The Potions classroom was not famed for its uplifting qualities. The walls were cold and grey, and the teacher was cold and, well, not grey, but his habitual black garb and acerbic nature were enough to dampen even the most cheerful of spirits. It was therefore no surprise that Ginny Weasley was not in a good mood. However much she may have scoffed at Myrtle's prophecy, there was no denying that it had still managed to disturb her equanimity for the simple fact that Draco Malfoy was involved. If it had been any other boy, she would have laughed it off and that would have been the end of it. But the fact that it was Malfoy! It was enough to make her sick.
"That's the twenty-sixth time you've huffed to yourself," Luna commented, much in the manner of how one says that the sky is blue or that Professor Trelawney likes to get drunk on cooking sherry.
"What?" Ginny asked, startled.
"You keep huffing to yourself," Luna elaborated while chopping off a caterpillar's head. "I'm assuming you have a reason for doing so; otherwise it would be very odd of you."
That was rich coming from Loony Luna Lovegood.
Ginny shrugged her shoulders with feigned indifference. "It's nothing, really. Moaning Myrtle just made a prediction about my future."
"I've heard about Myrtle's predictions. They're quite interesting, aren't they? Neville couldn't believe it when she told him that he would be a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but I said to him that there was no harm in trying out for the position, and now he really is on the team." Luna idly played with her butterbeer cork necklace. "I wonder if she will make a prophecy about me."
"You wouldn't want her to," Ginny muttered with a scowl. "She says nothing but lies."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because she told me that Draco Malfoy is my destiny."
"Well, perhaps he is."
Ginny met those protuberant blue eyes that stared at her so seriously, and she had to remind herself that this was the same girl who believed the rubbish printed in the Quibbler, and who liked to dance in circles to ward off Glubemicks – whatever those were.
"Luna, I know you pride yourself on being very open-minded, but you must see that there is no way such a prophecy can be real," Ginny stated firmly. "I hate Malfoy! I'm not about to fall in love with him!"
"There's a thin line between love and hate."
"Oh, Merlin, don't you start your philosophical rubbish on me. You can talk like a fortune cookie all you want, but it won't make me listen to you or your silly proverbs. I know what I feel for Draco Malfoy, and no stupid prophecy is going to change that!"
Luna smiled serenely, quite unfazed by this less than gracious response. "It sounds to me like someone is in denial."
"What?" Ginny cried, red-faced. "I am not in denial, thank you."
"Then why are you getting so defensive?"
"I'm not! I'm just stating a fact. I don't like Draco Malfoy, and I never will. End of story."
"Not according to Myrtle," Luna responded dreamily.
The redhead shot her friend a suspicious look. Sometimes she wondered if Luna's displays of aloofness were just an act to irritate her further. Right now, it certainly seemed so.
"Luna," Ginny began in a voice that trembled with poorly concealed rage, "please shut up."
The blonde stared at her innocently. "Why, Ginny, are you angry with me?"
"Oh, no, I'm just dandy. I mean, why should I care that you think that I would—that I would—"
"Fall in love with Draco Malfoy?" Luna suggested helpfully.
"Don't say that!" Ginny cried, shuddering at the thought.
"Miss Weasley," a cold voice interrupted.
A dark figure suddenly loomed over her. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut in silent dread, knowing already to whom that ominous shadow belonged. She opened her eyes, half-hoping that the man before her would magically disappear. Alas, the sallow-faced professor continued to regard her down his hooked nose through obsidian eyes that were just as cold as the stone they resembled. She also noted that a smile was playing on his thin lips – something that never boded well for any student, particularly a Gryffindor.
"Yes, Professor Snape?" she asked in a small voice, not able to keep up her usual belligerent attitude when under the full effect of that ironic smile.
"Where are you?"
Ginny blinked at the odd question. "Uh, I'm in your classroom, sir."
"And does one shout in my classroom?"
The redhead was aware of a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. "No, sir," she mumbled, hanging her head.
"What was that, Miss Weasley?" Snape asked calmly.
"I said no, sir," Ginny repeated more loudly, and her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.
His thin lips curled into a sneer. "Then why, may I ask, were you shouting at Miss Lovegood as if you were on a Quidditch pitch and not sitting beside her in my classroom? Do you think yourself so above your peers that you need not follow the rules I have set?"
"I didn't mean to do it!" Ginny cried hotly, stung into a retort.
"Of course you didn't," he replied with a mocking little smile, "it's a habit of yours not to think before you speak. Nevertheless, I would ask you to remember that my classroom is not the Quidditch pitch, nor is it the place for social gossip. Perhaps if you focussed your attention less on your petty adolescent problems and more on the potion you are concocting, you would not suffer these impulsive outbursts."
Ginny's bosom swelled with indignation. "Well, perhaps if you actually learnt to wash your hair more and not be so mean, people wouldn't call you a greasy-haired git!"
A deadly hush pervaded the room. Even Ginny knew that she had gone too far, and she quickly lowered her gaze, mortification ripening the blush on her cheeks to a rich plum. She could still feel his cold eyes fixed upon her, and she chanced a glance at his face, already shrinking into herself as she waited for the severe trimming that she was sure to receive from the Potions Master.
Snape placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward so that she could see the deep pores etched into his hooked nose and the almost translucent quality of his sallow skin. He did not appear angry, but then neither was he amused; rather, there was something triumphant about the odd glitter in the obsidian that stared so calmly back at her. He knew he had her right where he wanted her.
"That will be thirty points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley," Snape said silkily, "and you will also be serving detention with me tonight. It is high time someone taught you to control that unsavoury temper of yours."
Ginny bit down on her lip, holding back the hasty retort that longed to escape. Somehow, she felt like he had purposely goaded her just so he could punish her.
Snape stepped back from her table and then made his way to his desk where he sat down, still looking very pleased with himself. No doubt it was the highlight of his day to give a student detention, horrible man that he was. Still, considering everything that she had said, losing thirty points and getting one detention wasn't so bad. It could have been a lot worse.
