"I refuse to believe it," Hermione Granger said scathingly as she dumped her books down on the table and accidentally upset Ginny's inkpot in the process. "How on earth can a ghost suddenly learn to tell the future? It's impossible, even in the magical world."
"That's what I thought, too," Ron admitted, also taking a seat at the table and completely ignoring his sister's scowl, "but it seems that when Myrtle last got flushed down the toilet into the Black Lake, she got caught in some magical force that somehow gave her the power of divination – or so she claims."
Ginny, who was trying to remove the spilt ink from her homework, looked up at this disclosure and stared at her brother in some interest. "Are you telling me that Moaning Myrtle has learnt to predict the future?"
"Apparently."
"What a load of rubbish," Ginny laughed. "Moaning Myrtle, a Seer? I'll believe it when I see it."
"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, pleased that someone else shared her view. "The whole idea is preposterous. Besides, I've heard some of these so-called predictions, and they're completely ridiculous."
"Well, she was right about Neville Longbottom making it on the Gryffindor Quidditch team."
"I refuse to believe that Moaning Myrtle's supposedly occult powers were the reason that Neville got on the team," Hermione retorted stubbornly. "He must have just been practising without us knowing."
Ron shrugged. "Think what you will, but that doesn't change the fact that Neville actually did get on the team after Myrtle said he would."
Hermione remained sceptical. This was not surprising, for she was a girl who thrived on logic and facts. She had also been rather contemptuous of the art of divination ever since it was revealed she had no aptitude for the subject. Ginny, however, was not so biased, and though she still found it hard to believe that a ghost could predict the future, she did find it very odd that Myrtle's prediction of Neville becoming Chaser had actually come true. After all, anyone who knew Neville would know that the dumpy boy had never enjoyed flying, nor had he been particularly good at it.
Ginny rested her chin on her hand. "I wonder if Myrtle really can predict the future?"
"Oh, Ginny, not you too!" the brunette cried, looking as if her friend had somehow committed some heinous crime for even daring to believe such improbable gossip.
"Well, you do have to admit that it is all rather strange," the redhead pointed out.
"Strange?" Hermione scoffed. "The only thing strange about it is that people are gullible enough to believe this rubbish."
"You're probably right," Ginny agreed. "Still, it would be pretty funny if it were true."
Hermione sniffed haughtily. "I don't think so. We have enough Seer-wannabes in this castle without adding a depressed ghost to the bunch."
Ron, who was growing bored of the subject, leaned backwards on his chair so that he was resting precariously on two of its legs. "Anyway," he interposed while throwing an expectant look at the bushy-haired girl beside him, "shall we get started on that essay?"
The brunette glanced distractedly at him, and then her eyes widened in sudden outrage. "Ronald Weasley!" she screeched, causing him to give a startled jump and nearly topple off his seat. "Don't you have any respect for school property?"
"What?"
"You'll ruin the chair if you swing on it like that!" she elaborated, and looked so priggish doing so that Ginny was forcibly reminded of her brother Percy.
"It's just a chair, Hermione," Ron muttered, though he obliged her and placed the seat back down on all four legs.
"What may be just a chair to you is another person's property."
"I hardly think that Dumbledore will care if a few chair legs are broken. He can just fix them with magic, you know."
"That's beside the point. You shouldn't swing on chairs anyway. It's bad manners."
Ron's cheeks flushed a dull pink. "What are you, my mother? It's just a chair! It's not the end of the world!"
Ginny snorted at the bickering couple. "I think I'll leave you two to it. I've given up on finishing this essay anyway."
Hermione gave her a distracted goodbye and then rounded back on Ron, who was now very red in the face. He reminded Ginny of a boiling kettle in that moment, and she half expected to see steam come out of his ears or perhaps to hear him start whistling shrilly. Now that would be something.
The argument increased in volume, and Ginny, not wanting to be caught up in the ridiculous affair when Madam Pince inevitably came to reprimand the two, decided to make her escape while she could. She stuffed her ink-stained homework into her satchel, muttered a final goodbye, and then exited the library just as the vulture-like librarian made her descent on the table.
Ginny wasn't really sure what she was going to do now. She had been hoping to work on her essay in some peace and quiet, but the arrival of her brother and his bushy-haired friend had ruined that plan. She supposed she could try to find her friends from her own year, but, truth be told, she was not overly fond of the other sixth-year Gryffindor girls, nor were they overly fond of her. There was a mutual agreement of toleration between them, which suited Ginny just fine. She had always enjoyed the company of males more, anyway.
She glanced out the window and caught sight of the Quidditch pitch, which seemed to shine like a beacon to her. There was an idea: she could go practise her Seeker skills for a while – Merlin knew she needed it. She used to play as Chaser, but since Harry had decided to go and get himself irreparably hurt last year – he had fallen down the stairs in his Muggle home and had hit his head so hard that it was now too dangerous for him to play a rough sport like Quidditch – Ginny had been forced to take his position as Seeker, since she was the only one good enough to do it. Harry, of course, had kept his position as Captain of the team.
Ginny sighed. What she wouldn't give to be a Chaser again. It wasn't that she was a bad Seeker; in fact, most people agreed that she was very good in her new position, for she was fast on a broom, naturally abetted by her petite build, and she had a good eye. No, the problem was not her flying skills – it was Draco Malfoy. The smarmy Slytherin had proven to be the bane of her existence when it came to Quidditch, and it had not taken long for the two to become rivals. Unfortunately, he actually was a better Seeker than her – which was not surprising when one considered he had been playing in that position for almost six years now – so, more often than not, it was Ginny who was left scowling after a match while he celebrated another victory with his teammates.
Even now, she scowled at the thought, and her hands clenched into tight fists as the image of that smirking blond presented itself to her fuming mind's eye. If there was one thing she was determined to do that year, it was to beat him at every game of Quidditch they played together. The other Seekers were nothing to her, but Draco Malfoy had taunted her with his victories long enough. This time she was going to be the one who flashed that golden ball under his nose with victorious satisfaction; she would make sure of it.
