“Wake up, Ginevra, breakfast is getting cold!” Molly Weasley’s voice carried upstairs to rouse her daughter.
Ginny opened her eyes to a bleary September 1st morning, the clouds hanging low outside her window and a thin, silvery mist encasing the morning in a sleepy stupor. Groaning softy as she turned on her side underneath her warm quilt, she willed herself to look forward to returning to Hogwarts and seeing her friends. How can I do something as normal as go to school after everything that’s happened? She couldn’t understand her mother’s insistence that she finish her education at a time like this, that she would be safest under her professors’ watch. How safe can it be since Dumbledore’s gone? Finally flipping the blanket off of herself crossly, she dragged herself out of bed. She quickly dressed into a pair of jeans and a loose brown turtleneck that contrasted well with her vibrant red hair, checked that her trunk was packed, and then dragged it down the stairs behind her.
The Weasley household was extremely calm for it being the morning of the day before term. After countless summers filled with the utter chaos that ensues when too many people are crammed into a small space, it seemed very odd for Ginny to be the only Weasley left checking her supply of spell books and potion ingredients before a hurried breakfast, and her mum to be the only one to take her to King’s Cross. She realised that Ron had much more important things to do than accompany his little sister back to school to finish his seventh year, but she couldn’t shake the anxiousness she felt for her brother when she let her thoughts wander to what he could be doing right now. He should be here with her, safe, not out risking his neck with Hermione and Harry.
Sighing as she sat down to her bacon sandwiches, she pushed memories of emerald green eyes, a soft caress, and hours by the lake out of her mind. She had spent the entire summer not being that girl; the girl that cries every night, moping in the unfairness of her life, the girl that reads romantic novels in bitterness that she can’t have her fairy tale ending, the girl weeping and pining after a love lost to fate. She knew it was her fierce independence that had finally got his attention, and damned if she was going to lose it.
After an impassioned, stolen kiss the morning of Harry’s birthday, she had convinced herself that love like this, the school girl with a crush winning over the heart of her hero, never strikes twice. She had to believe that he would return to her, or her world would just collapse through her tight-lipped smiles and forced laughs. Not usually the gushy type, she felt like a walking cliché telling herself that she wanted to wait for him. His prize at the end of a long journey, she thought to herself cynically.
Arriving on Platform 9¾ wasn’t nearly as cheerful as years remembered; parents looked fearful to let their children go, telling them to write as soon as they could and that they would bring them straight home if they wanted. The children, usually blissfully unaware of the true dangers in their world, just smiled and shrugged their parents off, meeting up with friends on the train, or making new ones.
Ginny smiled widely as a group of red-haired people met her eyes upon entering the platform. Fred and George had closed up shop for a few hours, clad in their usual matching dragon-hide jackets. Bill and Fleur had Apparated for the occasion. Arthur, able to get time off work, came to send his only daughter to her sixth year at Hogwarts.
“Surprise, sweetie,” her mother whispered into her ear before she ran forward to hug them all. She knew she was going to miss her family horribly this year; with all the new threats to their way of life, the idea that she may never see them again had wormed its way into her thoughts on several occasions.
She waved goodbye vigorously from the compartment she shared with Neville and Luna, and then settled back into her own thoughts, listening distantly to their conversation about their summers and nodding when appropriate. When asked where her brother was, she replied vaguely that he was ill, being kept at home. Hermione, she had been told to say, had gone into hiding with other Muggle-borns, and she hadn’t seen or heard from Harry since Bill and Fleur’s wedding. All of these rehearsed responses were met with sceptical looks, but she didn’t really care if anyone believed her.
The start of term feast passed as usual with the Sorting Hat’s song, the sorting of the first years, and the amazing spread of food, though few had the appetite to dig in with the typical vigour. The tables were emptier than usual, especially the Slytherin: no surprise there. McGonagall now sat in the centre, throne-like chair at the staff table, and made the usual speech before sending the students to bed, welcoming everyone back and warning them to stay out of the Forbidden Forest.
“Let us all begin this term in remembrance of our late headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. He would be very proud of you all for your achievements, and would encourage each of you to continue in your education to make our world more enriched and accomplished in these most difficult of times…”
Ginny’s interest faded as she let her eyes wander towards the back of the hall, in the direction of the white tomb that encased the headmaster and laid him to rest on the school grounds forever. Out of the corner of her eye she vaguely noticed a streak of pale yellow, only because it was so out of place amongst the dark colours of the doorway. Once she focused on that spot, there was nothing but an empty doorway.
“And furthermore,” Ginny could vaguely hear McGonagall continuing her speech, “due to the extenuating circumstances that have developed over the past few years, and the continuingly more dangerous practices of dark wizards that threaten the well being of the Wizarding community, safety has become a top priority for our students. The heads of houses have voted unanimously that protection can only be guaranteed inside the boundaries of Hogwarts. I regret to announce that all visits to Hogsmeade this year will be cancelled,” an outburst of groans and indignant complaints arose from the sea of angry students, a few throwing their hats on the floor in outrage, “or until such a time that safety will no longer be a concern.”
Ginny had chosen to pay attention after the loud chorus of grumbles began, and missed what had caused the discontent.
“What happened?” she asked a fifth year boy sitting across from her.
His face looked angry as he answered. “McGonagall’s cancelled all Hogsmeade visits.”