Ginny suddenly remembered that Harry wanted to have a team practise on the pitch that night. She groaned and placed her head in her hands. He was going to be furious with her for missing yet another of their practises because of a detention. There was no point asking Snape to let her go early, either. No doubt the professor would take great satisfaction in knowing that he was keeping her from her Quidditch duties.
"What's wrong?" Luna asked while stirring their cauldron.
"I'm going to miss practise tonight because of that stupid detention," Ginny grumbled into her hands.
"Well, you did bring it on yourself, you know," Luna responded frankly. "You're lucky you only got the one detention."
"I know," Ginny sighed. "I shouldn't have said it, but he was rude to me, too!"
Really, she thought it would have been a pure miracle had she not said anything. Even a saint wouldn't have been able to swallow the insults he threw at her. But what did Snape care? He just delighted in stripping down a person's dignity and confidence one sarcastic barb at a time, and today he had ruthlessly attacked hers.
"I think all that grease in his hair gets to his brain," Luna mused as she threw her caterpillar heads into the cauldron. "There must be some special quality in the natural oils that makes people bitter when too much of it is produced. I have noticed that most greasy-haired people tend to be very grumpy. Haven't you?"
Ginny could only stare in open disbelief at the blonde beside her. If Luna had been joking, such a comment would not be so incredible. However, since the redhead knew that her friend was perfectly serious, it only made her wonder just what went on in that eccentric girl's head.
"You are honestly so strange sometimes, Luna," Ginny said fervently.
Luna seemed to take this as a compliment, which was perhaps a good thing. One never knew when the girl would get offended, but she was just so odd that it was difficult to keep one's observations to oneself sometimes. Still, life would be very boring without Luna. Whatever her oddities, she certainly made things interesting.
Speaking of oddities…
"Luna, you don't really think that Myrtle is a Seer, do you?" Ginny asked anxiously. "I mean, she's a ghost. Surely she should not have any magical powers."
"Does it really take magic to read the stars?"
"She said she saw a vision about me," Ginny responded dryly. "It wasn't like she went stargazing and decided the position of Jupiter and Mars means that a certain Slytherin git will become my fated husband-to-be."
"To see a vision is a unique talent, but where does that vision come from? It is guided by what one sees in the stars. I don't see why Myrtle could not have learnt to tap into that power. Perhaps she has always had it but just didn't know."
"You actually believe she is a Seer, then?" Ginny demanded incredulously.
"Does it really matter if she is or not?"
"It matters when she's telling me that Draco Malfoy is my destiny."
Luna smiled. "So you are afraid of falling in love with him."
"What?" Ginny spluttered in revulsion. "No!"
"Then why are you so worried?"
"I'm not worried, I'm just—"
Ginny floundered for words to explain her rather convoluted feelings and realised that she had no idea why it did bother her so much, short of the fact that she hated him with a passion so intense it was bordering manic.
"Well?" Luna prompted.
"Draco Malfoy is a git," Ginny declared loftily. "That's all there is to it."
Luna chuckled and would have said more, but Snape called the class to order for chattering. Both the blonde and redhead reluctantly set to work on finishing their potion before they could get in more trouble. Thanks to their combined ingenuity, the potion was a success (Ginny knew this because Snape merely curled his lip at them but made no scathing remark when they took it to the front for him to collect), and both girls parted ways feeling very pleased with themselves and their joint efforts. Unfortunately, Ginny's elation did not last long.
She stared at the hooked-nose professor with a half-defiant, half-sheepish expression on her face as she awaited her sentence after class. His lip curled ever so slightly in turn, and she felt her stomach sink several notches. Perhaps he was not going to be lenient on her after all.
"I need not tell you that your behaviour was unacceptable today, Miss Weasley," Snape said coolly as he towered over like a black fortress of doom.
"I know, sir," she replied stiffly.
"I wonder if you do."
Ginny gritted her teeth. In her mind she was sternly telling herself not to make a retort, but it was just so impossible to stay calm when he was smirking at her like that. And what was it with Slytherins and smirking, anyway? Was it some part of their code of honour?
To be a true Slytherin, one has to perfect the Slytherin smirk or else one will simply be another lackey.
Crabbe and Goyle must have failed that one, then. The only expression they had perfected was how to look like a greedy troll.
"Is something funny, Miss Weasley?" Snape asked dryly as he saw her lips twitch into a smile.
"No, sir."
His eyes narrowed. Ginny though it prudent not to push her luck any further and decided to change the subject.
"What will I be doing for detention?"
"My inventory needs to be re-catalogued." He smiled maliciously, showing a glimpse of his rather yellow teeth. "I hope you know your alphabet, Miss Weasley."
Ginny inwardly groaned. She was going to spend the night cataloguing. What a nightmare!
oOo
The room was silent except for the monotonous scratching of a quill and the slight rustle of parchment. Ginny stared longingly at the clock. She had been cataloguing the inventory for hours and now she could barely hold the quill in her hand, let alone write with it. To make matters worse, Snape had refused to let her have anything to eat for dinner except a few measly sandwiches. She supposed it shouldn't have come as a shock to her that he was just as stingy with his food as he was with his manners. The man really was evil.
The door to the Potions classroom opened, and she glanced up to see an all-too-familiar blond stride with arrogant grace past her to where Snape was sitting behind his desk. Of course, it just had to be him. The gods were clearly twisted.
Ginny suddenly blanched. No! This had nothing to do with fate! It was merely a coincidence that Draco Malfoy should intrude on her detention with Snape. There was nothing preordained about it.
Draco murmured something to his Head of House, who nodded with an exasperated sigh. Both then glanced towards Ginny, and she saw a small smirk flitter across the blond's lips as recognition dawned in his eyes. She scowled and clenched her hands into fists.
Snape stood up from his chair. "You will continue with the inventory while I am gone, Miss Weasley. Draco will supervise you until I return."