Cheered by this gratifying image, Ginny wasted no time in taking herself off to the pitch, where she planned to practice until she turned numb with cold in order to be ready for when she next faced her Slytherin rival. Alas, she had no sooner reached her destination and got her broom ready when said rival appeared in physical form before her stunned gaze, hovering lazily on his Firebolt with a Snitch in hand and an insolent expression on his face.
"Well, well," the blond remarked, smirk firmly in place. "Thinking of getting some practise in, Weasley? You know it won't help."
Ginny's temper, which was never the best, even on her good days, snapped at the mere sight of that infernal little smirk. "You just wait, Malfoy!" she retorted heatedly. "Next game that Snitch is going to be mine!"
His eyebrow lifted a fraction. "An admirable threat, but one that hardly constitutes much when you're flying a—" he examined her battered Cleansweep with open disdain. "Can you even call that thing a broom? I'd call it more a relic, myself."
Ginny's cheeks flushed brilliantly in the evening sun, but it was more from rage than embarrassment.
"I guess that doesn't say much for your flying, does it, Malfoy, considering it was this relic that helped me catch the Snitch before you even though you were flying a Firebolt." She flashed her teeth in vicious smile. "Guess all that speed means nothing when compared with real talent."
"That was only a practise game that you won," he reminded her with unruffled composure, "but if you want to call your pathetic attempt at flying 'talent', be my guest. I'm not one to break an impoverished girl's delusions. You probably can't afford to own anything but dreams, anyway."
She clenched her hands into fists. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"
"Do you really need me to answer that?" he responded with his oh-so-annoying smirk.
Ginny glowered at him. "Smirk all you want, Malfoy, but you won't be for long. I will get that Snitch before you, just you watch!"
"You keep telling yourself that, Weasley. Perhaps it might even come true – in your dreams, that is."
Ginny gave a strangled sort of shriek and reached blindly for her wand, but the blond was already sauntering off towards the changing rooms – if one could be said to saunter while on a broom. She glowered darkly at him as he left her to fume alone, thwarted in her violent intentions.
That was another thing she hated about him: he always got the last say. True, this was mostly due to the fact that he was the only one left calm enough during their arguments to actually do the dismissing, but that was beside the point. Something about him just made her blood boil. She longed to steal his fancy broom and hit him over the head with it until he resembled nothing more than a bloody pulp. Unfortunately, the world did not take kindly to murder – even if the murdered one was a slimy, Slytherin git – so Ginny had no choice but to quench her bloodthirsty urges. That didn't stop her from despising everything about him, though.
She turned her face from the offensive sight of his retreating figure and clambered onto her broom before she kicked off hard into the air. The wind rippled through her hair, pulling it out of the loose knot she had tied it up in, and allowed the red tresses to stream behind her like a cloak of rich silk. It was a liberating feeling, and she closed her eyes and let out a deep breath as she felt that caressing force surround her like an intangible cocoon, her taut muscles relaxing as she gradually began to calm down after her short but frustrating argument with the detestable Malfoy.
One good thing about her temper was that while it was quick to rise, it was also quick to fall. Indeed, she was feeling quite mellow by the time the blond left the pitch once he had showered and changed. She didn't even dive-bomb him as she had contemplated doing when she had first taken to the air.
Ginny swooped down on her broom and closed her hand around the Snitch that she had been practising with. She smiled in triumph, knowing that she had caught that one a whole five minutes faster than the last. A shadow fell across her, and she stared up at the sky and realised for the first time just how dark it was. She knew that soon she would not be able to see the tiny golden ball even if she wanted to, and since she did not want to get in trouble for losing said ball, she decided to call it a night and return to the castle.
It could not be said that Ginny had completely forgotten about her recent dispute with Draco Malfoy. In fact, the blond had an infuriating habit of sticking in her mind like a foul stench long after she had come in contact with him. He was just so insufferable and so impossible to ignore, and she longed for the days when he had simply used to ignore her like one insignificant piece of dust among many. True, he had always teased her if the moment had arisen, such as that dreadful fiasco with the Valentine card, but he had never actually gone out of his way to taunt her like he had her brother. Now, however, he seemed to delight in doing just that.
"Ugh, I just can't stand him!" Ginny growled passionately to herself.
His little smirks and his arrogant airs may make other girls swoon over their feet for him, but the only thing that so-called Malfoy Charm inspired in her was a firm desire to slap his stupid, pointy face. Of course, since he very rarely turned that charm upon her except to mock her, this was not so surprising.
Ginny huffed irritably to herself as she stalked through the doors to the castle and began making her way up the grand staircase. If he just left alone, she would not care about him. Well, maybe that wasn't exactly true. It had become almost an obsession with her to best him on the pitch, but that was only because he was such an arrogant jerk and loved to parade his fancy broom and victories in front of her face like a whore on the sidewalk flaunting her wares. Really, the way he behaved sometimes was quite indecent.
"You're not supposed to be down here," a rather sulky voice announced. "It's past curfew."
Ginny jumped in fright and turned to see none other than Hogwart's supposedly newest seer, Moaning Myrtle, watching her through mournful eyes while idly picking at a spot on her chin. It was quite disgusting, really. One would think that the ghost would realise that nothing could be achieved by such an act except the open declaration of her own vulgarity.
"Shouldn't you be in your toilet?" Ginny retorted, stung by the accusing tones in the ghost's statement.
"Just because I died in the girl's bathroom doesn't mean I always have to stay in there!" Myrtle cried, glaring at the redhead through ghostly tears. "Of course, I should have known how it would be. No one ever wanted me around when I was alive either, so why should I expect any respect in death? You're lucky I can't kill myself or else I would!"
Myrtle gave a convulsive sob after this speech, and Ginny hastily tried to reassure the nigh hysterical ghost that she hadn't meant it in that way.
"Don't lie to me!" Myrtle shrieked. "You think I don't know what everyone says about me?"
"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Ginny said as nicely as she could. "It's just that, well, you don't really leave your toilet, do you?"
"Would you want to live in a toilet?" Myrtle demanded, her misty eyes flashing behind her glasses. "You have no idea what it's like to live day to day in the U-bend, knowing that you're never going to exist as anything other than ugly, moping, moaning Myrtle."
"But you were given the power to see the future, weren't you?" Ginny asked in the hopes of directing the ghost's thoughts to more cheerful matters. "That has to be something?"