Her eyebrows rose to look surprised, though she wasn’t in the slightest. Now giving the Headmistress her full attention, she listened to the rest of the changes in policy.
“As always, students are not allowed outside of the castle at night, are not allowed out of their dormitories after hours, and are now not allowed outside during the day unless they are in groups. I am aware that these new rules are stricter than you are accustomed to, but your well-being as well as your education is our main concern. If ever you need assistance or need to get home quickly, our doors are always open to you.”
Several professors sitting along the head table nodded in agreement as the Headmistress spoke, keeping neutral expressions on their face. The older students, on the other hand, had no problem voicing their resentment at being treated like children, and McGonagall had to raise her voice to a shout several times to be heard over the complaining.
The restriction of their personal freedoms complete, she called for the prefects to lead their houses to their dormitories and for all the students to get a good night’s sleep. Later that night, Ginny tossed and turned in her four poster bed as her roommates slept soundly. Scoffing at their obliviously peaceful forms, her mind kept her awake with bitter thoughts.
“Ugh!” she huffed, grabbed a robe and slippers, and left Gryffindor tower to take a walk and clear her head. Blatantly disregarding the policies McGonagall had just reviewed regarding after-hour activities, and keeping a careful watch for Filch and Mrs. Norris, she claimed the darkened corridors as her own to wander about, heading in no particular direction.
Wandering towards the Great Hall after the feast had started, Draco didn’t really know what he intended to do once he got there. He surely couldn’t waltz in and sit at the Slytherin table, arrogant as ever. He still didn’t know how he anticipated sharing the castle with these prats, whispering behind their hands as he passed and gossiping behind his back. He couldn’t care any less about what they thought of him; he would just rather never have to deal with such trivial, simple-minded children.
He settled for watching McGonagall’s speech from the doorway, free of prying eyes. As she began her dedication to the old headmaster, he could vividly detect through the sea of black cloaks and hats a head clad in blazing red locks turn and look straight in his direction. Her eyes looked initially past him and he chanced a glance at her sad face, finding it once again as enjoyable to look upon as his last encounter with her. Remembering what had happened the last time he had gotten lost in her features, he turned before he could again become mesmerised like a complete git and started towards the abandoned third floor of the west wing.
Working with Hagrid over the summer, as horridly painful as it was to endure given the man’s lack of common sense and intelligence, had shown him a great deal of things he had never known about his school: secret passageways, hidden doors, trick mirrors. The man was a complete moron, but he knew a lot about the place, having been there for so long. The gamekeeper had also shown him how much work it took to keep the grounds in such good condition, given that he wasn’t allowed to use magic, though Draco had his suspicious about the pink umbrella the half-giant frequently carried around with him.
Three months of manual labour had really toughened the pampered boy up. His fair, sheltered skin had burned horribly during the first few weeks, but after he had discovered the wonders in a thick, green potion used to heal burns, then the use of a sun-protection charm, his skin tanned rather well. Never having had to do much physical work, his muscles had hardly developed past ‘puny’ over his adolescent years, though it had never mattered much to him. After hauling load after load of dirt, dragon dung, saplings, and whatever Merlin-awful thing Hagrid found him to do, he could finally appreciate his shirtless reflection in the mirror, and could often be found flexing each of his new muscles in various poses. He couldn’t deny he enjoyed the new look, though he knew it would go to waste on this crowd.
His feet carried him without having to think, and he soon found himself in a deserted classroom full of old desks and wardrobes covered in dusty sheets. There in his usual spot sat a straight-backed, wooden chair in front of a ceiling-high, ornate, gold mirror, the words Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi carved along the top. He settled for a long night in front of the closest thing he had to a friend; he only wished he had a more comfortable chair.
After walking only about half an hour, Ginny already found herself in a wing of the school she had never seen before. Fully distracted by her explorations, she poked around in the abandoned rooms, hardly expecting to find anything interesting as she opened cupboards and rummaged through old books. Running her hand along a dusty desk, her ears perked at a distant rumbling. She realised it was coming from the room next door. Curiosity getting the better of her, she tip-toed into the corridor and peeked around the corner into the room from which the sound was emanating.
A boy, about her age judging by his height, lay sprawled on a chair in front of a large mirror, snoring loudly. His head, clad in dishevelled white-blond hair, was rolled onto one shoulder facing away from her. Unable to stop herself, she inched her way silently closer to get a better look at who else was out of bed in the middle of the night. His black school robes lay open, revealing blue jeans and a black t-shirt, hiked up just enough to show the smallest sliver of a tan, developed stomach.
As she ran her eyes appreciatively down his relaxed form, he started to stir. Sitting up and stretching his arms high above his head, her breath caught as each defined line of his torso was uncovered by his rising shirt. Suddenly aware of how awkward her presence was about to make the situation, she started to edge her way backwards as silently as possible. A spare desk caught her foot, and she stumbled, knocking the desk noisily onto its side while she attempted to regain her balance.
The boy whipped his head around at the disturbance. Fury replaced recognition on both sides as icy grey eyes met fiery brown. He stood defiantly as her hand flew into her robe, pulled out her wand and pointed it directly into his face.
“You,” she growled through gritted teeth, narrowing her eyes.
Author notes:
Sorry for the cliffee, but you know that they keep you coming back for more! ;-) Please review!
Next chapter: No Longer the Enemy
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