild accusation that Blaise may have his own designs for the weasel filled his head, and he narrowed his eyes angrily as he saw Ginny Weasley blush and smile at his best friend.
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A/N: Thanks again to all those who have been reading and commenting! I really appreciate it.
This chapter was originally over 30 pages long, so I decided to split it into a few pieces. The next chapter has already been written, and will be posted very shortly – a day or two at the most, as soon as I’ve finished editing.
Couple notes:
-the fact that the Quidditch World Cup is taking place in Japan is an homage to the fact that Hana Yori Dango, the manga/anime/drama series that inspired this crazy AU CrackFic, comes from Japan.
-the Canary Cream is obviously from GoF, and the part where Neville is unknowingly the first to try it is one of my favorite Twins moment.
Drawn from HYD:
1) the prank that calls Ginny a whore. The wording and extent of the prank is actually far less in HYD, but it's been twisted to fit the plot of CIC so far, and the magical world.
2) the part where Ginny tracks Malfoy down and delcares that the poster isn't true because she's a version was adopted from a similar scene in Meteor Garden. The context and wording have been changed, but really, that's the scene the idea came from.
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Chapter 6: Advancing the Offense
Ginny stifled a yawn as she staggered through the Great Hall, her eyes heavy with fatigue. By the time they’d finished cleaning and closing down the restaurant, it had been very late, and Ginny had still had a Potions essay to complete. Luckily, Hermione was feeling particularly generous towards her friend, given her rather difficult evening, and the two had worked together at it. Looking over it now, Ginny grimaced, noting that it wasn’t her best work, but she was happy that it was at least finished. Her pocket was feeling heavy with the bit of extra gold Rosmerta had paid her in return for hostessing last night, and as she rounded the corner into the corridor where her broom cupboard was, her thoughts turned to the ongoing list she kept in her head of the things that she needed to buy the next time she had a few extra Sickles. Shutting her broom safely inside, Ginny ruefully decided that what she needed most was a new set of quills.
“Practical necessities before pleasure,” she muttered to herself, hearing her mother’s words in her ears even as she spoke them. Unexpectedly, Ginny felt a faint wave of homesickness wash over her. Today was supposed to have been the day she would have spent with her parents, had their schedules not changed. With a sad smile, she picked up her books and started making her way towards class, barely noticing as others pointed at her still-blue sweater, whispering conspiratorially to each other as they pondered the fate of the girl who’d gotten a Howler and had refused to quietly leave the school.
It was only when she re-entered the Great Hall during the lunch hour, feeling ravenous and desperately in need of the sugar rush her pumpkin juice was sure to supply, that she noticed the pointing and whispering. Moving slowly towards a table in the back, she felt their eyes on her, heard the whispered comments and the shocked laughter. There was a different atmosphere about the actions of her fellow students – the day before, when she’d been the brunt of their bullying, there’d been lots of laughing and sneering. Today, Ginny couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone around her knew something about her, some deep dark secret, that was shocking and scandalous, and they were now judging her as she walked by, whispering about her as she passed.
At first, she glanced around, thinking that maybe she was just being paranoid. Perhaps Hermione had been right, that there was something more to this “game” with Malfoy. Remembering his last words to her the night before, I’ll see you at school tomorrow, weasel – could that have been a veiled threat? Could he have done something that she hadn’t noticed? She was so consumed with trying to decipher what trap Malfoy had laid for her today that it took her almost ten minutes to see the posters, and only then, because a large group of students had gathered around the large banner that acted as their centerpiece, drawing her attention to it.
As her eyes scanned over the banner, Ginny shot out of her chair, and ran towards the crowd, pushing her way through, panic and outrage making her heedless of who she pushed aside. She stood stock still, staring at the words and images above her, hardly able to move. Strewn across the wall was a large banner, with the words “Ginny Weasley prostitutes herself in order to pay her tuition.” Decorating the banner, and the matching posters that were posted all around it, were pictures of her, which appeared – based on what she was wearing – to have been taken the night before at the reception, walking out of the Three Broomsticks with several different men. Her face began to burn as she watched her photographic self trying to keep Theodore Nott, Sr., steady as she lead him out of the bar, her hands on his arms as he tried to slide them down to grab her ass. Given the context of what had been written, it certainly looked like what the poster claimed she was doing.