Myrtle drew herself up proudly. "Yes, I did. No one believed me at first, but you see how my predictions are all coming true."
"How did it happen?"
"I'm not really sure," Myrtle admitted. "I believe I went unconscious."
"But you're—"
"Dead! Yes, I know. You don't need to remind me!"
"Sorry," Ginny muttered, "I just don't see how a ghost can go unconscious."
"Well, I don't know," Myrtle replied irritably. "Why don't you tell me how it happened then, if you think you're the expert?"
Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't there."
"No, you weren't," Myrtle retorted with a smug smile, as if being flushed down the toilet and into the Black Lake was something to be immensely proud of.
Before Ginny could respond, Mrs Norris suddenly strolled out from behind a tapestry and started hissing and yowling loudly at the two girls, clearly unimpressed with their loitering behaviour. Myrtle shrieked in fright (or perhaps she took personal offence at the unintelligible remonstrance) and drifted off through a wall, presumably back to her toilet. Ginny stared down at the cat, which was still making its dreadful caterwauling. She heaved an exasperated sigh.
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "I'm leaving. You don't need to continue hissing at me."
Mrs Norris sat on her haunches and began to lick her tail.
"Right," Ginny murmured, not quite sure what to make of that.
She knew that Filch was bound to be along any minute, drawn by the mysterious powers that linked him to his cat, so she once more began the arduous climb to her dormitory. It was while she was thus engaged that she saw a familiar blond making his way towards her.
For a moment, Ginny could not believe her eyes. Surely Fate could not be so cruel as to give her a double-dosage of Draco Malfoy in one day, but so it seemed to be true. He smirked when he noticed her, and she let out an irritated huff.
"What, are you stalking me now?" she snarled as he drew closer.
"Don't flatter yourself, Weasley," he retorted with all his usual cool arrogance. "Besides, if we're to talk of stalking, need I remind you that you're the one who keeps following me."
"For your information, Malfoy, I'm returning to my dormitory, which just happens to be this way."
"Well then, why don't you spare me the dramatics and run off to your tower like a good girl."
"Why, you arrogant, pompous—"
"I'm sure you have a long list of insults to throw at me," interjected Draco in a bored voice, "but I really can't be bothered arguing with you right now." He swept her a mock bow as he gestured up the stairs with his hand. "Your tower is that way."
"You can't tell me what to do!"
"Actually, I can." He tapped the shiny badge pinned to his chest. "Privilege of being Head Boy."
She scowled and folded her arms. "Well then, Mr 'I'm Head Boy', what are you doing out of bed? I know it's not your night to patrol, so you have no right to be wandering around the castle either."
"Now, Weasley," he drawled with unnerving sweetness, "you know that's really none of your business."
"Ha! So you were up to something!"
He rolled his eyes. "No, I wasn't, but if you makes you sleep better at night to think that I'm plotting something nefarious, by all means, think away to your heart's content."
Ginny glowered at him. "You just love rubbing against me the wrong way, don't you?"
He laughed in genuine amusement. "Believe me, Weasley, if I ever do decide to rub against you, it would not be in the wrong way, and you would definitely not be complaining."
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and her cheeks flushed a light pink. Draco smirked at her in response.
"What's the matter?" he taunted. "Cat got your tongue?"
Her cheeks still burned, but she swallowed back any impulsive retorts she might have made and lifted her chin. "You disgust me."
The blond seemed delighted by this response, but Ginny did not wait for him to speak and swept past him up the staircase in a shroud of offended dignity. She heard him call out a mocking good night to her, but apart from stiffening slightly and clenching her hands into fists, she showed no sign of acknowledging his call and merely continued to stomp up the staircase to her dormitory.
Little did either of them know that a certain bespectacled ghost had watched the whole scene from within the wall and was now stroking her spotty chin with a rather gleeful smile on her lips for one so melancholic.
"I see," Myrtle mused to herself as she watched the blond head back to his own dormitory. "I see, indeed."
oOo
Ginny was still in a bad mood when she took her seat at the Gryffindor table for breakfast the next day. She could see Draco keeping his fellow Slytherins thoroughly entertained on the table opposite. She clenched her spoon tightly in her fingers and looked so murderous that Neville Longbottom actually shuffled two seats down from her.
"Look at him," Ginny announced to no one in particular. "He thinks he's so wonderful."
"Who?" Harry asked, quite perplexed by this vehement and rather random statement.
"Malfoy!"
"Oh." Harry glanced towards the blond. "Well, yeah, everyone knows he is full of himself."
"I hate him," Ginny muttered fervently.
Harry's eyebrows rose slightly. "I didn't know you, er, felt so strongly about the matter," he said, taken aback by the intensity of her declaration.
Ginny said nothing and continued to glower darkly at the object of her frustration. She was still fuming over everything that had happened during their last encounter. It was not that he had been particularly cruel to her; it was the simple fact that he had had the gall, the sheer arrogance, to use her sex against her as if she were one of those silly tramps who would just fall at his feet, and she, oh, shameful as it was to admit, she actually had been flustered.
But she didn't like him. No, there was certainly no danger of her finding him in any way agreeable or attractive; in fact, the whole encounter had only strengthened her resolve to despise him for all eternity. The arrogance he had displayed towards her was enough to make her sick. It was just humiliating to think that he might actually assume she did fancy him because of her blushes. He was certainly conceited enough to do so.
Ginny was still ruminating over this unpleasant thought and how to remedy it when Luna Lovegood presented herself in front of their table, complete with butterbeer cork necklace, and her wand tucked behind her ear for 'safe keeping'.
"Hello, Harry," Luna said dreamily while bestowing an equally whimsical smile on the raven-haired boy.
"Luna," Harry greeted. "What brings you to our table?"
"I wanted to talk to Ginny, actually."
Ginny glanced up at the dotty blonde. "What is it?"
"Would you like to be my partner for Potions?"
Ginny blinked in momentary surprise. Of course, she already knew Luna from their days together in Dumbledore's Army, as well as from the classes they shared, but the redhead hardly considered the Ravenclaw her best friend. However, since Ginny was well aware that Luna had no friends within her own house or year, which certainly did make it awkward for the blonde when it came to partnering up for assignments, and since Ginny did genuinely like the eccentric girl, she decided there was no harm in working with her for Potions.
