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Ginny looked around the Quidditch pitch and was pleased with the results of her effort. She had been in charge of organizing the graduation ceremony. It was customary for the sixth year students to get the school ready for the families that would be coming to watch the seventh years complete their time at Hogwarts and move on to the next phase of their lives. Under the swiftly dimming sunlight, neat rows of chairs were set on the grass facing a large platform where the graduates would receive their diplomas. From the stands hung banners with the emblems of each House and the Hogwarts crest. The weather was expected to be fine tomorrow; all indications pointed to a perfect graduation day. Yes, tomorrow’s ceremony would go exactly as a graduation should.
It was what would happen afterwards that was worrisome. Ginny tried not to dwell on that. She tried not to think of Harry Potter being destined to kill, or be killed by, Voldemort. She tried not to think about Hermione, who was like a sister to Ginny now, fighting those who hated her for simply being born. Most especially, she tried not to think of her impulsive, loyal brother Ron going off to war with his best friend and the girl he loved.
After all, her worrying wouldn’t keep them safe, and they were needed by the Order. Voldemort had to be defeated. Some things were worth dying for. Sirius had believed that; all the members of the Order of the Phoenix did. Not that any of them wanted to make the same sacrifice that Sirius and so many others had, but they were willing to risk it for the cause. They would win in the end. Ginny believed that. She made herself believe it.
Giving her head a little shake, Ginny mentally pushed aside the thoughts of war and its many perils. While she’d been lost in thought, nightfall had crept in on cat feet. She was about to begin her trek back to the castle when something caught her eye. A soft light glowed in one of the Quidditch stands. The light was too dim and the sky too dark for her to identify the source. Ginny sighed, she would have liked to just go on back to the castle but the silver prefect badge pinned to her robe did come with certain responsibilities. Quickly and quietly, she climbed up the stand. As she stepped onto the seating area she heard a male voice whisper, “Nox.” Pulling out her wand, Ginny carefully moved towards the voice.
“Hello, who’s up here?” she called. No reply was forthcoming so Ginny continued to walk in the direction she had heard the voice. “Show yourself; I’m a prefect.” Good grief, she thought, I sound just like Percy!
“I’ll show myself when I’m good and ready, Weasley. After all, you may be a prefect, but I am Head Boy.”
Ginny groaned and shoved her wand back into her pocket. “Malfoy? What on earth are you doing out here?” A tall, slim figure stepped out of one of the shadowy corners.
Lowering his brows, Draco Malfoy gave her one of his signature sneers. “I came out here to be alone. Trust a Weasley to intrude on my solitude.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. She was far too used to Malfoy’s insults to be bothered by them anymore. “Well, I’ll just get out of your hair then.” As she turned to walk away, she heard him sit down heavily and release a weary sigh. Hesitantly, Ginny looked back at him and spoke again.
“Malfoy?”
There was no answer, but she could see movement and assumed he had spun his head towards her.
“Are you all right?”
“Why would you ask me that?” Malfoy’s usual sarcasm was absent, and Ginny was taken aback by the incredulous tone in his voice.
Taking a seat next to the blond young man, Ginny murmured, “Lumos”.
“You just seemed a bit down,” she continued. “It’s not like you to skip the opportunity for a parting shot.”
Malfoy straightened up and looked at her in the dim wandlight. His cool grey eyes bore into her warm brown ones. He seemed to be searching for something there.
Cocking his head to one side, he replied, “That’s not what I meant. Why would you, Ginny Weasley, feel compelled to ask me, Draco Malfoy, if I’m all right? Why would you care when we’ve hated each other for years?”
Ginny shook her head at his puzzlement.
“Merlin’s balls, Malfoy. Most of the time you’re an obnoxious prat, but I don’t hate you. Not really. You seemed upset. I’m a nice person, so I asked what was wrong.” Laughing softly, she mused, “Slytherins must really have no humanitarian compunctions at all if this is a completely foreign concept to you.”
Ginny paused for a moment.
“Do you really hate me?”
She hadn’t really considered that his dislike for her and her family was that deep. She had always chalked it up to adolescent rivalry and stupid teenage drama.
Immediately, Draco opened his mouth to confirm that yes, of course he hated her. His father had instructed him in what, and for whom, he should feel contempt since he was very young. As a Weasley, a Gryffindor, and a blood-traitor, Ginny embodied most of those things. Of course he hated her. But did he really? He looked at the girl next to him and took in her surprised expression. The youngest Weasley was staring at him with wide brown eyes, as though she couldn’t fathom the idea. Trying to determine what he truly felt, Draco studied her. He was amazed to find that he didn’t feel strongly about her at all. Surely hatred was a strong feeling. Why wasn’t it there? Draco closed his mouth and tore his eyes from her disbelieving stare. He suddenly felt very tired.