“How terrible! Can you believe they let girls like this into our school?” a fourth year girl was whispering, just head of where Ginny was standing. She could hear others talking about it, not taken any care to conceal their words from her ears.
“It’s always the plain and innocent-looking ones you need to watch out for,” she could hear Pansy Parkinson saying, standing near the front of the assembled group. “It’s hard to believe, what with the way she prances around here so self-righteously, but she is dirt poor so I don’t see how this couldn’t be true.”
At these words, Ginny released a strangled cry of outrage, and suddenly, everyone was staring at her. The judgmental looks in their eyes felt like a punch to the stomach and even though she knew that there was no truth in what the poster claimed, she still felt a flood of shame. Her eyes unexpectedly began to sting with tears. She dashed forward, elbowing her way through the hostile crowd, until she was standing right below the banner. Trembling with anger, Ginny jumped up, trying desperately to grab a corner of the banner so she could tear it down. She missed the first time, but unable to give up, she tried again, and again. The students started laughing, and someone cast a spell, causing the poster to hover lower as she prepared to jump for it, then raising it as she tried futilely to grab for it.
Finally, she snagged a corner, and a brief ripping noise quelled some of the laughter. However, only a small piece of the banner had ripped off. Her face burning and the tears in her eyes dangerously close to overflowing, Ginny turned and pushed her way back through the crowd, stopping only to tear down one of the smaller posters displaying the moving photo of her with Theodore Nott, Sr. She crumpled it up and tossed it into the crowd, a small rush of triumph fueling her steps as it hit Pansy Parkinson squarely on the forehead. She then turned and ran from the Great Hall.
She ran until she found an empty corridor, where she slid to the ground, releasing a few shuddering gasps. Her mind spun through the scenario, and her focus shifted from the humiliation of the moment to the possible culprits. Her mind zeroed in on Malfoy, considering his words and actions from the night before, and his insistence that everyone could be bought. She began to shake with rage as she remembered that she had escorted the older men from the party to their carriages at his demand. Jumping up and angrily wiping her tears away, she grabbed her bag and started running down the hall, determined that she was going to find Malfoy and make him pay.
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Draco was sitting in the courtyard with his friends, idly enjoying the fresh air and debating whether or not he should take his broom down to the Quidditch pitch to fly around with Zabini for a bit, in an effort to shake his friend out of the fog he’d been wandering around in for the past few weeks. His quiet deliberation was interrupted every few moments as Crabbe and Goyle’s game of Exploding Snap progressed. Despite the chill in the air, the sun was warm and it was nice to be away from the group of brown-nosers that usually hung around when they ate lunch in the Great Hall.
The quiet was shattered completely as a spitting-mad redhead marched into the courtyard, walking straight up to him and standing in front of where he sat on the stone bench, arms crossed and cheeks stained pink with rage. Feigning disinterest, Draco turned his head towards her and stared back, giving her a casual shrug of his shoulder.
“My purchase of your services ended last night, weasel. You don’t have to see to my needs anymore,” he said with a haughty smile.
“You must think you’re extremely clever,” she snapped. Her brown eyes were dark and intense as she stared at him, pure defiance.
“Only because I am,” he said matter-of-factly. She rolled her eyes in disgust, and took a step forward.
“I thought that I made it perfectly clear last night, but as you seem to be a little slow in grasping the concept, I’ll indulge your stupidity and repeat myself. I cannot be bought, not by you or anyone else, and not for any price. For you to imply otherwise, and with such an outright and completely ridiculous lie, is just petty, tasteless and tacky,” she cried. He sat up straighter, leaning his head to one side and raising an eyebrow.
“Weasley, a girl of your background? Of course you have a price!” he laughed arrogantly. “The game is only going to stop when I found out what that price is.”
“I expected dirty tricks – you’re a Slytherin, they’re the only things you know. But I thought they might be at least a little bit on the cunning side. But telling everyone I work as prostitute to pay my tuition? It’s devoid of any creativity and completely tacky, even for someone like you!” she shouted. “While I may be poor, it does not mean I’m devoid of any morals. Yes, I have to pay my own way through school, but I do it waitressing to arrogant brats like you, not the way that you’ve claimed. I’ll have you know that my…” she stammered, searching awkwardly for the right word, “…my…virtue is fully intact and nothing you say to slander me can change that fact!”
