CHAPTER FIVE
Ginny was halfway through the trapdoor in the boathouse closet when she remembered that she was going to need the password to the Slytherin common room to get back. She climbed down the steps built into the tunnel wall and then stood, stymied, at the end of the passage. She didn’t care what it took, she was not going back for Malfoy, no matter what. The last thing she wanted to do was ask that prat for help.
Luckily, she didn’t have to, because a minute later, Parvati and Zabini appeared above her. Ginny didn’t know what had happened to Draco, but Parvati shut the trapdoor behind her, so apparently he wasn’t coming. The two of them didn’t say anything to her as they joined her in the passage, for which Ginny was immensely grateful, and they all made it halfway back in complete silence.
Then Ginny said to Parvati, “So. You? And Zabini?”
“Yes.” Parvati’s voice was a little stiff, but she didn’t sound embarrassed. “Is it really so shocking?”
“Well, yes,” Ginny admitted. “But not because he’s a Slytherin. Just because he’s—well—who he is. I mean, he’s a bit of a prat, isn’t he.”
“I heard that, Weasley,” Zabini said from up ahead.
“It started last year,” Parvati said in a soft voice. “I know that sounds weird, given everything that was going on, but—well, that’s why it happened. Because everything was so horrible and Lav—Lavender wasn’t here—” Her voice caught. Lavender Brown had been absent last year because she was Muggleborn, and now, she was dead. Killed in the battle of Hogwarts. “And, well. I don’t know. I found something to get me through it, and that was Blaise. And I’m not going to make any apologies for it.”
“No,” Ginny said distantly, “you shouldn’t.”
There was silence again, for about a minute. Then Parvati said,
“So—you and Draco—you really aren’t—”
“No,” said Ginny, her voice hard. “And I don’t want to talk about him.”
Parvati went quiet.
The problem was, it was not so easy to shut her brain off. She felt…tenuous…like there was so very little holding her together, and it was not because of the Binding Spell she’d gotten caught in. Or at least, it wasn’t only because of that. It was because, in the wake of it, the only thing that had gotten through her blind terror was Malfoy. Not just because he’d freed her, but him, Draco. His voice had cut through her panic. The touch of his hands on her arms had steadied her, the feel of his chest beneath her hand had grounded her.
And that was so beyond wrong that she didn’t know what to do with it.
Things only got worse when they got back to the Slytherin common room, because when Blaise gave the password and the bookcase slid open, Harper was waiting for them on the other side.
“What the hell is this, Zabini?” he demanded, as the three of them emerged from the passageway. He was in his pajamas, flannel bottoms and a Montrose Magpies t-shirt. “Where’s Malfoy? He snuck out of the dormitory nearly an hour ago and…what are they doing here?” He pointed at Parvati and Ginny.
Ginny ignored him completely, shooting him a waspish look as she stalked towards the main entrance. Behind her, she heard Zabini heave an exasperated sigh. “Look, I’m dating her, all right? Get over it already.”
“Weasley?” Harper sounded confused.
“No, you idiot, Parvati.”
“Hi,” said Parvati.
“But, what’s Weasley doing here?”
“Don’t ask, Cole. Seriously. Leave it alone.”
Ginny reached the stretch of wall that was the entrance to the common room and stopped, staring at it. She had just realized she had no idea how to open it. Defeated, she kicked at the wall.
“It’s the sconce, Weasley,” Zabini said helpfully. “Just pull it.”
Ginny yanked at the sconce on the wall beside her, and the door slid open. Without a backward glance, she stomped out into the corridor, back towards her own common room.
She had no idea what time it was when she finally reached Gryffindor Tower. She hadn’t even cast another Disillusionment Charm on herself as she’d traversed the dungeons, the entrance hall, and the stairs, but she hadn’t encountered a single soul along the way, not even Filch. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she had seen someone. She wasn’t in the mood for confrontation and she didn’t have the patience to lie her way out of anything.
“My, aren’t we out late,” said the Fat Lady, as Ginny stood below the portrait. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Well, what are you doing awake, then?” Ginny demanded.
“I’m a portrait,” the Fat Lady sniffed. “I can stay up as late as I want.”