Ginny's first instinct was to declare that she wouldn't remain a second longer in Draco Malfoy's presence, but she swallowed back the hasty retort and simply nodded her head. Really, there was nothing else she could do unless she wanted another detention.
Snape left without a further word, leaving the two students alone together. The redhead never thought she would see the day that she would wish for the cantankerous professor's company, but so she did. Anyone had to be better than Draco Malfoy – even Snape.
Said Malfoy leaned back casually against one of the desks and considered her through dispassionate grey eyes.
"So what did you do to end up in here, Weasley?"
Ginny said nothing.
"Shall I guess?"
Again, she said nothing.
"You know, love," he drawled mockingly, "the silent treatment act really doesn't suit you."
"Don't call me 'love'!" Ginny exclaimed, swinging around on her chair and glaring at him with perhaps more heat than necessary.
"That's better," he observed with his infuriating little smirk.
Ginny closed her eyes and tried counting to ten. Unfortunately, calming rituals had never really worked for her, and she just ended up throwing her quill at him. He stared down at the quill lying near his foot and then raised amused eyes back to her face.
"Is this some sort of Weasley mating ritual? You shout and throw things, and hope that the male will find your fishwife qualities attractive so that he will become helplessly infatuated with you?"
"As if I would ever want to impress you!" Ginny retorted waspishly. "You're nothing but an arrogant pig!"
"Temper, temper. Really, Weasley, it's no wonder no guys will come near you."
"Perhaps you should take the hint, then, and follow their example."
He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Who said I wanted to come near you?"
Ginny glared at him, her cheeks burning crimson as they always did when she got flustered. "You know I didn't mean it like that!"
"Didn't you?"
"Just what are you implying?" she growled threateningly.
"I don't know, Weasley. You do have a habit of blushing so admirably whenever we meet. It's beginning to make me a bit suspicious."
The smirk that followed this remark was enough to make her already fragile temper snap. She abruptly stood up from her chair and stalked towards him, her eyes flashing dangerously.
"Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy," Ginny spat, poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "I do not like you! In fact, I hate you, and if you even think to try your stupid games with me, I swear I'll make you wish that the only thing I had done was throw my quill at you!"
Draco calmly removed her finger from his chest, and she was surprised by the sudden shock of energy that went through her at the contact of his skin. It was then that she became aware of how close they were; so close, in fact, that she could see the different flecks of grey that made up his (she was astonished to realise) rather beautiful eyes. She had always known that he was good-looking, of course (though she only admitted this fact on her benevolent days), but Draco Malfoy from far away was nothing to the sheer masculine beauty of the blond close-up.
She was stunned, and she was infuriated. It was not fair that he should be so handsome. It was not fair that his silvery-blond locks should look far silkier than hers, and yet still manage to look so arrogantly uncared for. It was not fair that his storm-cloud eyes, set under regally arched brows, should so easily captivate and intrigue because of their darkness against a backdrop of ethereal paleness and moonlight silver. And it was not fair that despite this overt prettiness, he would never be considered effeminate. His lips were too firm, his face structure too angular and defined, and his lean, graceful body could not be described as anything but masculine. He was a boy about to become a man, and he was, she realised with some disgust, an exceedingly attractive one.
Some of her thoughts must have registered on her face, for those perfectly sculpted lips lifted into that frustrating little smirk of his, and his grey eyes glimmered with knowing amusement. He leaned forward, and she could actually feel his breath brush against her lips like the softest of kisses.
"Never gape, Weasley," he murmured, gently lifting her chin to close her mouth. "It's not flattering."
Ginny's cheeks burned, and she knew that she would be blushing terribly. She wrenched herself away from him, mortified that he had caught her gawking at him and had teased her about it, and furious with herself for even thinking him good-looking. If only he had a hunchback and a squinty eye. She would find him completely hideous if he had that. But no, he had to be perfect.
That decided it: the gods really were cruel.
It was in that moment that Snape entered the room and stopped what was becoming a humiliating tête-à-tête. Ginny could not have been more grateful for the intervention. She had not known how to respond to Draco, torn between wanting to scream at him, hex him, or simply run away and hide in her shame. It was a horrible thing to know that she found her arch-nemesis attractive, but she refused to believe that this meant Myrtle's prediction had a chance of coming true. Just because she thought Draco good-looking didn't mean that she liked him. There were plenty of boys that she found attractive at Hogwarts, and it wasn't as if she was falling over her feet for them.
Cheered by this logic, Ginny retrieved her quill and sat back down on her seat to continue working on the inventory. She couldn't help but give one last look at the blond, and immediately wished that she hadn't. He had smirked at her before he left, and now she would be stuck with that smug image for the rest of the night.
Ginny scowled. She really hated Draco Malfoy.
oOo
Harry Potter watched the Gryffindor Quidditch team practising that night with all the pride of a young man who knew his team was brilliant. Ever since his accident, he had found a new zeal for the game, though it was a passion tinged with regret. He knew he was living vicariously through his team mates' success, and that it would be months, maybe even years before he would be allowed to play again himself. It was a depressing thought, yet he could take some comfort that he was captaining the best Quidditch team in the school. If Ginny could catch the Snitch before Malfoy in the next Gryffindor versus Slytherin game, they were bound to win the House Cup.
He frowned as he realised that Ginny had still not turned up for practise. This was the third time in a row that she had done this, and he could not say that he was very happy about it. She was a good flyer, but she would need a lot more than natural aptitude to beat Malfoy.
"Where are you, Ginny?" Harry growled to himself.
"She's in detention," a dreamy voice replied, seemingly from out of nowhere.
Harry let out a yelp and turned around to see Luna Lovegood standing before him with all her usual cloud of whimsicality surrounding her.
"Luna!" he exclaimed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"I did say hello," she responded with a shrug.
"Did you?"
She nodded.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled awkwardly. "I guess I didn't hear you."
"That's okay."