With an angry toss of her hair, the Weasley girl turned on her heel and started marching away, not seeing the way that Crabbe and Goyle were practically choking on their laughter.
“Could have fooled me!” he called after her. She paused for a mere moment, as if contemplating turning back around to face off with him again, before she ran off. Draco was slightly disappointed; harassing her was a highly entertaining activity. He turned to his friends, shooting them a baffled look. “What was that all about? And did she just say what I thought she just said?”
“Didn’t you see the poster in the Great Hall?” Goyle asked through his laughter. “It was Pansy’s doing, I helped her put it up this morning. It’s hilarious because if she wasn’t so poor, there is no way anyone would believe it. I mean, just look at the girl.”
“Too bad this scene hadn’t taken place in a more public area. The way she marched down here to prudishly declare to Malfoy that she’s actually a virgin and not a prostitute like Pansy’s poster would lead one to believe would be proof enough to anyone that the poster’s all nonsense,” Goyle chortled. Draco chuckled a bit, his eyes staring off in the direction that she’d gone.
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Ginny ran all the way down to the Quidditch pitch, and once she reached there, she was still so angry, she threw her book bag, swinging it around and releasing it so that it flew a quarter of the way across the open field. Flopping down in the grass, Ginny’s mind was stewing over her confrontation with Malfoy, and she was kicking herself for letting him get away so easily. She had gone to find him, fully intending to attack him, to use one of the curses her brothers had taught her, to do something to make him pay for what he’d done, but the instant she saw him, all those plans had eluded her, and she found herself yelling at him.
As her mind shifted to what she actually said, her face began to burn. She covered her face with her hands, and groaned.
“Did I really tell him that my virtue is still intact?” she groaned to herself, hardly believing that she could have actually have said that. It sounded so prim and ridiculous, the kind of thing you’d find in cheesy historical romance novels. Wallowing for a few moments in her regrettable choice of words, she eventually started to question herself why it bothered her so much that she’d made an idiot of herself in front of Malfoy. He was her nemesis, someone determined to bully and harass her, it shouldn’t matter what he thought of her. Even though she kept telling herself this, she couldn’t escape the knowledge that even though it shouldn’t matter, it did.
“That was some interesting choice of dialogue, Weasley,” a cool voice said, light with amusement. Ginny started, having been lost in her thoughts, surprised to find Blaise Zabini stretching out on the grass beside her. She stiffened, reaching hastily to straighten her blouse and ensure that the hem of her skirt was pulled down, determined that this was one Slytherin she wasn’t going to embarrass herself in front of… at least not this time.
“Heard about it already?” she asked cautiously, turning to face Blaise as she spoke. After a moment, she grew conscious of the fact that she was looking at him, and that if she looked too long, it would seem like she was staring at him. She quickly faced forward again, trying to satisfy herself with taking in his appearance from of the corner of her eyes.
“Actually heard the entire conversation. I went looking for the guys, and when I found them… you were busy giving Malfoy a tongue-lashing. It happens so rarely, I couldn’t bear to interrupt,” he said, with a crooked half-smile that Ginny could see out of the corner of her eyes. He was flipping through a magazine, not even looking at her as he spoke so she felt that it was safe to turn her head back in his direction, taking a few seconds to once again admire his beauty. But then the horrible realization that he’d heard the entire dreadful and absolutely humiliating speech she’d given hit her, and Ginny once again wished she knew a spell that would make the earth open up and swallow her whole.
“Do you know what time it would be in Japan right now?” he asked, his voice distant, as if he didn’t really expect her to answer.
“I’m not exactly sure,” Ginny answered regretfully. He shrugged, and continued flipping pages in the magazine. Curious, Ginny leaned over to see what he was reading so intently, feeling uncomfortable with his silence, and felt a rush of excitement as she recognized the article. It was one she herself had read, while waiting in line at the owl post office, all about the national Quidditch team, with a spotlight on the new Seeker, the first woman ever to play in the World Cup.