Ginny stared at her in utter frustration. Her annoyance was not really with the Fat Lady, of course, but with everything else, Malfoy, Zabini, the whole night. She realized she was never going to be able to sleep, not like this, and so, without another word, she turned and walked away.
“Hang on!” the Fat Lady called after her. “Where are you going? It’s after midnight, you know!”
Ginny didn’t care. She stalked down the corridor and started down the staircase at the end, thinking maybe she’d go to the kitchens and get a snack—she couldn’t think what else to do—but halfway down, the staircase shifted and began to move, swinging over to another landing that opened onto the fourth floor. It was a part of the castle Ginny didn’t know very well, and with a huff, she took the next staircase she came across, not paying any attention to where she was going.
The castle was dark and quiet around her. Ginny was not afraid of the dark, but she felt quite alone in the silence, as though there was no one else in the castle. She hugged her arms around herself and suddenly realized she was going up the stairs, not down towards the kitchens. But she kept walking.
She thought back to the Binding Spell she had gotten caught in, the netting Blaise had left behind, and shivered. She couldn’t believe how quickly she had panicked, but the terror that had taken over her at the
feel of that net had utterly consumed her.
It was because of last year. Last year, when she’d been caught sneaking into Snape’s office—for the second time. The first time, she’d been with Neville and Luna, and they had all gotten detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest—which hadn’t been so bad. Nothing could be so bad with Hagrid around. But the second time, she’d been by herself. She hadn’t planned it—the opportunity had just presented itself—which was why she’d been alone.
But she’d been caught, by Alecto Carrow, no less, and the Death Eater had decided to punish her by taking her into the Forbidden Forest alone. No Hagrid, no Fang, no Neville or Luna to accompany her. And this time, Alecto had trapped her with a Binding Spell and left her trussed up in a tree all night. And all night long she’d hung there, unable to move, listening to all the horrors that haunted, stalked, and slithered through the Forbidden Forest at night, wondering what was going to find her and what it was going to do to her…
It was a miracle she had survived. And the nightmares that had haunted her ever since were relentless. Worse than the dreams she had of Harper and the Cruciatus Curse.
That was why she’d panicked so thoroughly when she’d been trapped in that net tonight. And even once she was free, she hadn’t been able to pull out of that overwhelming fear. It was Malfoy that had finally reached her, his firm grip on her arms comforting, the feel of him beneath her steadying…
But it was Malfoy. Malfoy.
She looked up suddenly and realized where she was. The seventh floor. A little ways down was the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and opposite of it, the blank stretch of wall that concealed the Room of Requirement. Ginny wandered down, stared at the wall for a moment, and then closed her eyes.
She asked the room to become the Slytherin common room. The same room Draco had taken her to when they’d met with the other Slytherins. He’d said she would be able to get back in on her own, but not with any others who weren’t Slytherin. Those must have been the parameters they’d set for the room.
A mahogany door formed in the wall, and Ginny walked inside.
The room was just as it had been before, with its green wall hangings, cushions, and rugs, its dark wood bookcases and desks, its cushy sofas and armchairs. Only this time, it was empty. There were no other students in there, Slytherin or otherwise, no one at all, except for Ginny.
She stepped down into the room until she reached the large, ornate coffee table in its center. She’d just been in the real Slytherin common room, and she’d hardly paid attention to it. It looked very similar to this room, except that its windows had looked out into the bottle green depths of the lake. Which was quite creepy, really.
Ginny gazed around this room now, and tried to convince herself of the wrongness of it. She tried to tell herself that the dark furnishings were macabre and sinister, she tried to see the green-and-silver decor and recall a sense of displeasure, a knee-jerk feeling that she’d lost somewhere in the past several weeks.
The truth was, the dim lighting and black leather sofas did not put her off as they once might have. The truth was, she couldn’t help but feel that the atmosphere was rather snug and cozy, and something about the way it closed in around her made her feel protected and safe.
She felt, suddenly, that all the anger and panic of the night had drained out of her, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
She curled up on the sofa before her and went to sleep.