She turned her attention to the Gryffindors practising above them. Harry noticed that she was wearing eagle earrings that looked unnervingly alive. He was half-expecting them to start making bird noises, but the earrings stayed thankfully silent. The blonde caught him staring fixedly at the jewellery and smiled, apparently unaware of the odd appearance she made.
"They're nice, aren't they? Daddy bought them for me in my first year when I got sorted into Ravenclaw."
"That was, uh, good of him."
Luna let out a gurgle of laughter. "You think I'm strange, don't you?"
"Of course not," Harry lied bravely.
"Yes, you do," she said with another of her indefinable smiles. "I don't mind, though. I think you're strange, too."
Harry couldn't help but laugh at that, and she soon joined in and laughed so hard that she had to actually lean on him for support. He steadied her with his hands and smiled down into her tear-streaked face as she continued to giggle uncontrollably against him.
"You alright there?" he asked, amused.
She nodded as she finally caught her breath. "I'm fine."
A soft breeze slipped between them, and he caught the scent of apricots and sunflowers. He realised with some surprise that it must be coming from the blonde leaning against him. He wondered why it should astonish him that she should smell so pleasant, but then he supposed he had just never thought about it before. Somehow, the mixture suited Luna. It was unassuming and unique, just like her.
"You can let go of me now, Harry," Luna said with a small smile.
Harry obediently released her and stepped back to give her some room. She thanked him and turned her gaze back to the players zooming around above them in the sky. He followed her line of vision to where Neville was practising throwing the Quaffle into the three hoops while Ron tried to block them. It was so strange to think that Neville had actually proven to be quite a good Quidditch player. He still fumbled now and then when he got flustered, but he definitely had potential. Still, it was difficult to believe that Neville's amateur career as a Chaser had all started because of Myrtle's improbable prediction.
"Do you believe in destiny, Harry?" Luna asked curiously.
"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "I like to think that I have the choice to do what I like, but maybe that choice was destined to be before I even made it. I try not to think about it. I just end up in circles." He glanced down at her enquiringly. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I was just wondering."
He nodded, and for a moment they both said nothing. She went back to staring contemplatively at Neville, and he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. The silence between them might have been awkward had it been any other girl, but with Luna it just seemed so natural and comfortable. It occurred to him that she was a very peaceful person. Hermione always had something to say, and being around Ginny was like walking on eggshells, but Luna always seemed so serene. He wondered if anything fazed her.
There was a shout from the players above them, and Harry glanced up to see one of his Chasers barely miss a Bludger and then score a goal past Ron. The team gave a small cheer for her success, except Ron, of course, who looked rather disappointed that he had missed the Quaffle. Harry smiled, knowing that the red-haired boy would probably complain to him later about how the Quaffle had been 'this close'.
"Sorry I'm late!"
Harry turned to see Ginny running towards them, broom in hand, while awkwardly trying to pull a jumper over her head. He couldn't help but laugh. She was so ridiculous sometimes.
"I thought you were in detention," he called.
"I think Snape got sick of me and decided to let me out early," Ginny confided with a triumphant grin as she came to a halt in front of them. "He had to go and meet some parents anyway. It seems like a bunch of Slytherin third years decided it would be funny to steal some firewhisky from Hogsmeade and get drunk. One of them was still vomiting when I left."
"Well, that wasn't very clever of them," Harry chuckled.
"I know, but then they are Slytherin. They seem to think they're above every rule and can do what they like, and that every person should just fall on their knees and worship them."
"Speaking from experience, Ginny?" Luna asked slyly.
Ginny glowered at her. "Don't you start on that, Luna! I'm not in the mood!"
"What's this?" Harry asked, frowning.
"Ginny has declared an eternal loathing for Draco Malfoy," Luna explained in her dreamy voice, "but Myrtle made a prediction that the two of them would fall in love and are destined to be together."
"Ginny and Malfoy? That's impossible!" Harry exclaimed, half laughing.
"Well, at least someone realises how ridiculous this whole thing is," Ginny muttered, still scowling at the Ravenclaw.
"Ah, but Harry hasn't seen the two of you together," Luna rejoined with a rather wicked smile for one so whimsical. "I believe that prophecy has a very good chance of coming true. It's not like you aren't attracted to him, Ginny."
Ginny went bright red in the face and wondered for a moment if Luna somehow knew Legilimency. How else could the Ravenclaw girl have possibly known that she thought the blond sinfully good-looking? Then a more horrible thought presented itself to Ginny: what if she had always been attracted to him but had just refused to accept it before?
She saw the smug look Luna was giving her, and scowled.
"Shut up, Luna," Ginny snapped, and then she turned to face Harry, who was looking rather bewildered. "How long have we got left?"
"Only about five minutes," he responded. "I don't think there's much point in practising tonight, Ginny. You'll have to catch up in your own time during the week."
She sighed. "Fine."
"Wait a minute," Harry said before she could leave. "Do you really fancy Malfoy?"
Ginny flushed. "I—"
"Wow."
"Hey! I never said anything!"
"No, but your crimson cheeks said enough," Luna interposed with frustrating helpfulness.
"That's not—I never—UGH!" Ginny glared furiously at them. "I do not like Malfoy! I never will like Malfoy, and I most certainly do not find him attractive!"
She swung around on her heel before they could say a further word and stormed back towards the castle. Some friends she had. They were supposed to be supporting her and trying to comfort her, not infuriating her by actually suggesting that she liked the stupid Slytherin boy. Which she didn't.
Ginny sucked in a deep breath. She would not dwell on it. She would continue life as normal and forget everything that had happened. Those other idiots could believe in Myrtle's ridiculous prediction, but Ginny knew that the prophecy was no more likely to be fulfilled than Goyle was of getting the top marks in a Charms test.
She entered the common room and spotted Hermione staring at the fire, looking obviously distraught. Lavender Brown, on the other hand, appeared as if she were trying desperately not to laugh.