"Sure thing, Luna," Ginny said with a smile.
Luna thanked her, if a little exuberantly, and then she started babbling about some new potion she had been trying to develop that would prevent the effects of Wrackspurts. Ginny had already lost track of all the many creatures Luna believed in, so it was no surprise that she merely listened to this anecdote with an expression of complete bewilderment on her face.
"Well, I'm quite hungry, so I'm going to eat my breakfast now," Luna declared, abruptly shifting from the whimsical girl she often personified to her more practical self. "I'll see you in class, Ginny."
"Yeah," Ginny replied with an easy grin. "See you then."
Luna smiled once more at Harry and then made her dreamy way back to the Ravenclaw table. Ginny had quite forgotten about her eternal loathing for Draco Malfoy by this point, so she was able to resume her breakfast in a much more peaceful frame of mind. Even Neville dared to wish her a good morning. She responded so cheerfully to him that he took courage and moved back to his old seat beside her so that he could chat to her about being a Chaser. He asked her whether she had any tips that could help him improve his technique. Ginny was more than happy to oblige him with this knowledge, and she spent the rest of her breakfast talking about such mysteries as the 'Backwards Quaffle Shuffle' and the 'Rolling Barrel'.
Once she had finished eating, Ginny followed the throng of students up to the third floor for Charms with her mind still absently lost in thoughts of Quidditch. It was just as she was about to enter the classroom that she heard an unmistakable 'Psst' come from somewhere close to her head. She let out a yelp of fright and turned to see Moaning Myrtle beckoning for her to follow through the wall.
The redhead rolled her eyes. "You know, Myrtle, it may be easy for you to walk through solid stone, but it is quite impossible for me to do so."
"Come to my toilet," Myrtle ordered. "I have something to tell you."
Ginny threw a longing look at the Charms classroom. She did not particularly like Myrtle, but then it was not every day that the ghost demanded an audience with her. She supposed it couldn't hurt if she just went to hear whatever it was that Myrtle had to say.
"Fine," sighed Ginny, "but you have to be quick. I have class soon."
"It will only take a moment," Myrtle replied, and then she gave a small gurgle of laughter that quite unnerved the redhead.
"Right," Ginny murmured, eyeing the ghost with one eyebrow raised.
She followed Myrtle back down the stairs and into the girls' bathroom, which looked as gloomy and unwelcoming as ever. The bespectacled ghost checked to make sure no girls were hiding in the cubicles, and, satisfied that they were alone, turned back to face Ginny.
"Last night I had a vision about you," Myrtle disclosed with all the manner of one making a very grand statement.
"A vision about me?" Ginny repeated, quite perplexed.
"That is what I said."
Ginny's first instinct was to laugh, but she was curious about this supposed prediction. What if Myrtle really had seen a vision about her?
"Well, what did you see?" Ginny enquired.
"I saw," Myrtle began dramatically in a voice that would have given even Sybill Trelawney a run for her money.
There was a pause.
"Yes?" Ginny prompted.
"I saw your future. Your very destiny, in fact."
The redhead repressed an exasperated sigh. "And?"
"Your destiny is to be with Draco Malfoy."
There was a very long pause. Ginny suddenly let out a peal of laughter.
"Oh, that's rich," she exclaimed, still chuckling. "No, really, Myrtle, what did you see?"
"But that's the truth," the ghost replied rather petulantly. "I saw you fall in love with Draco Malfoy, and then the two of you got married and had lots of babies."
Ginny's smile froze in place. "You've got to be joking."
"Why would I joke about something like this?" Myrtle snapped, looking quite offended. "I'm telling you that is what I saw!"
"You're lying," Ginny said firmly. "You have to be lying. I've never heard such rubbish in my life. I hate Draco Malfoy! I'd rather kill him than snog him!"
"So you say now," Myrtle responded slyly.
Ginny's eyes flashed. "You're lucky you're a ghost, Myrtle, otherwise I would make you regret this prank of yours. Did you really think I would be taken in by such a hoax? Hermione told me you were a fraud, but now I know it after hearing your ridiculous prediction. Draco Malfoy and I, in love? Even the Quibbler wouldn't believe such trite!"
Myrtle drew herself up haughtily. "Laugh if you want, but you're only living in denial. You will fall in love with Draco Malfoy. He is your destiny."
"Stop saying that!" Ginny shrieked, clapping her hands over her ears to block out the horrendous words. "He's not my destiny! He's not! And you're a nasty, horrible ghost for making up such lies, and I hope you die—I mean, I hope you—" Ginny fumbled for some fate horrible enough for the ghost and, upon finding none, let out an exasperated scream. "Oh, just shut up!"
Not even waiting for Myrtle to respond, Ginny stormed out of the bathroom and made her way back to the Charms classroom in a whirlwind of rage. She could not believe that ghostly fraud had dared to make up such lies about her. As if she would ever love Draco Malfoy of all people, let alone want to marry him. She detested the very sight of him.
"Destiny," Ginny muttered scornfully. "As if!"
There was no way in hell that she was going to be joined with that arrogant pillock! She didn't care if a hundred seers told her that the blond was her destiny, she would still refuse to believe it.
This was one prophecy that would never come true.
"That's what I thought, too," Ron admitted, also taking a seat at the table and completely ignoring his sister's scowl, "but it seems that when Myrtle last got flushed down the toilet into the Black Lake, she got caught in some magical force that somehow gave her the power of divination – or so she claims."
Ginny, who was trying to remove the spilt ink from her homework, looked up at this disclosure and stared at her brother in some interest. "Are you telling me that Moaning Myrtle has learnt to predict the future?"
"Apparently."
"What a load of rubbish," Ginny laughed. "Moaning Myrtle, a Seer? I'll believe it when I see it."
"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, pleased that someone else shared her view. "The whole idea is preposterous. Besides, I've heard some of these so-called predictions, and they're completely ridiculous."
"Well, she was right about Neville Longbottom making it on the Gryffindor Quidditch team."