Exhausted though she was, her sleep was fitful. Her dreams were dark, full of torture and fear, the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, the terror of being left in the Forbidden Forest, trussed up and helpless. And at the end of it all, she saw Harper. Only, his face wasn’t cruel and sneering like it usually was in her dreams. Instead, he was crying, the frightened tears of a child, just as helpless as Ginny was.
When she woke in the darkness, she was the one who was crying. The leather arm of the sofa, pillowed beneath her, was damp with her tears.
Then she realized someone was sitting beside her on the sofa.
In an instant, Ginny whipped her wand out from her sleeve and pounced, pinning the intruder to the other side of the sofa.
“Merlin, Weasley, it’s me,” said Malfoy hoarsely.
It was Malfoy. His pale blond hair shone in the darkness, and his face was appropriately anxious, given that Ginny had him restrained against the arm of the sofa, her wand thrust beneath his chin. All the lamps and candles around her had gone out, all save the one near the door, but even still, the fear on Malfoy’s face was clear to see.
“Are you scared of me, Malfoy?” she said in a low voice. “Scared what I’m going to do to you?”
“Right now? Yeah.” Malfoy swallowed visibly. “Yeah, I am.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Malfoy seemed to be taking a lot of care not to move. “This room was meant to be a sanctuary for Slytherins. You’re not Slytherin.”
“Why were you watching me?” she snapped. “Just now. You were sitting there, watching me sleep—”
“I wasn’t,” Draco protested. “I was going to wake you—you looked like you were having a nightmare—”
“Oh, so you were concerned about me, were you?”
Malfoy’s gray eyes were dark like a storm. “Maybe I was. Is that so hard to believe?”
A sliver of unease twitched through Ginny. She suddenly realized how familiar this felt—here she was, practically sitting on top of Malfoy, their faces only inches from each other. The atmosphere seemed different now, because of the fearful tension hanging between them, and yet it was not so different at all. Ginny’s free hand clutched at Malfoy’s shoulder, and just like before, he was warm, and solid, and she should have been repulsed to touch him, but she wasn’t.
She jerked back at once, letting him go and scooting away. But she kept her wand trained on him as she said, “Is that hard to believe? Yes, Malfoy, it is. And do you know why? Because we are not friends. I told you, we’re not friends, not anything—” This was suddenly important, so, so important—
“We don’t have to be friends, Weasley,” Malfoy groused. “I’m not saying we are or that we should be. I’m only trying to make you see that, maybe, just maybe, I’m a decent person!”
“But you’re not, Malfoy. You’re not.” She heard how she sounded, so vicious, like him, but she couldn’t help it. “Do you want to know why Harry and I broke up? The real reason? It was because of you, Malfoy.”
Draco blinked, all the indignation gone from his face. He looked quite off-kilter. “What…me?”
“Yes.” And she felt like she had forgotten this, and how could she have forgotten this? She’d told herself, when she agreed to help the Slytherins, that she wasn’t doing what Harry had done. Harry had stepped up for Malfoy, and it was this that Ginny could not condone. It was this that Ginny could not forgive, not after everything Malfoy had done, and Harry thought he knew, but he didn’t. Because Seamus was right—Harry hadn’t been here. He didn’t know, he didn’t understand, he could never understand.
And yet, in these past few weeks, what had Ginny done? She had let Malfoy in. She had even…softened…towards him. They had not become friends, not even close, but that she’d even agreed to go with him to follow Blaise—that spoke to how far she’d slipped. She’d allowed herself to humanize the Slytherins, and she knew now, that that was right. But that didn’t mean she needed to humanize Malfoy. She shouldn’t humanize Malfoy.
“Harry spoke for you,” Ginny spat. “He vouched for you, explained away everything you’d done to the Ministry, and I—I was not okay with that. I’m not okay with that. Because I don’t believe it, Malfoy. I don’t believe you and your family deserve to go free, I don’t believe you deserve to escape the consequences of what you’ve done, everything you’ve done—!”
“I know!” Malfoy burst out. “I know, don’t you get it?”
Ginny broke off, near breathless after her tirade. She stared at Malfoy in amazement.