"What's wrong?" Ginny asked in concern.
"Goyle got the top marks on the Charms test," Lavender confided gleefully. "And guess what? It was Myrtle that predicted he would!"
Ginny's face drained of all colour. Now what was she going to do?
"That's the twenty-sixth time you've huffed to yourself," Luna commented, much in the manner of how one says that the sky is blue or that Professor Trelawney likes to get drunk on cooking sherry.
"What?" Ginny asked, startled.
"You keep huffing to yourself," Luna elaborated while chopping off a caterpillar's head. "I'm assuming you have a reason for doing so; otherwise it would be very odd of you."
That was rich coming from Loony Luna Lovegood.
Ginny shrugged her shoulders with feigned indifference. "It's nothing, really. Moaning Myrtle just made a prediction about my future."
"I've heard about Myrtle's predictions. They're quite interesting, aren't they? Neville couldn't believe it when she told him that he would be a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but I said to him that there was no harm in trying out for the position, and now he really is on the team." Luna idly played with her butterbeer cork necklace. "I wonder if she will make a prophecy about me."
"You wouldn't want her to," Ginny muttered with a scowl. "She says nothing but lies."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because she told me that Draco Malfoy is my destiny."
"Well, perhaps he is."
Ginny met those protuberant blue eyes that stared at her so seriously, and she had to remind herself that this was the same girl who believed the rubbish printed in the Quibbler, and who liked to dance in circles to ward off Glubemicks – whatever those were.
"Luna, I know you pride yourself on being very open-minded, but you must see that there is no way such a prophecy can be real," Ginny stated firmly. "I hate Malfoy! I'm not about to fall in love with him!"
"There's a thin line between love and hate."
"Oh, Merlin, don't you start your philosophical rubbish on me. You can talk like a fortune cookie all you want, but it won't make me listen to you or your silly proverbs. I know what I feel for Draco Malfoy, and no stupid prophecy is going to change that!"
Luna smiled serenely, quite unfazed by this less than gracious response. "It sounds to me like someone is in denial."
"What?" Ginny cried, red-faced. "I am not in denial, thank you."
"Then why are you getting so defensive?"
"I'm not! I'm just stating a fact. I don't like Draco Malfoy, and I never will. End of story."
"Not according to Myrtle," Luna responded dreamily.
The redhead shot her friend a suspicious look. Sometimes she wondered if Luna's displays of aloofness were just an act to irritate her further. Right now, it certainly seemed so.
"Luna," Ginny began in a voice that trembled with poorly concealed rage, "please shut up."
The blonde stared at her innocently. "Why, Ginny, are you angry with me?"
"Oh, no, I'm just dandy. I mean, why should I care that you think that I would—that I would—"
"Fall in love with Draco Malfoy?" Luna suggested helpfully.
"Don't say that!" Ginny cried, shuddering at the thought.
"Miss Weasley," a cold voice interrupted.
A dark figure suddenly loomed over her. Ginny squeezed her eyes shut in silent dread, knowing already to whom that ominous shadow belonged. She opened her eyes, half-hoping that the man before her would magically disappear. Alas, the sallow-faced professor continued to regard her down his hooked nose through obsidian eyes that were just as cold as the stone they resembled. She also noted that a smile was playing on his thin lips – something that never boded well for any student, particularly a Gryffindor.
"Yes, Professor Snape?" she asked in a small voice, not able to keep up her usual belligerent attitude when under the full effect of that ironic smile.
"Where are you?"
Ginny blinked at the odd question. "Uh, I'm in your classroom, sir."
"And does one shout in my classroom?"
The redhead was aware of a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. "No, sir," she mumbled, hanging her head.
"What was that, Miss Weasley?" Snape asked calmly.
"I said no, sir," Ginny repeated more loudly, and her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.
His thin lips curled into a sneer. "Then why, may I ask, were you shouting at Miss Lovegood as if you were on a Quidditch pitch and not sitting beside her in my classroom? Do you think yourself so above your peers that you need not follow the rules I have set?"
"I didn't mean to do it!" Ginny cried hotly, stung into a retort.
"Of course you didn't," he replied with a mocking little smile, "it's a habit of yours not to think before you speak. Nevertheless, I would ask you to remember that my classroom is not the Quidditch pitch, nor is it the place for social gossip. Perhaps if you focussed your attention less on your petty adolescent problems and more on the potion you are concocting, you would not suffer these impulsive outbursts."
Ginny's bosom swelled with indignation. "Well, perhaps if you actually learnt to wash your hair more and not be so mean, people wouldn't call you a greasy-haired git!"
A deadly hush pervaded the room. Even Ginny knew that she had gone too far, and she quickly lowered her gaze, mortification ripening the blush on her cheeks to a rich plum. She could still feel his cold eyes fixed upon her, and she chanced a glance at his face, already shrinking into herself as she waited for the severe trimming that she was sure to receive from the Potions Master.
Snape placed his hands on the desk and leaned forward so that she could see the deep pores etched into his hooked nose and the almost translucent quality of his sallow skin. He did not appear angry, but then neither was he amused; rather, there was something triumphant about the odd glitter in the obsidian that stared so calmly back at her. He knew he had her right where he wanted her.
"That will be thirty points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley," Snape said silkily, "and you will also be serving detention with me tonight. It is high time someone taught you to control that unsavoury temper of yours."
Ginny bit down on her lip, holding back the hasty retort that longed to escape. Somehow, she felt like he had purposely goaded her just so he could punish her.
Snape stepped back from her table and then made his way to his desk where he sat down, still looking very pleased with himself. No doubt it was the highlight of his day to give a student detention, horrible man that he was. Still, considering everything that she had said, losing thirty points and getting one detention wasn't so bad. It could have been a lot worse.
Ginny suddenly remembered that Harry wanted to have a team practise on the pitch that night. She groaned and placed her head in her hands. He was going to be furious with her for missing yet another of their practises because of a detention. There was no point asking Snape to let her go early, either. No doubt the professor would take great satisfaction in knowing that he was keeping her from her Quidditch duties.