"I refuse to believe that Moaning Myrtle's supposedly occult powers were the reason that Neville got on the team," Hermione retorted stubbornly. "He must have just been practising without us knowing."
Ron shrugged. "Think what you will, but that doesn't change the fact that Neville actually did get on the team after Myrtle said he would."
Hermione remained sceptical. This was not surprising, for she was a girl who thrived on logic and facts. She had also been rather contemptuous of the art of divination ever since it was revealed she had no aptitude for the subject. Ginny, however, was not so biased, and though she still found it hard to believe that a ghost could predict the future, she did find it very odd that Myrtle's prediction of Neville becoming Chaser had actually come true. After all, anyone who knew Neville would know that the dumpy boy had never enjoyed flying, nor had he been particularly good at it.
Ginny rested her chin on her hand. "I wonder if Myrtle really can predict the future?"
"Oh, Ginny, not you too!" the brunette cried, looking as if her friend had somehow committed some heinous crime for even daring to believe such improbable gossip.
"Well, you do have to admit that it is all rather strange," the redhead pointed out.
"Strange?" Hermione scoffed. "The only thing strange about it is that people are gullible enough to believe this rubbish."
"You're probably right," Ginny agreed. "Still, it would be pretty funny if it were true."
Hermione sniffed haughtily. "I don't think so. We have enough Seer-wannabes in this castle without adding a depressed ghost to the bunch."
Ron, who was growing bored of the subject, leaned backwards on his chair so that he was resting precariously on two of its legs. "Anyway," he interposed while throwing an expectant look at the bushy-haired girl beside him, "shall we get started on that essay?"
The brunette glanced distractedly at him, and then her eyes widened in sudden outrage. "Ronald Weasley!" she screeched, causing him to give a startled jump and nearly topple off his seat. "Don't you have any respect for school property?"
"What?"
"You'll ruin the chair if you swing on it like that!" she elaborated, and looked so priggish doing so that Ginny was forcibly reminded of her brother Percy.
"It's just a chair, Hermione," Ron muttered, though he obliged her and placed the seat back down on all four legs.
"What may be just a chair to you is another person's property."
"I hardly think that Dumbledore will care if a few chair legs are broken. He can just fix them with magic, you know."
"That's beside the point. You shouldn't swing on chairs anyway. It's bad manners."
Ron's cheeks flushed a dull pink. "What are you, my mother? It's just a chair! It's not the end of the world!"
Ginny snorted at the bickering couple. "I think I'll leave you two to it. I've given up on finishing this essay anyway."
Hermione gave her a distracted goodbye and then rounded back on Ron, who was now very red in the face. He reminded Ginny of a boiling kettle in that moment, and she half expected to see steam come out of his ears or perhaps to hear him start whistling shrilly. Now that would be something.
The argument increased in volume, and Ginny, not wanting to be caught up in the ridiculous affair when Madam Pince inevitably came to reprimand the two, decided to make her escape while she could. She stuffed her ink-stained homework into her satchel, muttered a final goodbye, and then exited the library just as the vulture-like librarian made her descent on the table.
Ginny wasn't really sure what she was going to do now. She had been hoping to work on her essay in some peace and quiet, but the arrival of her brother and his bushy-haired friend had ruined that plan. She supposed she could try to find her friends from her own year, but, truth be told, she was not overly fond of the other sixth-year Gryffindor girls, nor were they overly fond of her. There was a mutual agreement of toleration between them, which suited Ginny just fine. She had always enjoyed the company of males more, anyway.
She glanced out the window and caught sight of the Quidditch pitch, which seemed to shine like a beacon to her. There was an idea: she could go practise her Seeker skills for a while – Merlin knew she needed it. She used to play as Chaser, but since Harry had decided to go and get himself irreparably hurt last year – he had fallen down the stairs in his Muggle home and had hit his head so hard that it was now too dangerous for him to play a rough sport like Quidditch – Ginny had been forced to take his position as Seeker, since she was the only one good enough to do it. Harry, of course, had kept his position as Captain of the team.
Ginny sighed. What she wouldn't give to be a Chaser again. It wasn't that she was a bad Seeker; in fact, most people agreed that she was very good in her new position, for she was fast on a broom, naturally abetted by her petite build, and she had a good eye. No, the problem was not her flying skills – it was Draco Malfoy. The smarmy Slytherin had proven to be the bane of her existence when it came to Quidditch, and it had not taken long for the two to become rivals. Unfortunately, he actually was a better Seeker than her – which was not surprising when one considered he had been playing in that position for almost six years now – so, more often than not, it was Ginny who was left scowling after a match while he celebrated another victory with his teammates.
Even now, she scowled at the thought, and her hands clenched into tight fists as the image of that smirking blond presented itself to her fuming mind's eye. If there was one thing she was determined to do that year, it was to beat him at every game of Quidditch they played together. The other Seekers were nothing to her, but Draco Malfoy had taunted her with his victories long enough. This time she was going to be the one who flashed that golden ball under his nose with victorious satisfaction; she would make sure of it.
Cheered by this gratifying image, Ginny wasted no time in taking herself off to the pitch, where she planned to practice until she turned numb with cold in order to be ready for when she next faced her Slytherin rival. Alas, she had no sooner reached her destination and got her broom ready when said rival appeared in physical form before her stunned gaze, hovering lazily on his Firebolt with a Snitch in hand and an insolent expression on his face.
"Well, well," the blond remarked, smirk firmly in place. "Thinking of getting some practise in, Weasley? You know it won't help."
Ginny's temper, which was never the best, even on her good days, snapped at the mere sight of that infernal little smirk. "You just wait, Malfoy!" she retorted heatedly. "Next game that Snitch is going to be mine!"
His eyebrow lifted a fraction. "An admirable threat, but one that hardly constitutes much when you're flying a—" he examined her battered Cleansweep with open disdain. "Can you even call that thing a broom? I'd call it more a relic, myself."
Ginny's cheeks flushed brilliantly in the evening sun, but it was more from rage than embarrassment.
"I guess that doesn't say much for your flying, does it, Malfoy, considering it was this relic that helped me catch the Snitch before you even though you were flying a Firebolt." She flashed her teeth in vicious smile. "Guess all that speed means nothing when compared with real talent."