“You’re reading about Cho Chang? I think she’s a fabulous Seeker. Did you know she went to Hogwarts? I think she was about two years ahead of me. Did you know her?” Ginny asked energetically. Cho Chang’s success as a female Quidditch star was one thing she often flaunted in front of her brothers, whenever they tried to keep her on the sidelines when they scrimmaged, using the excuse that she was girl and they didn’t want her to get hurt. Given her popularity at being the first female on the national team, Cho Chang’s picture was everywhere, and she had become quite a celebrity in the Wizarding world, endorsing products, modeling for ads and speaking in public regularly in between games.
“We’re very good friends,” Blaise answered, his eyes meeting hers. Ginny felt herself flush, thinking that perhaps her exuberance was a little too much, but she’d found an area of mutual interest between the two of them, and she wasn’t about to let the subject drop.
“She’s one of the reasons I ever decided to try playing as a Seeker. Everyone kept telling me that girls should only play as Chasers, but her success proved that a girl could actually do it. Of course, I eventually grew to like playing as a Chaser better, but at least I got to try it,” she said, remembering her tryouts for the Quidditch team in her third year. “I guess the semi-finals for the Quidditch World Cup are happening today, right? Is that why you were wondering about the time difference between here and Japan?”
He nodded distractedly, eyes still fixed on the photo of a smiling Cho Chang, holding her broomstick out proudly, clutching a Snitch whose wings were still flapping, trying to get away.
“It would be brilliant if they win, and go on to the finals, wouldn’t it? The first female Seeker to win the World Cup… that would be fantastic,” Ginny sighed. Blaise turned his head slowly.
“I suppose it would be,” he said with a shrug. Ginny frowned, wondering if she’d said something that he disagreed with. He kept his eyes trained on the magazine, and she awkwardly began playing with the blades of grass, uncomfortable in his return to silence. She was just running through a list of topics in her mind, planning to try to strike up another conversation with him when she heard a couple gasps from behind her. She turned around, and saw Pansy Parkinson and Millicent Bulstrode standing at the entrance to the pitch, the expressions on their faces full of shock and surprise.
“What are you doing talking to her?” Pansy shrieked in outrage, her eyes fixed on Blaise. Ginny’s temper prickled, but she was conscious of the fact that Blaise was sitting right next to her, had already witnessed one embarrassing rampage by her today, and decided to hold her tongue, not wanting to make yet another bad impression.
“We weren’t talking,” Blaise said, as he stood up. He left the pitch, walking past his friends without even another word or a glance in their direction. Ginny watched him go, inwardly cursing Pansy and Millicent for interrupting the most productive interaction she’d ever had with him. Pansy, obviously affronted by Blaise’s slight, strutted over to where Ginny was sitting and glared down at her.
“Even if you are a complete slut, the Slytherin boys are completely out of your league and would never take the time to even notice a plain little whore like you. Especially Blaise Zabini,” she spat, her face burning red with rage. Ginny smiled.
“If that’s the case, then you should have nothing to worry about, even if he was talking to me,” Ginny with a smile as she stood up, brushed the stray grass from her skirt and walked back towards the school, debating whether she should owl the twins for some practical joke consultation. After all, she owed Malfoy a favor.
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All Hallows, Hogsmeade’s only nightclub, was incredibly crowded when Draco Malfoy walked in. Despite the crush of people on the dance floor, his arrival drew quite a bit of attention as a number of girls rushed forward, eager to meet the infamous son of one of the most powerful men in their world. Brushing past them, he headed straight towards the staircase that lead him to where he knew he’d find his friends, the VIP lounge.
It was a typical Friday night; Crabbe had a witch that was at least ten years older than him in one corner, Goyle had some insipid blonde giggling after everything ridiculous thing he said, Blaise was perched on the plush sofa by the window that looked out over the dance floor, distractedly staring at that infernal magazine that he’d been carrying around with him for days, while Parkinson and her group of girls perked up as soon as he entered, apparently having been waiting for him.
He ignored their eager glances, and instead sat next to Blaise who barely looked up at him as he passed him the folded piece of parchment he’d been carrying in his hand. Blaise unfolded the crumpled parchment, and his eyes scanned over it, and then looked up, frowning over his friend’s sulking expression.