"What's wrong?" Luna asked while stirring their cauldron.
"I'm going to miss practise tonight because of that stupid detention," Ginny grumbled into her hands.
"Well, you did bring it on yourself, you know," Luna responded frankly. "You're lucky you only got the one detention."
"I know," Ginny sighed. "I shouldn't have said it, but he was rude to me, too!"
Really, she thought it would have been a pure miracle had she not said anything. Even a saint wouldn't have been able to swallow the insults he threw at her. But what did Snape care? He just delighted in stripping down a person's dignity and confidence one sarcastic barb at a time, and today he had ruthlessly attacked hers.
"I think all that grease in his hair gets to his brain," Luna mused as she threw her caterpillar heads into the cauldron. "There must be some special quality in the natural oils that makes people bitter when too much of it is produced. I have noticed that most greasy-haired people tend to be very grumpy. Haven't you?"
Ginny could only stare in open disbelief at the blonde beside her. If Luna had been joking, such a comment would not be so incredible. However, since the redhead knew that her friend was perfectly serious, it only made her wonder just what went on in that eccentric girl's head.
"You are honestly so strange sometimes, Luna," Ginny said fervently.
Luna seemed to take this as a compliment, which was perhaps a good thing. One never knew when the girl would get offended, but she was just so odd that it was difficult to keep one's observations to oneself sometimes. Still, life would be very boring without Luna. Whatever her oddities, she certainly made things interesting.
Speaking of oddities…
"Luna, you don't really think that Myrtle is a Seer, do you?" Ginny asked anxiously. "I mean, she's a ghost. Surely she should not have any magical powers."
"Does it really take magic to read the stars?"
"She said she saw a vision about me," Ginny responded dryly. "It wasn't like she went stargazing and decided the position of Jupiter and Mars means that a certain Slytherin git will become my fated husband-to-be."
"To see a vision is a unique talent, but where does that vision come from? It is guided by what one sees in the stars. I don't see why Myrtle could not have learnt to tap into that power. Perhaps she has always had it but just didn't know."
"You actually believe she is a Seer, then?" Ginny demanded incredulously.
"Does it really matter if she is or not?"
"It matters when she's telling me that Draco Malfoy is my destiny."
Luna smiled. "So you are afraid of falling in love with him."
"What?" Ginny spluttered in revulsion. "No!"
"Then why are you so worried?"
"I'm not worried, I'm just—"
Ginny floundered for words to explain her rather convoluted feelings and realised that she had no idea why it did bother her so much, short of the fact that she hated him with a passion so intense it was bordering manic.
"Well?" Luna prompted.
"Draco Malfoy is a git," Ginny declared loftily. "That's all there is to it."
Luna chuckled and would have said more, but Snape called the class to order for chattering. Both the blonde and redhead reluctantly set to work on finishing their potion before they could get in more trouble. Thanks to their combined ingenuity, the potion was a success (Ginny knew this because Snape merely curled his lip at them but made no scathing remark when they took it to the front for him to collect), and both girls parted ways feeling very pleased with themselves and their joint efforts. Unfortunately, Ginny's elation did not last long.
She stared at the hooked-nose professor with a half-defiant, half-sheepish expression on her face as she awaited her sentence after class. His lip curled ever so slightly in turn, and she felt her stomach sink several notches. Perhaps he was not going to be lenient on her after all.
"I need not tell you that your behaviour was unacceptable today, Miss Weasley," Snape said coolly as he towered over like a black fortress of doom.
"I know, sir," she replied stiffly.
"I wonder if you do."
Ginny gritted her teeth. In her mind she was sternly telling herself not to make a retort, but it was just so impossible to stay calm when he was smirking at her like that. And what was it with Slytherins and smirking, anyway? Was it some part of their code of honour?
To be a true Slytherin, one has to perfect the Slytherin smirk or else one will simply be another lackey.
Crabbe and Goyle must have failed that one, then. The only expression they had perfected was how to look like a greedy troll.
"Is something funny, Miss Weasley?" Snape asked dryly as he saw her lips twitch into a smile.
"No, sir."
His eyes narrowed. Ginny though it prudent not to push her luck any further and decided to change the subject.
"What will I be doing for detention?"
"My inventory needs to be re-catalogued." He smiled maliciously, showing a glimpse of his rather yellow teeth. "I hope you know your alphabet, Miss Weasley."
Ginny inwardly groaned. She was going to spend the night cataloguing. What a nightmare!
The room was silent except for the monotonous scratching of a quill and the slight rustle of parchment. Ginny stared longingly at the clock. She had been cataloguing the inventory for hours and now she could barely hold the quill in her hand, let alone write with it. To make matters worse, Snape had refused to let her have anything to eat for dinner except a few measly sandwiches. She supposed it shouldn't have come as a shock to her that he was just as stingy with his food as he was with his manners. The man really was evil.
The door to the Potions classroom opened, and she glanced up to see an all-too-familiar blond stride with arrogant grace past her to where Snape was sitting behind his desk. Of course, it just had to be him. The gods were clearly twisted.
Ginny suddenly blanched. No! This had nothing to do with fate! It was merely a coincidence that Draco Malfoy should intrude on her detention with Snape. There was nothing preordained about it.
Draco murmured something to his Head of House, who nodded with an exasperated sigh. Both then glanced towards Ginny, and she saw a small smirk flitter across the blond's lips as recognition dawned in his eyes. She scowled and clenched her hands into fists.
Snape stood up from his chair. "You will continue with the inventory while I am gone, Miss Weasley. Draco will supervise you until I return."
Ginny's first instinct was to declare that she wouldn't remain a second longer in Draco Malfoy's presence, but she swallowed back the hasty retort and simply nodded her head. Really, there was nothing else she could do unless she wanted another detention.