"That was only a practise game that you won," he reminded her with unruffled composure, "but if you want to call your pathetic attempt at flying 'talent', be my guest. I'm not one to break an impoverished girl's delusions. You probably can't afford to own anything but dreams, anyway."
She clenched her hands into fists. "You think you're so clever, don't you?"
"Do you really need me to answer that?" he responded with his oh-so-annoying smirk.
Ginny glowered at him. "Smirk all you want, Malfoy, but you won't be for long. I will get that Snitch before you, just you watch!"
"You keep telling yourself that, Weasley. Perhaps it might even come true – in your dreams, that is."
Ginny gave a strangled sort of shriek and reached blindly for her wand, but the blond was already sauntering off towards the changing rooms – if one could be said to saunter while on a broom. She glowered darkly at him as he left her to fume alone, thwarted in her violent intentions.
That was another thing she hated about him: he always got the last say. True, this was mostly due to the fact that he was the only one left calm enough during their arguments to actually do the dismissing, but that was beside the point. Something about him just made her blood boil. She longed to steal his fancy broom and hit him over the head with it until he resembled nothing more than a bloody pulp. Unfortunately, the world did not take kindly to murder – even if the murdered one was a slimy, Slytherin git – so Ginny had no choice but to quench her bloodthirsty urges. That didn't stop her from despising everything about him, though.
She turned her face from the offensive sight of his retreating figure and clambered onto her broom before she kicked off hard into the air. The wind rippled through her hair, pulling it out of the loose knot she had tied it up in, and allowed the red tresses to stream behind her like a cloak of rich silk. It was a liberating feeling, and she closed her eyes and let out a deep breath as she felt that caressing force surround her like an intangible cocoon, her taut muscles relaxing as she gradually began to calm down after her short but frustrating argument with the detestable Malfoy.
One good thing about her temper was that while it was quick to rise, it was also quick to fall. Indeed, she was feeling quite mellow by the time the blond left the pitch once he had showered and changed. She didn't even dive-bomb him as she had contemplated doing when she had first taken to the air.
Ginny swooped down on her broom and closed her hand around the Snitch that she had been practising with. She smiled in triumph, knowing that she had caught that one a whole five minutes faster than the last. A shadow fell across her, and she stared up at the sky and realised for the first time just how dark it was. She knew that soon she would not be able to see the tiny golden ball even if she wanted to, and since she did not want to get in trouble for losing said ball, she decided to call it a night and return to the castle.
It could not be said that Ginny had completely forgotten about her recent dispute with Draco Malfoy. In fact, the blond had an infuriating habit of sticking in her mind like a foul stench long after she had come in contact with him. He was just so insufferable and so impossible to ignore, and she longed for the days when he had simply used to ignore her like one insignificant piece of dust among many. True, he had always teased her if the moment had arisen, such as that dreadful fiasco with the Valentine card, but he had never actually gone out of his way to taunt her like he had her brother. Now, however, he seemed to delight in doing just that.
"Ugh, I just can't stand him!" Ginny growled passionately to herself.
His little smirks and his arrogant airs may make other girls swoon over their feet for him, but the only thing that so-called Malfoy Charm inspired in her was a firm desire to slap his stupid, pointy face. Of course, since he very rarely turned that charm upon her except to mock her, this was not so surprising.
Ginny huffed irritably to herself as she stalked through the doors to the castle and began making her way up the grand staircase. If he just left alone, she would not care about him. Well, maybe that wasn't exactly true. It had become almost an obsession with her to best him on the pitch, but that was only because he was such an arrogant jerk and loved to parade his fancy broom and victories in front of her face like a whore on the sidewalk flaunting her wares. Really, the way he behaved sometimes was quite indecent.
"You're not supposed to be down here," a rather sulky voice announced. "It's past curfew."
Ginny jumped in fright and turned to see none other than Hogwart's supposedly newest seer, Moaning Myrtle, watching her through mournful eyes while idly picking at a spot on her chin. It was quite disgusting, really. One would think that the ghost would realise that nothing could be achieved by such an act except the open declaration of her own vulgarity.
"Shouldn't you be in your toilet?" Ginny retorted, stung by the accusing tones in the ghost's statement.
"Just because I died in the girl's bathroom doesn't mean I always have to stay in there!" Myrtle cried, glaring at the redhead through ghostly tears. "Of course, I should have known how it would be. No one ever wanted me around when I was alive either, so why should I expect any respect in death? You're lucky I can't kill myself or else I would!"
Myrtle gave a convulsive sob after this speech, and Ginny hastily tried to reassure the nigh hysterical ghost that she hadn't meant it in that way.
"Don't lie to me!" Myrtle shrieked. "You think I don't know what everyone says about me?"
"I'm sorry, Myrtle," Ginny said as nicely as she could. "It's just that, well, you don't really leave your toilet, do you?"
"Would you want to live in a toilet?" Myrtle demanded, her misty eyes flashing behind her glasses. "You have no idea what it's like to live day to day in the U-bend, knowing that you're never going to exist as anything other than ugly, moping, moaning Myrtle."
"But you were given the power to see the future, weren't you?" Ginny asked in the hopes of directing the ghost's thoughts to more cheerful matters. "That has to be something?"
Myrtle drew herself up proudly. "Yes, I did. No one believed me at first, but you see how my predictions are all coming true."
"How did it happen?"
"I'm not really sure," Myrtle admitted. "I believe I went unconscious."
"But you're—"
"Dead! Yes, I know. You don't need to remind me!"
"Sorry," Ginny muttered, "I just don't see how a ghost can go unconscious."
"Well, I don't know," Myrtle replied irritably. "Why don't you tell me how it happened then, if you think you're the expert?"
Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. I wasn't there."
"No, you weren't," Myrtle retorted with a smug smile, as if being flushed down the toilet and into the Black Lake was something to be immensely proud of.
Before Ginny could respond, Mrs Norris suddenly strolled out from behind a tapestry and started hissing and yowling loudly at the two girls, clearly unimpressed with their loitering behaviour. Myrtle shrieked in fright (or perhaps she took personal offence at the unintelligible remonstrance) and drifted off through a wall, presumably back to her toilet. Ginny stared down at the cat, which was still making its dreadful caterwauling. She heaved an exasperated sigh.