“I know everything I’ve done.” Draco’s voice was strangled, like there was something caught in his throat. He sounded very unlike himself. “And you’re right, Weasley. You don’t have to tell me. Me, my father…we’ve gotten far better than we deserve. I told you, didn’t I?” He laughed, a sad, hysterical little laugh. “That’s why I left home. Because my dad clearly had no remorse for what he’d done, and I couldn’t stand it, because I have loads of it, and if he wasn’t going to have any then that meant I had to carry his share too—”
Ginny clenched her jaw. A part of her wanted to dismiss this as a plea for sympathy, but the shattered look in his eyes and the quivering mess of his voice—she didn’t think a person could fake that. Not even Malfoy.
“But everything that happened—” Malfoy made an odd, choking sound. “It haunts me everyday, Weasley. That’s why I came back to school. It wasn’t just my dad, it was this, this—this—” He gestured at himself, as though to indicate all the guilt and shame he bore. “I didn’t know what to do with it. And I couldn’t run from it, but I tried. I came here. Just for some way to distract myself, because all I could do at home was sit around in that big house and remember when Voldemort was there and think about all the terrible things I did for him—t-torturing whoever he wanted me to, trying to kill Dumbledore, Merlin, I almost killed Katie Bell and your brother and I let Death Eaters into the school, and it’s all on me, them, Dumbledore, Snape, all of it—”
“Malfoy.” Ginny broke in before she knew what she was doing. “Stop.”
He did stop. He heaved in a huge, huge breath, but his face was as gray as a ghost.
“Look, you can’t take credit for all that.” Her voice was hard, unsympathetic. “For Snape, and even for Dumbledore…Voldemort wanted Dumbledore dead, and if he hadn’t asked you to do it, then he would have asked someone else.”
Malfoy gawked at her with bloodshot eyes. “Are you…trying to make me feel better?”
“No,” Ginny said crossly. She was not. She just couldn’t bear to listen to him anymore. It was too disturbing because…because he sounded like he actually meant it all. And also— “I’m just saying. Taking on guilt about things that weren’t entirely in your control…well, now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. Making it all about you, as usual.”
Draco laughed again, a pitiful, thin sound. “Is that what I’m doing?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know, Weasley. Maybe I am. But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what to do with it, I don’t know where it starts and where it ends…”
Ginny realized she’d lowered her wand, leaving it sagging in her lap, and now she tucked it away and rose to her feet. “Look, Malfoy—” She raked a hand through her long hair, her fingers tangling in its snarls. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry you feel this way? I’m not. Frankly, you should feel this way. If you really mean it and you feel guilty for everything you’ve done…well, good.”
Malfoy did not look as though he had even heard her. He sat upright against the back of the sofa, but as she watched, he began to slump. One hand covered his eyes, and as his shoulders began to shake, she realized he was crying.
“Do you know what the worst part is?” he asked thickly. “Sometimes, I look back at it all… and I’m not sure where I went wrong. I mean, sometimes I don’t know what else I could have done, Weasley. I know right from wrong—despite what my father taught me—but none of it was ever that easy. I’m like Harper, I was scared, I was—I am—” He drew in a low breath, or tried to, but a sob broke through. “A coward. I’m a coward. And even if I was faced with the same choices today…I don’t know that I could do anything different. I’d like to think that I could, but that’s a child’s dream. Because I know what I am now.”
Ginny’s heart felt leaden. She clutched at the ends of her jumper, and she didn’t know what she was feeling, welling up inside her, but it was too much.
Draco shuddered, another sob racking his body. “How do I live with that?” he choked. “How do I—live like that? How do I do it every day, how do I just…keep going—”
That was when Ginny knew. His words fell into place inside her like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Because she knew that, she had felt that. Not feeling like a coward, but his words, those words…How do I live like that? How do I do it every day?
She had been asking herself those same questions ever since Fred died.
And she recognized that feeling now, welling up inside her. It was her own grief, so keenly echoed by Draco. She felt sick with it. Because her brother was gone, but it was so easy, here at school, to pretend it wasn’t true. That he was still out there, he was at the shop with George, and she would see him again when she went home for the summer—
A tear, hot and unwanted, spilled down Ginny’s cheek. Fred wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. She would never see him again, and sometimes, she didn’t know how she lived from one second to the next, knowing that.