Snape left without a further word, leaving the two students alone together. The redhead never thought she would see the day that she would wish for the cantankerous professor's company, but so she did. Anyone had to be better than Draco Malfoy – even Snape.
Said Malfoy leaned back casually against one of the desks and considered her through dispassionate grey eyes.
"So what did you do to end up in here, Weasley?"
Ginny said nothing.
"Shall I guess?"
Again, she said nothing.
"You know, love," he drawled mockingly, "the silent treatment act really doesn't suit you."
"Don't call me 'love'!" Ginny exclaimed, swinging around on her chair and glaring at him with perhaps more heat than necessary.
"That's better," he observed with his infuriating little smirk.
Ginny closed her eyes and tried counting to ten. Unfortunately, calming rituals had never really worked for her, and she just ended up throwing her quill at him. He stared down at the quill lying near his foot and then raised amused eyes back to her face.
"Is this some sort of Weasley mating ritual? You shout and throw things, and hope that the male will find your fishwife qualities attractive so that he will become helplessly infatuated with you?"
"As if I would ever want to impress you!" Ginny retorted waspishly. "You're nothing but an arrogant pig!"
"Temper, temper. Really, Weasley, it's no wonder no guys will come near you."
"Perhaps you should take the hint, then, and follow their example."
He raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Who said I wanted to come near you?"
Ginny glared at him, her cheeks burning crimson as they always did when she got flustered. "You know I didn't mean it like that!"
"Didn't you?"
"Just what are you implying?" she growled threateningly.
"I don't know, Weasley. You do have a habit of blushing so admirably whenever we meet. It's beginning to make me a bit suspicious."
The smirk that followed this remark was enough to make her already fragile temper snap. She abruptly stood up from her chair and stalked towards him, her eyes flashing dangerously.
"Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy," Ginny spat, poking him hard in the chest with her finger. "I do not like you! In fact, I hate you, and if you even think to try your stupid games with me, I swear I'll make you wish that the only thing I had done was throw my quill at you!"
Draco calmly removed her finger from his chest, and she was surprised by the sudden shock of energy that went through her at the contact of his skin. It was then that she became aware of how close they were; so close, in fact, that she could see the different flecks of grey that made up his (she was astonished to realise) rather beautiful eyes. She had always known that he was good-looking, of course (though she only admitted this fact on her benevolent days), but Draco Malfoy from far away was nothing to the sheer masculine beauty of the blond close-up.
She was stunned, and she was infuriated. It was not fair that he should be so handsome. It was not fair that his silvery-blond locks should look far silkier than hers, and yet still manage to look so arrogantly uncared for. It was not fair that his storm-cloud eyes, set under regally arched brows, should so easily captivate and intrigue because of their darkness against a backdrop of ethereal paleness and moonlight silver. And it was not fair that despite this overt prettiness, he would never be considered effeminate. His lips were too firm, his face structure too angular and defined, and his lean, graceful body could not be described as anything but masculine. He was a boy about to become a man, and he was, she realised with some disgust, an exceedingly attractive one.
Some of her thoughts must have registered on her face, for those perfectly sculpted lips lifted into that frustrating little smirk of his, and his grey eyes glimmered with knowing amusement. He leaned forward, and she could actually feel his breath brush against her lips like the softest of kisses.
"Never gape, Weasley," he murmured, gently lifting her chin to close her mouth. "It's not flattering."
Ginny's cheeks burned, and she knew that she would be blushing terribly. She wrenched herself away from him, mortified that he had caught her gawking at him and had teased her about it, and furious with herself for even thinking him good-looking. If only he had a hunchback and a squinty eye. She would find him completely hideous if he had that. But no, he had to be perfect.
That decided it: the gods really were cruel.
It was in that moment that Snape entered the room and stopped what was becoming a humiliating tête-à-tête. Ginny could not have been more grateful for the intervention. She had not known how to respond to Draco, torn between wanting to scream at him, hex him, or simply run away and hide in her shame. It was a horrible thing to know that she found her arch-nemesis attractive, but she refused to believe that this meant Myrtle's prediction had a chance of coming true. Just because she thought Draco good-looking didn't mean that she liked him. There were plenty of boys that she found attractive at Hogwarts, and it wasn't as if she was falling over her feet for them.
Cheered by this logic, Ginny retrieved her quill and sat back down on her seat to continue working on the inventory. She couldn't help but give one last look at the blond, and immediately wished that she hadn't. He had smirked at her before he left, and now she would be stuck with that smug image for the rest of the night.
Ginny scowled. She really hated Draco Malfoy.
Harry Potter watched the Gryffindor Quidditch team practising that night with all the pride of a young man who knew his team was brilliant. Ever since his accident, he had found a new zeal for the game, though it was a passion tinged with regret. He knew he was living vicariously through his team mates' success, and that it would be months, maybe even years before he would be allowed to play again himself. It was a depressing thought, yet he could take some comfort that he was captaining the best Quidditch team in the school. If Ginny could catch the Snitch before Malfoy in the next Gryffindor versus Slytherin game, they were bound to win the House Cup.
He frowned as he realised that Ginny had still not turned up for practise. This was the third time in a row that she had done this, and he could not say that he was very happy about it. She was a good flyer, but she would need a lot more than natural aptitude to beat Malfoy.
"Where are you, Ginny?" Harry growled to himself.
"She's in detention," a dreamy voice replied, seemingly from out of nowhere.
Harry let out a yelp and turned around to see Luna Lovegood standing before him with all her usual cloud of whimsicality surrounding her.
"Luna!" he exclaimed. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
"I did say hello," she responded with a shrug.
"Did you?"
She nodded.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled awkwardly. "I guess I didn't hear you."
"That's okay."
She turned her attention to the Gryffindors practising above them. Harry noticed that she was wearing eagle earrings that looked unnervingly alive. He was half-expecting them to start making bird noises, but the earrings stayed thankfully silent. The blonde caught him staring fixedly at the jewellery and smiled, apparently unaware of the odd appearance she made.