"Yes, yes," she said impatiently. "I'm leaving. You don't need to continue hissing at me."
Mrs Norris sat on her haunches and began to lick her tail.
"Right," Ginny murmured, not quite sure what to make of that.
She knew that Filch was bound to be along any minute, drawn by the mysterious powers that linked him to his cat, so she once more began the arduous climb to her dormitory. It was while she was thus engaged that she saw a familiar blond making his way towards her.
For a moment, Ginny could not believe her eyes. Surely Fate could not be so cruel as to give her a double-dosage of Draco Malfoy in one day, but so it seemed to be true. He smirked when he noticed her, and she let out an irritated huff.
"What, are you stalking me now?" she snarled as he drew closer.
"Don't flatter yourself, Weasley," he retorted with all his usual cool arrogance. "Besides, if we're to talk of stalking, need I remind you that you're the one who keeps following me."
"For your information, Malfoy, I'm returning to my dormitory, which just happens to be this way."
"Well then, why don't you spare me the dramatics and run off to your tower like a good girl."
"Why, you arrogant, pompous—"
"I'm sure you have a long list of insults to throw at me," interjected Draco in a bored voice, "but I really can't be bothered arguing with you right now." He swept her a mock bow as he gestured up the stairs with his hand. "Your tower is that way."
"You can't tell me what to do!"
"Actually, I can." He tapped the shiny badge pinned to his chest. "Privilege of being Head Boy."
She scowled and folded her arms. "Well then, Mr 'I'm Head Boy', what are you doing out of bed? I know it's not your night to patrol, so you have no right to be wandering around the castle either."
"Now, Weasley," he drawled with unnerving sweetness, "you know that's really none of your business."
"Ha! So you were up to something!"
He rolled his eyes. "No, I wasn't, but if you makes you sleep better at night to think that I'm plotting something nefarious, by all means, think away to your heart's content."
Ginny glowered at him. "You just love rubbing against me the wrong way, don't you?"
He laughed in genuine amusement. "Believe me, Weasley, if I ever do decide to rub against you, it would not be in the wrong way, and you would definitely not be complaining."
She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and her cheeks flushed a light pink. Draco smirked at her in response.
"What's the matter?" he taunted. "Cat got your tongue?"
Her cheeks still burned, but she swallowed back any impulsive retorts she might have made and lifted her chin. "You disgust me."
The blond seemed delighted by this response, but Ginny did not wait for him to speak and swept past him up the staircase in a shroud of offended dignity. She heard him call out a mocking good night to her, but apart from stiffening slightly and clenching her hands into fists, she showed no sign of acknowledging his call and merely continued to stomp up the staircase to her dormitory.
Little did either of them know that a certain bespectacled ghost had watched the whole scene from within the wall and was now stroking her spotty chin with a rather gleeful smile on her lips for one so melancholic.
"I see," Myrtle mused to herself as she watched the blond head back to his own dormitory. "I see, indeed."
Ginny was still in a bad mood when she took her seat at the Gryffindor table for breakfast the next day. She could see Draco keeping his fellow Slytherins thoroughly entertained on the table opposite. She clenched her spoon tightly in her fingers and looked so murderous that Neville Longbottom actually shuffled two seats down from her.
"Look at him," Ginny announced to no one in particular. "He thinks he's so wonderful."
"Who?" Harry asked, quite perplexed by this vehement and rather random statement.
"Malfoy!"
"Oh." Harry glanced towards the blond. "Well, yeah, everyone knows he is full of himself."
"I hate him," Ginny muttered fervently.
Harry's eyebrows rose slightly. "I didn't know you, er, felt so strongly about the matter," he said, taken aback by the intensity of her declaration.
Ginny said nothing and continued to glower darkly at the object of her frustration. She was still fuming over everything that had happened during their last encounter. It was not that he had been particularly cruel to her; it was the simple fact that he had had the gall, the sheer arrogance, to use her sex against her as if she were one of those silly tramps who would just fall at his feet, and she, oh, shameful as it was to admit, she actually had been flustered.
But she didn't like him. No, there was certainly no danger of her finding him in any way agreeable or attractive; in fact, the whole encounter had only strengthened her resolve to despise him for all eternity. The arrogance he had displayed towards her was enough to make her sick. It was just humiliating to think that he might actually assume she did fancy him because of her blushes. He was certainly conceited enough to do so.
Ginny was still ruminating over this unpleasant thought and how to remedy it when Luna Lovegood presented herself in front of their table, complete with butterbeer cork necklace, and her wand tucked behind her ear for 'safe keeping'.
"Hello, Harry," Luna said dreamily while bestowing an equally whimsical smile on the raven-haired boy.
"Luna," Harry greeted. "What brings you to our table?"
"I wanted to talk to Ginny, actually."
Ginny glanced up at the dotty blonde. "What is it?"
"Would you like to be my partner for Potions?"
Ginny blinked in momentary surprise. Of course, she already knew Luna from their days together in Dumbledore's Army, as well as from the classes they shared, but the redhead hardly considered the Ravenclaw her best friend. However, since Ginny was well aware that Luna had no friends within her own house or year, which certainly did make it awkward for the blonde when it came to partnering up for assignments, and since Ginny did genuinely like the eccentric girl, she decided there was no harm in working with her for Potions.
"Sure thing, Luna," Ginny said with a smile.
Luna thanked her, if a little exuberantly, and then she started babbling about some new potion she had been trying to develop that would prevent the effects of Wrackspurts. Ginny had already lost track of all the many creatures Luna believed in, so it was no surprise that she merely listened to this anecdote with an expression of complete bewilderment on her face.
"Well, I'm quite hungry, so I'm going to eat my breakfast now," Luna declared, abruptly shifting from the whimsical girl she often personified to her more practical self. "I'll see you in class, Ginny."
"Yeah," Ginny replied with an easy grin. "See you then."