“He seemed rather pleased with the reports of the event. You should be relieved, not looking as though someone kicked your Kneazle,” Blaise said, exasperated. Draco glared at him.
“Oh he’s very pleased, his son can act as a competent poster boy whenever he can’t make his own public appearances. If I keep demonstrating such astounding levels of competency, my exciting future of stroking the egos of the same old men, over and over again while discussing the same topics over and over again and occasionally frightening small children will be cemented,” Draco sneered sarcastically, then sighed heavily. “They’re all the same, all of them, so dull that just talking to them makes me consider stabbing my own eyes out just to get out of these functions, and I’ll be plagued with them for the rest of my life. An endless parade of monotony.”
“Your reception the other night stands out for me, Draco,” Pansy said, sauntering over to them. “Of course, the live entertainment you provided in the form of the Weasel definitely added some spice.”
Draco glared at her for her interruption but it was short lived as he realized that she was right – watching Weasley answer to the ridiculous demands of his friends with that tight smile and barely concealed contemptuous look in her eyes had been very entertaining. He’d made sure he’d been able to see as much of her as possible that night, simply so he could gauge her reactions.
In response to Pansy’s interruption, Blaise simply stood up and walked away without another word, but that was a usual practice for Zabini – he wasn’t known for being one to make much small talk. It was actually the reason that so many girls were eager to snare him – the mysterious, stoic and notoriously anti-social Blaise Zabini was considered quite the catch. Pansy waited until he was out of hearing range before settling down next to Draco, leaning in conspiratorially.
“I can’t abide by that Weasley girl anymore, I don’t know how you’ve tolerated her for this long. I think it’s time we made a final strike, eliminated her once and for all,” Pansy said, a malicious glint in her eyes. Draco studied her for a moment.
“Weasley is mine. I’ll decide when and what needs to be done to handle her,” he said authoritatively, with the air of someone who was completely certain of being obeyed. “I won’t have any more disasters like the Green and Stanley incident last week.”
“Are you sure about that? That she’s all yours, I mean. I think Blaise has been messing with her as well,” Pansy said innocently.
“What do you mean?” Draco asked suspiciously, his jaw hardening at her words.
“I saw them together down at the pitch this afternoon. You should have seen it because it was so bizarre. The girl was practically throwing herself at him, and he actually seemed to like it! He was even talking to her!” Pansy said incredulously. “I think that’s why we need to crush her, before she gets any big ideas about Zabini.”
A long moment of silence followed, and Pansy noted the way that Draco was glaring moodily off into space, as if lost in thought. Blaise Zabini, at that moment, called out that he was leaving and that he’d see them all later, and that seemed to snap Draco’s focus back to what Pansy was saying.
“Parkinson,” he said, his voice level but edged with a frostiness that caused Pansy to draw back, “Weasley is mine to deal with. Blaise is utterly indifferent to what happens, he’s completely wrapped up with the idea that Cho could be coming back in only a few days, and he never gets involved in the game. If you ever try to imply that he would do something behind my back ever again, you’ll have a taste of what life is like for the weasels in this world.”
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It took less than a day for the twins to answer Ginny’s plea for help, and another two days for her to collect the necessary ingredients and make the preparations. The only thing that made this stretch of time in any form bearable was the weekend liberated her from the Slytherins reach for a blissful forty-eight hours. But the other two days were filled with constant harassment – the banner prank and its allegations that Ginny was a prostitute was a concept that everyone seemed to latch on to with delight. She came to expect the word ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ to be scrawled across her desk in almost every classroom, no matter how many times she would wipe it away. Some more aspiring student had charmed one of the smaller posters to follow her around all day, floating after her. She’d grab it, tear it to pieces, but soon enough, another would appear to take its place. But the one that really irritated her was the continual use of the blasted skirt-shrinking charm that they’d used on her the day she’d received the blue Howler, but after the third try one day, she started wearing a pair of shorts under her kilt, thus circumventing any embarrassment caused by that trick.
Despite all these efforts, the actions of her classmates and the Slytherins were almost subdued, compared to the level they’d been at directly after she’d received the Howler. It was as if they were waiting for something, carrying on only as much as necessary to remind her that she was still a marked person, but nothing more. It no longer seemed as though they were trying to break her, and they were proceeding with a great deal more caution than before. Ginny often amused herself with the notion that maybe, because she hadn’t broken, because she’d struck back and lived to tell about it, they were frightened of her. Especially because, now, when they tripped or pushed her, she would push right back and throw in a curse or two for good measure.