"They're nice, aren't they? Daddy bought them for me in my first year when I got sorted into Ravenclaw."
"That was, uh, good of him."
Luna let out a gurgle of laughter. "You think I'm strange, don't you?"
"Of course not," Harry lied bravely.
"Yes, you do," she said with another of her indefinable smiles. "I don't mind, though. I think you're strange, too."
Harry couldn't help but laugh at that, and she soon joined in and laughed so hard that she had to actually lean on him for support. He steadied her with his hands and smiled down into her tear-streaked face as she continued to giggle uncontrollably against him.
"You alright there?" he asked, amused.
She nodded as she finally caught her breath. "I'm fine."
A soft breeze slipped between them, and he caught the scent of apricots and sunflowers. He realised with some surprise that it must be coming from the blonde leaning against him. He wondered why it should astonish him that she should smell so pleasant, but then he supposed he had just never thought about it before. Somehow, the mixture suited Luna. It was unassuming and unique, just like her.
"You can let go of me now, Harry," Luna said with a small smile.
Harry obediently released her and stepped back to give her some room. She thanked him and turned her gaze back to the players zooming around above them in the sky. He followed her line of vision to where Neville was practising throwing the Quaffle into the three hoops while Ron tried to block them. It was so strange to think that Neville had actually proven to be quite a good Quidditch player. He still fumbled now and then when he got flustered, but he definitely had potential. Still, it was difficult to believe that Neville's amateur career as a Chaser had all started because of Myrtle's improbable prediction.
"Do you believe in destiny, Harry?" Luna asked curiously.
"I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "I like to think that I have the choice to do what I like, but maybe that choice was destined to be before I even made it. I try not to think about it. I just end up in circles." He glanced down at her enquiringly. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I was just wondering."
He nodded, and for a moment they both said nothing. She went back to staring contemplatively at Neville, and he just stood there with his hands in his pockets. The silence between them might have been awkward had it been any other girl, but with Luna it just seemed so natural and comfortable. It occurred to him that she was a very peaceful person. Hermione always had something to say, and being around Ginny was like walking on eggshells, but Luna always seemed so serene. He wondered if anything fazed her.
There was a shout from the players above them, and Harry glanced up to see one of his Chasers barely miss a Bludger and then score a goal past Ron. The team gave a small cheer for her success, except Ron, of course, who looked rather disappointed that he had missed the Quaffle. Harry smiled, knowing that the red-haired boy would probably complain to him later about how the Quaffle had been 'this close'.
"Sorry I'm late!"
Harry turned to see Ginny running towards them, broom in hand, while awkwardly trying to pull a jumper over her head. He couldn't help but laugh. She was so ridiculous sometimes.
"I thought you were in detention," he called.
"I think Snape got sick of me and decided to let me out early," Ginny confided with a triumphant grin as she came to a halt in front of them. "He had to go and meet some parents anyway. It seems like a bunch of Slytherin third years decided it would be funny to steal some firewhisky from Hogsmeade and get drunk. One of them was still vomiting when I left."
"Well, that wasn't very clever of them," Harry chuckled.
"I know, but then they are Slytherin. They seem to think they're above every rule and can do what they like, and that every person should just fall on their knees and worship them."
"Speaking from experience, Ginny?" Luna asked slyly.
Ginny glowered at her. "Don't you start on that, Luna! I'm not in the mood!"
"What's this?" Harry asked, frowning.
"Ginny has declared an eternal loathing for Draco Malfoy," Luna explained in her dreamy voice, "but Myrtle made a prediction that the two of them would fall in love and are destined to be together."
"Ginny and Malfoy? That's impossible!" Harry exclaimed, half laughing.
"Well, at least someone realises how ridiculous this whole thing is," Ginny muttered, still scowling at the Ravenclaw.
"Ah, but Harry hasn't seen the two of you together," Luna rejoined with a rather wicked smile for one so whimsical. "I believe that prophecy has a very good chance of coming true. It's not like you aren't attracted to him, Ginny."
Ginny went bright red in the face and wondered for a moment if Luna somehow knew Legilimency. How else could the Ravenclaw girl have possibly known that she thought the blond sinfully good-looking? Then a more horrible thought presented itself to Ginny: what if she had always been attracted to him but had just refused to accept it before?
She saw the smug look Luna was giving her, and scowled.
"Shut up, Luna," Ginny snapped, and then she turned to face Harry, who was looking rather bewildered. "How long have we got left?"
"Only about five minutes," he responded. "I don't think there's much point in practising tonight, Ginny. You'll have to catch up in your own time during the week."
She sighed. "Fine."
"Wait a minute," Harry said before she could leave. "Do you really fancy Malfoy?"
Ginny flushed. "I—"
"Wow."
"Hey! I never said anything!"
"No, but your crimson cheeks said enough," Luna interposed with frustrating helpfulness.
"That's not—I never—UGH!" Ginny glared furiously at them. "I do not like Malfoy! I never will like Malfoy, and I most certainly do not find him attractive!"
She swung around on her heel before they could say a further word and stormed back towards the castle. Some friends she had. They were supposed to be supporting her and trying to comfort her, not infuriating her by actually suggesting that she liked the stupid Slytherin boy. Which she didn't.
Ginny sucked in a deep breath. She would not dwell on it. She would continue life as normal and forget everything that had happened. Those other idiots could believe in Myrtle's ridiculous prediction, but Ginny knew that the prophecy was no more likely to be fulfilled than Goyle was of getting the top marks in a Charms test.
She entered the common room and spotted Hermione staring at the fire, looking obviously distraught. Lavender Brown, on the other hand, appeared as if she were trying desperately not to laugh.
"What's wrong?" Ginny asked in concern.
"Goyle got the top marks on the Charms test," Lavender confided gleefully. "And guess what? It was Myrtle that predicted he would!"
Ginny's face drained of all colour. Now what was she going to do?
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