Luna smiled once more at Harry and then made her dreamy way back to the Ravenclaw table. Ginny had quite forgotten about her eternal loathing for Draco Malfoy by this point, so she was able to resume her breakfast in a much more peaceful frame of mind. Even Neville dared to wish her a good morning. She responded so cheerfully to him that he took courage and moved back to his old seat beside her so that he could chat to her about being a Chaser. He asked her whether she had any tips that could help him improve his technique. Ginny was more than happy to oblige him with this knowledge, and she spent the rest of her breakfast talking about such mysteries as the 'Backwards Quaffle Shuffle' and the 'Rolling Barrel'.
Once she had finished eating, Ginny followed the throng of students up to the third floor for Charms with her mind still absently lost in thoughts of Quidditch. It was just as she was about to enter the classroom that she heard an unmistakable 'Psst' come from somewhere close to her head. She let out a yelp of fright and turned to see Moaning Myrtle beckoning for her to follow through the wall.
The redhead rolled her eyes. "You know, Myrtle, it may be easy for you to walk through solid stone, but it is quite impossible for me to do so."
"Come to my toilet," Myrtle ordered. "I have something to tell you."
Ginny threw a longing look at the Charms classroom. She did not particularly like Myrtle, but then it was not every day that the ghost demanded an audience with her. She supposed it couldn't hurt if she just went to hear whatever it was that Myrtle had to say.
"Fine," sighed Ginny, "but you have to be quick. I have class soon."
"It will only take a moment," Myrtle replied, and then she gave a small gurgle of laughter that quite unnerved the redhead.
"Right," Ginny murmured, eyeing the ghost with one eyebrow raised.
She followed Myrtle back down the stairs and into the girls' bathroom, which looked as gloomy and unwelcoming as ever. The bespectacled ghost checked to make sure no girls were hiding in the cubicles, and, satisfied that they were alone, turned back to face Ginny.
"Last night I had a vision about you," Myrtle disclosed with all the manner of one making a very grand statement.
"A vision about me?" Ginny repeated, quite perplexed.
"That is what I said."
Ginny's first instinct was to laugh, but she was curious about this supposed prediction. What if Myrtle really had seen a vision about her?
"Well, what did you see?" Ginny enquired.
"I saw," Myrtle began dramatically in a voice that would have given even Sybill Trelawney a run for her money.
There was a pause.
"Yes?" Ginny prompted.
"I saw your future. Your very destiny, in fact."
The redhead repressed an exasperated sigh. "And?"
"Your destiny is to be with Draco Malfoy."
There was a very long pause. Ginny suddenly let out a peal of laughter.
"Oh, that's rich," she exclaimed, still chuckling. "No, really, Myrtle, what did you see?"
"But that's the truth," the ghost replied rather petulantly. "I saw you fall in love with Draco Malfoy, and then the two of you got married and had lots of babies."
Ginny's smile froze in place. "You've got to be joking."
"Why would I joke about something like this?" Myrtle snapped, looking quite offended. "I'm telling you that is what I saw!"
"You're lying," Ginny said firmly. "You have to be lying. I've never heard such rubbish in my life. I hate Draco Malfoy! I'd rather kill him than snog him!"
"So you say now," Myrtle responded slyly.
Ginny's eyes flashed. "You're lucky you're a ghost, Myrtle, otherwise I would make you regret this prank of yours. Did you really think I would be taken in by such a hoax? Hermione told me you were a fraud, but now I know it after hearing your ridiculous prediction. Draco Malfoy and I, in love? Even the Quibbler wouldn't believe such trite!"
Myrtle drew herself up haughtily. "Laugh if you want, but you're only living in denial. You will fall in love with Draco Malfoy. He is your destiny."
"Stop saying that!" Ginny shrieked, clapping her hands over her ears to block out the horrendous words. "He's not my destiny! He's not! And you're a nasty, horrible ghost for making up such lies, and I hope you die—I mean, I hope you—" Ginny fumbled for some fate horrible enough for the ghost and, upon finding none, let out an exasperated scream. "Oh, just shut up!"
Not even waiting for Myrtle to respond, Ginny stormed out of the bathroom and made her way back to the Charms classroom in a whirlwind of rage. She could not believe that ghostly fraud had dared to make up such lies about her. As if she would ever love Draco Malfoy of all people, let alone want to marry him. She detested the very sight of him.
"Destiny," Ginny muttered scornfully. "As if!"
There was no way in hell that she was going to be joined with that arrogant pillock! She didn't care if a hundred seers told her that the blond was her destiny, she would still refuse to believe it.
This was one prophecy that would never come true.
Author notes: rowan-greenleaf's Prompt (1):
Basic outline: An unlikely person at Hogwarts (Hagrid, Luna Lovegood, any other character in canon) is gaining notoriety for predicting improbable events that ultimately come to pass. That person privately reveals to a reluctant Ginny Weasley that Draco Malfoy - her Quidditch rival and family nemesis - is "her destiny!". But is Draco really her star-charted destiny or did Ginny's actions upon hearing "the prophecy" unknowingly bring them together? Up to you to add a twist ;)
Must haves: Humor! Hogwarts era. Upon learning her fate, Ginny must distinctly go through the five stages of grief during the fic (denial, rage, bargaining, depression, acceptance) before realizing she actually likes Draco. Denial/rage/bargaining bring a lot of snark from Ginny towards an amused Draco. Depression/acceptance must coincide with more and more of the unlikely oracle's predictions coming true. Ginny must physically attack Draco on the pitch (during Quidditch practice or immediately following a match.)
No-no's: Draco or his friends ever finding out about the prophecy. Angst. Death Eater/Voldemort drama. NC-17 content. Inane nicknames for Ginny such as "Firefly", "Weaselette". Any affectionate shortening of Draco's given name, such as "Drake", "Dre".
Rating range: T and above.
Bonus points:
-If you make it a "fire and ice" thing by showcasing D/G's undeniable chemistry and contrasting their characters (example: Ginny is a firecracker, ready to fly off the handle at a moment's notice, while Draco hardly ever loses his cool).
-Someone mentioning "pink haired babies" to Ginny, causing her to flip out and attack Draco somehow.
-Draco uttering the phrase "Is this some sort of Weasley mating ritual?" following one of Ginny's tantrums.
-Other pairings, particularly Harry/Luna, featured in the fic.
Leave a Review