But the posters continued to follow her around, a constant reminder of the horrible way that arrogant prat had damaged her reputation and mortified her beyond measure. Arriving for school on Tuesday morning, armed with her plans for retaliation, Ginny walked into the school, proudly wearing her blue sweater against the late autumn chill that had descended over the city, ready to glory in her opponent’s comeuppance, as delivered by her.
It arrived at lunch, so that everyone could see.
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One of the results of Draco Malfoy’s status as one of the most desirable boys at Hogwarts, considering his family’s wealth and standing with the Lord Voldemort, was that he was often plagued with secret admirers, who would bestow a number of small gifts and sweets on him, as a sign of their affection and admiration. The older he got, the more common the sight of a handful of owls flying towards his table during lunch, bearing tokens from these admirers, became, to the point where few even remarked upon it any longer. Depending on his mood, Draco would either make a big show of unwrapping their contents, measuring the sincerity of the gift based on what it turned out to be – the girls who had the audacity to proffer some homemade confection were clearly uncommitted in their efforts – often distributing its contents among his friends as he bragged about his popularity and greatness, as evidenced by his desirability among the female population of Hogwarts.
Which is why, when a small package arrived by owl Tuesday afternoon at lunch, it was hardly noted as an irregular occurrence. Draco, who had been looking rather pensive throughout the morning and had reportedly been in a terrible mood, barely glanced at it as it landed next to his plate. It was a small box, but it was finely wrapped in silver paper and tied with a green bow, and it drew Crabbe’s attention.
“Who’s this one from?” he asked, picking it up and scrutinizing it. Draco glowered at him, and shrugged it away.
“Probably from one of his many admirers,” Pansy cooed. “I was beginning to worry about your popularity – after that incident with that bloody Weasley girl, you haven’t been getting as many owls.”
“Isn’t that much better for you? Less competition?” Goyle laughed, poking Pansy jokingly as he spoke. She cast him a nasty look.
“This one at least has discerning taste,” Goyle interjected.
“And how could you possibly know that? Unless you’re the one who sent it,” Crabbe jeered, to which Goyle smacked him on the shoulder.
“The color scheme is rather appropriate. Remember the red and gold one he got a few weeks back?” he said with a mock shudder. “Gryffindor colors, hardly suitable for impressing anyone, let alone such an ardent Slytherin as our friend Draco.”
“If I open the bloody thing, will you all shut up?” Draco growled, snatching the box out of Crabbe’s hand. His friends merely smiled at his gruffness, for they were used to his moods and never took much offence to what he said or did when he was in the middle of one. Scowling at them, he tore the paper and took the lid off the box. Peering down, he snorted derisively and set it down dismissively.
“What is it?” Goyle asked, peering into the box.
“It’s just a custard cream, nothing special about it,” Draco scoffed.
“Just one?” Goyle asked, as he reached for the box. “If you’re not going to eat it, I’ll take it!”
Draco snatched it out of his friend’s grasp, glaring at him, as everyone at the table started to laugh at him. It was a well-known fact that Draco was incredibly possessive about anything that could be considered his possession, and they always joked that he was like the dragon his name implied, hoarding his ‘treasure’ and protecting it from others. Shooting them all a dangerous look, he took the pastry out of the box, and with a heavy sigh, he bit into it. After chewing tentatively for a few moments, he swallowed and shrugged his shoulders.
“It’s not bad,” he pronounced, setting it down on the table in front of him. Someone further down the table said something that caught everyone’s attention, and Draco and his mysterious gift were completely forgotten. Which is why it came as such a great surprised when, less than sixty seconds later, he suddenly transfigured into a giant yellow canary.