Wearily, Draco’s hands came up to massage his temples.
“No,” he replied at last, sounding disappointed. “I suppose I don’t really hate you.”
Ginny made no reply to this, but continued sitting quietly beside the blond boy. They didn’t know each other well, so she figured it was best not to press him. If he wanted to, he’d speak of his own accord. The silence stretched on for several minutes.
“Your brother and Granger will be off to fight the good fight with Potter after tomorrow, then?” he queried.
Forcing down the lump that lodged in her throat at this reminder, Ginny answered softly, “Yes.”
Draco’s undignified snort following Ginny’s answer surprised her. Malfoy looked at her with a sardonic grin and shook his head.
“Isn’t it comforting to know some things turn out just the way they’re supposed to? The Savior of the Wizarding World and his stalwart companions will march off to stem the tide of evil, and the Pride of Slytherin will follow his illustrious father into the Dark Lord’s service. It’s just like a faerie tale, really. One day, you’ll read about it to your twenty red-haired children.”
There was no venom in his insult, so Ginny decided to let it go.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t really care how many children you have, Weasley, or what you read to them. Make sure they turn out better than your brother, though. He’s a real wank- Ow!”
Instinctively, Ginny had punched him, just as she would have done to Ron or Harry if they were being intentionally difficult.
“That’s not what I meant, you git,” Ginny admonished without asperity. “Do you want to join the Death Eaters?”
“What does that matter? It’s what I’m expected to do.” Resignation was heavy in his tone, and he chuckled mirthlessly.
Ginny felt her temper beginning to flare up. The idea that Malfoy would join forces with Voldemort just because it was expected of him was infuriating.
“So what?” she demanded. “This is your life! It doesn’t matter what other people expect!”
“Tell that to Potter.”
“There’s a bit more to it for him, isn’t there?” Ginny retorted. “You-Know-Who isn’t likely to stop trying to kill Harry, whether Harry pursues him or not.”
Draco raised a pale eyebrow.
“Yet you think he’d have no problem with the son of his right-hand man refusing to serve him? I almost envy your naiveté.”
Even in the poor light, Draco could see the color rising in Ginny’s face. He recognized the warning signs of the Weasley temper, but rather than being intimidated by her anger, Draco found himself fascinated by the dangerous way her eyes flashed.
“I am not naïve,” Ginny declared, each word clipped and precise. “I have more insight into your Dark Lord than you could even imagine.”
Draco leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. Meeting her glare with a grave look of his own, he spoke with quiet ferocity. “Then you know that he does not forgive, nor show mercy to those who refuse him.”
“What I know,” Ginny seethed, “is that anyone who would follow evil just to save his own skin is a coward. That’s not the only option, it’s a choice. You could go to Dumbledore and ask him for help. You could help us win! And we will win, you know. You-Know-Who will lose, and his followers will be killed or sent to Azkaban. Who will save your hide then, Malfoy?”
So passionate was her tirade that Ginny had begun to tremble. The latent fear for her family and friends rose inside her, and she impatiently wiped away the unwelcome moisture that threatened to spill from her eyes.
“Sure of that, are you?” he pressed. “Is that just Gryffindor bravado talking or do you really believe the Dark Lord will be defeated?”
With her jaw set and chin raised defiantly, Ginny replied, “Call it whatever you like, Malfoy. Every one of my family members is putting his life on the line to make sure You-Know-Who is finished. I have to believe we’ll win. I make myself believe it. We’re fighting to rid the world of a terrible evil. You are too afraid to even choose a side. You are just hanging on your father’s coattails and hoping you make it out alive.” She poked him hard in the chest, her voice escalating with her anger. “Is your pathetic little pampered life worth torturing innocent people for? Could you kill someone just because You-Know-Who expected you to? Do you even have a conscience?”
“It’s not that simple!” Draco growled, his frustration boiling over. “Sure, it’s easy to be noble when your family is right there to support you. What if you had to leave them behind to do ‘the right thing’? What if the ‘good’ people hated you? Would you be so sure of yourself then?”
He jumped to his feet, turning away from her. “I didn’t ask for this,” he said, his voice muted. “It’s just the way it is.”
Ginny stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, her gentle pressure drawing him around to face her.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” she said earnestly. “I know it’s not easy, but you can change things if you really want to.”
In her eyes Draco saw her deep conviction and her fervent desire to make him share it. He wondered what it was like to feel so certain of something. Was it bravado that made her believe that everything would be alright in the end, or did her courage come from some truth he’d never known? At that moment, he wanted more than anything to have her faith.
Ginny’s eyes went wide as Draco bent to place a chaste kiss on her lips. Brushing his fingers against her cheek, he whispered sadly, “I’m no Gryffindor, Ginny. Forgive me.”