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Ginny was watching from the hallway, peering into the door where she had a picturesque view of the Slytherin table, watching the arrival of the parcel, the exchange between him and his friends, and the beautiful culmination of four days’ effort, when the twins creation, The Canary Cream, took effect and transfigured the proudest and most arrogant student in the whole school into a giant, yellow canary. Ginny couldn’t help giggling as she watched him flap around in surprise, feathers flying everywhere as his helpless friends shot back from the table, surprised at what had happened. The noise level in the Great Hall indicated that it was absolute pandemonium, and Ginny watched with a satisfied amusement as her fellow students tripped over themselves to see what had happened.
It would only last a few minutes, Fred and George had written, before he would moult and return to the same pompous git that he’d always been, sans feathers. As Malfoy continued to flail, a harsh chirping noise escaping from his beak, feathers filled the air and it was hard to see what was going on.
“Is that a giant canary in the Great Hall?” an amused voice asked, and Ginny suddenly felt her heart leap into her throat as she recognized it. She looked up to her right, and saw him standing right next to her, a vaguely amused smile on his face.
“Haven’t you ever seen it before? It’s practically a permanent fixture these days,” she said, amazed at her own ability to speak in something beyond monosyllables or psychotic excited babble about Quidditch stars when he was in her presence. “It just decided to show off its feathers today.”
Blaise Zabini laughed. He actually threw his head back and laughed. Unsure as to what to make of it, Ginny looked straight ahead, and saw that the moulting was almost finished and it was now possible to make out Draco Malfoy’s furiously red face among the crowd and flying feathers.
“A giant yellow canary?” Blaise asked, shooting her an incredulous look. “Seriously?”
“I think the color is rather appropriate for a coward,” Ginny said in mock-defensiveness. She smiled up at him, and shrugged innocently. Blaise just shook his head, watching the drama unfold in the Great Hall as Malfoy, freed of his beak, began to shout, demanding to know what had happened and who had dared to play such an outrageous prank on him, The Great Draco Malfoy.
“At the very least, it’s a fairly clever bit of magic,” Blaise said, sounding slightly impressive. Ginny was surprised at how animated he seemed – he was usually so quiet and serious. “It must have taken you awhile to figure out how to transfigure something that large.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Ginny said coyly, pure innocence. He looked down at her, his eyes sparkling with a knowing look, and she couldn’t help smiling at him, barely able to contain her giggling as her heart started beating even faster at the sight of those beautiful eyes twinkling at her as they shared a joke, just between the two of them.
It was only after he laughed one last time, and turned down the hall, away from the pandemonium, that she realized that she, in a kind-of-sort-of-maybe type of way, had flirted with Blaise Zabini!
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In the midst of the chaos, all the yelling, screaming and choked laughter, Draco Malfoy had turned his head, trying to remove a bit of feather fluff that had landed in his eyes after several unsuccessful attempts given that in place of arms, he now had wings. Through the feathers that littered the air around him, he could see two figures standing in the hall, watching the scene, laughing together as if they were sharing some secret joke.
Incensed, he started to move forward, forgetting that he didn’t have feet, but a bird’s claws, and fell over. Maneuvering his body, he shifted so he could see them through people’s feet, and he saw Blaise Zabini smiling down at that bloody Weasley girl, who was giggling with him while Draco flailed around on the floor, humiliated for all to see.
In the midst of all the commotion, Pansy’s mild accusation that Blaise may have his own designs for the weasel filled his head, and he narrowed his eyes angrily as he saw Ginny Weasley blush and smile at his best friend.
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A/N: Thanks again to all those who have been reading and commenting! I really appreciate it.
This chapter was originally over 30 pages long, so I decided to split it into a few pieces. The next chapter has already been written, and will be posted very shortly – a day or two at the most, as soon as I’ve finished editing.
Couple notes:
-the fact that the Quidditch World Cup is taking place in Japan is an homage to the fact that Hana Yori Dango, the manga/anime/drama series that inspired this crazy AU CrackFic, comes from Japan.
-the Canary Cream is obviously from GoF, and the part where Neville is unknowingly the first to try it is one of my favorite Twins moment.
Drawn from HYD:
1) the prank that calls Ginny a whore. The wording and extent of the prank is actually far less in HYD, but it's been twisted to fit the plot of CIC so far, and the magical world.
2) the part where Ginny tracks Malfoy down and delcares that the poster isn't true because she's a version was adopted from a similar scene in Meteor Garden. The context and wording have been changed, but really, that's the scene the idea came from.
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