Quickly, he walked away, not wanting to see her disappointment. He was almost off the pitch when he heard her call after him.
“It’s never too late, Draco.”
He wished he could believe her.
It was what would happen afterwards that was worrisome. Ginny tried not to dwell on that. She tried not to think of Harry Potter being destined to kill, or be killed by, Voldemort. She tried not to think about Hermione, who was like a sister to Ginny now, fighting those who hated her for simply being born. Most especially, she tried not to think of her impulsive, loyal brother Ron going off to war with his best friend and the girl he loved.
After all, her worrying wouldn’t keep them safe, and they were needed by the Order. Voldemort had to be defeated. Some things were worth dying for. Sirius had believed that; all the members of the Order of the Phoenix did. Not that any of them wanted to make the same sacrifice that Sirius and so many others had, but they were willing to risk it for the cause. They would win in the end. Ginny believed that. She made herself believe it.
Giving her head a little shake, Ginny mentally pushed aside the thoughts of war and its many perils. While she’d been lost in thought, nightfall had crept in on cat feet. She was about to begin her trek back to the castle when something caught her eye. A soft light glowed in one of the Quidditch stands. The light was too dim and the sky too dark for her to identify the source. Ginny sighed, she would have liked to just go on back to the castle but the silver prefect badge pinned to her robe did come with certain responsibilities. Quickly and quietly, she climbed up the stand. As she stepped onto the seating area she heard a male voice whisper, “Nox.” Pulling out her wand, Ginny carefully moved towards the voice.
“Hello, who’s up here?” she called. No reply was forthcoming so Ginny continued to walk in the direction she had heard the voice. “Show yourself; I’m a prefect.” Good grief, she thought, I sound just like Percy!
“I’ll show myself when I’m good and ready, Weasley. After all, you may be a prefect, but I am Head Boy.”
Ginny groaned and shoved her wand back into her pocket. “Malfoy? What on earth are you doing out here?” A tall, slim figure stepped out of one of the shadowy corners.
Lowering his brows, Draco Malfoy gave her one of his signature sneers. “I came out here to be alone. Trust a Weasley to intrude on my solitude.”
Ginny rolled her eyes. She was far too used to Malfoy’s insults to be bothered by them anymore. “Well, I’ll just get out of your hair then.” As she turned to walk away, she heard him sit down heavily and release a weary sigh. Hesitantly, Ginny looked back at him and spoke again.
“Malfoy?”
There was no answer, but she could see movement and assumed he had spun his head towards her.
“Are you all right?”
“Why would you ask me that?” Malfoy’s usual sarcasm was absent, and Ginny was taken aback by the incredulous tone in his voice.
Taking a seat next to the blond young man, Ginny murmured, “Lumos”.
“You just seemed a bit down,” she continued. “It’s not like you to skip the opportunity for a parting shot.”
Malfoy straightened up and looked at her in the dim wandlight. His cool grey eyes bore into her warm brown ones. He seemed to be searching for something there.
Cocking his head to one side, he replied, “That’s not what I meant. Why would you, Ginny Weasley, feel compelled to ask me, Draco Malfoy, if I’m all right? Why would you care when we’ve hated each other for years?”
Ginny shook her head at his puzzlement.
“Merlin’s balls, Malfoy. Most of the time you’re an obnoxious prat, but I don’t hate you. Not really. You seemed upset. I’m a nice person, so I asked what was wrong.” Laughing softly, she mused, “Slytherins must really have no humanitarian compunctions at all if this is a completely foreign concept to you.”
Ginny paused for a moment.
“Do you really hate me?”
She hadn’t really considered that his dislike for her and her family was that deep. She had always chalked it up to adolescent rivalry and stupid teenage drama.
Immediately, Draco opened his mouth to confirm that yes, of course he hated her. His father had instructed him in what, and for whom, he should feel contempt since he was very young. As a Weasley, a Gryffindor, and a blood-traitor, Ginny embodied most of those things. Of course he hated her. But did he really? He looked at the girl next to him and took in her surprised expression. The youngest Weasley was staring at him with wide brown eyes, as though she couldn’t fathom the idea. Trying to determine what he truly felt, Draco studied her. He was amazed to find that he didn’t feel strongly about her at all. Surely hatred was a strong feeling. Why wasn’t it there? Draco closed his mouth and tore his eyes from her disbelieving stare. He suddenly felt very tired.
Wearily, Draco’s hands came up to massage his temples.
“No,” he replied at last, sounding disappointed. “I suppose I don’t really hate you.”
Ginny made no reply to this, but continued sitting quietly beside the blond boy. They didn’t know each other well, so she figured it was best not to press him. If he wanted to, he’d speak of his own accord. The silence stretched on for several minutes.
“Your brother and Granger will be off to fight the good fight with Potter after tomorrow, then?” he queried.
Forcing down the lump that lodged in her throat at this reminder, Ginny answered softly, “Yes.”
Draco’s undignified snort following Ginny’s answer surprised her. Malfoy looked at her with a sardonic grin and shook his head.
“Isn’t it comforting to know some things turn out just the way they’re supposed to? The Savior of the Wizarding World and his stalwart companions will march off to stem the tide of evil, and the Pride of Slytherin will follow his illustrious father into the Dark Lord’s service. It’s just like a faerie tale, really. One day, you’ll read about it to your twenty red-haired children.”
There was no venom in his insult, so Ginny decided to let it go.
“Is that what you want?” she asked.
Malfoy shrugged. “I don’t really care how many children you have, Weasley, or what you read to them. Make sure they turn out better than your brother, though. He’s a real wank- Ow!”
Instinctively, Ginny had punched him, just as she would have done to Ron or Harry if they were being intentionally difficult.
“That’s not what I meant, you git,” Ginny admonished without asperity. “Do you want to join the Death Eaters?”
“What does that matter? It’s what I’m expected to do.” Resignation was heavy in his tone, and he chuckled mirthlessly.
Ginny felt her temper beginning to flare up. The idea that Malfoy would join forces with Voldemort just because it was expected of him was infuriating.
“So what?” she demanded. “This is your life! It doesn’t matter what other people expect!”
“Tell that to Potter.”
“There’s a bit more to it for him, isn’t there?” Ginny retorted. “You-Know-Who isn’t likely to stop trying to kill Harry, whether Harry pursues him or not.”
Draco raised a pale eyebrow.
“Yet you think he’d have no problem with the son of his right-hand man refusing to serve him? I almost envy your naiveté.”
Even in the poor light, Draco could see the color rising in Ginny’s face. He recognized the warning signs of the Weasley temper, but rather than being intimidated by her anger, Draco found himself fascinated by the dangerous way her eyes flashed.
“I am not naïve,” Ginny declared, each word clipped and precise. “I have more insight into your Dark Lord than you could even imagine.”
Draco leaned forward until his face was only inches from hers. Meeting her glare with a grave look of his own, he spoke with quiet ferocity. “Then you know that he does not forgive, nor show mercy to those who refuse him.”
“What I know,” Ginny seethed, “is that anyone who would follow evil just to save his own skin is a coward. That’s not the only option, it’s a choice. You could go to Dumbledore and ask him for help. You could help us win! And we will win, you know. You-Know-Who will lose, and his followers will be killed or sent to Azkaban. Who will save your hide then, Malfoy?”
So passionate was her tirade that Ginny had begun to tremble. The latent fear for her family and friends rose inside her, and she impatiently wiped away the unwelcome moisture that threatened to spill from her eyes.
“Sure of that, are you?” he pressed. “Is that just Gryffindor bravado talking or do you really believe the Dark Lord will be defeated?”
With her jaw set and chin raised defiantly, Ginny replied, “Call it whatever you like, Malfoy. Every one of my family members is putting his life on the line to make sure You-Know-Who is finished. I have to believe we’ll win. I make myself believe it. We’re fighting to rid the world of a terrible evil. You are too afraid to even choose a side. You are just hanging on your father’s coattails and hoping you make it out alive.” She poked him hard in the chest, her voice escalating with her anger. “Is your pathetic little pampered life worth torturing innocent people for? Could you kill someone just because You-Know-Who expected you to? Do you even have a conscience?”
“It’s not that simple!” Draco growled, his frustration boiling over. “Sure, it’s easy to be noble when your family is right there to support you. What if you had to leave them behind to do ‘the right thing’? What if the ‘good’ people hated you? Would you be so sure of yourself then?”
He jumped to his feet, turning away from her. “I didn’t ask for this,” he said, his voice muted. “It’s just the way it is.”
Ginny stood and placed a hand on his shoulder, her gentle pressure drawing him around to face her.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” she said earnestly. “I know it’s not easy, but you can change things if you really want to.”
In her eyes Draco saw her deep conviction and her fervent desire to make him share it. He wondered what it was like to feel so certain of something. Was it bravado that made her believe that everything would be alright in the end, or did her courage come from some truth he’d never known? At that moment, he wanted more than anything to have her faith.
Ginny’s eyes went wide as Draco bent to place a chaste kiss on her lips. Brushing his fingers against her cheek, he whispered sadly, “I’m no Gryffindor, Ginny. Forgive me.”
Quickly, he walked away, not wanting to see her disappointment. He was almost off the pitch when he heard her call after him.
“It’s never too late, Draco.”
He wished he could believe her.
The End.
KateinVA is the author of 15 other stories.
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This story is a favorite of 7 members. Members who liked What I Make Myself Believe also liked 1258 other stories.
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