She moved then, and half of her didn’t know what she was doing, but half of her did, and it wasn’t wrong. It didn’t feel wrong. She lowered herself down onto the sofa, right next to Malfoy, right up against him.
His sob stuttered in his throat, and he dropped his hand from his face. “What—”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said, and she hugged him.
She hugged him. She turned towards him, and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, and the other around his middle, and she lay her head on his chest, and she held him. She could hear his heart beating beneath her, and he was trembling like a leaf. But he was also warm, and he was there, and she wasn’t sure where it coming from, this comfort, this solace. But it was here, with him, and she wondered if he felt it too.
“I don’t know how you live with it,” she told him, her words muffled by his shirt. “I think…you just keep doing it. Today, and every day, and then maybe…one day…it isn’t so hard anymore.”
Draco had gone still and tense, but at these words, he relaxed. His shoulders sagged, and he let out another shuddering sob, and he wrapped his arms around Ginny too. And they sat there, in the darkness, in the silence, and held each other, and cried.
******
Ginny woke with a stiff neck. The reason for this was quite apparent, as she had fallen asleep sitting up, her neck dangling onto the arm of a sofa. Stifling a groan, she lifted her head, reaching back to rub at the strained muscles. That was when she became aware of a weight pressed against her, and she looked down—
Draco Malfoy. Was sleeping beside her. With his head in her lap.
The events of the night before rushed back to her—Malfoy spilling his guts to her, his crying, the way they’d held each other until they’d fallen asleep. Ginny shot up straight. She regretted this at once, as Malfoy shifted and mumbled in his sleep. She went still, holding her breath. She wondered if it was possible to get up without waking him, maybe if she just—very carefully eased back—
The door to the room flew open with a bang! Ginny choked on a gasp and, in an instant, Draco flew upright, looking around wildly.
“’S going on?” he asked sleepily. “Where…” He looked to the door. “Goyle?”
The door slammed shut, and it was indeed Gregory Goyle who stepped into the room. He looked between Ginny and Draco, and his eyes narrowed. “What’re you two doing here?” he asked.
“What?” Malfoy ran a hand over his hair—which was a good idea, since a piece of it was sticking up. He looked around—again—and this time, his gaze landed on Ginny. “Weasley!”
Ginny cleared her throat. “Malfoy.”
She watched it go through his eyes, the same way it had gone through her when she woke. His brow furrowed in confusion—just for a second—and then his eyes widened. As he remembered. He lurched to his feet, spinning away from her. “What are you doing here, Goyle?”
“Hiding,” Goyle said, without a trace of embarrassment.
“But what’re you doing here? And with Weasley?”
“I—we—” Draco coughed. He did not look back at Ginny.
“Did you say you were hiding?” Ginny frowned. “Hiding from who?”
Goyle scowled. “A couple of Hufflepuff duds—trying to hex me. I came straight here to get away.“
Ginny considered pointing out that calling the Hufflepuffs “duds” was not really any better than others calling the Slytherins evil, but then, if they were trying to hex another student without provocation, perhaps they deserved the insult. “You know,” she said, getting to her feet, “I’ve been at this for about a month now, defending you lot, and I know my actions haven’t gone unnoticed. I’d rather hoped most of this would’ve died down by now, but it hasn’t, has it?”
“Well,” said Draco, and he startled Ginny by looking at her—straight at her. “You can’t expect everyone to change over night, can you?”
Ginny met his gaze—though it was difficult, she met it, and she held it. “No,” she admitted, “but I can expect them to at least try.”
“You never did say what you’re both doing in here.” Goyle looked between the two of them, puzzled.
“Malfoy will explain,” Ginny said lightly. “I’m starving. Hopefully I haven’t missed breakfast.”
The look Draco turned on her was indignant. Ginny only smiled, first at him, and then at Goyle—and then she left the room, leaving Malfoy to come up with whatever explanation he could.
Ginny did not see Malfoy much over the next few weeks, even though they both stayed at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday. Hermione had worried that Ginny was trying to avoid Harry by staying, but Ginny had assured her that was not the case. Truthfully, she wanted to stay in obligation to those Slytherins who were also staying, which had turned out to be quite a few of them.
Once school was back in session, much of Ginny’s time was focused on Quidditch. They were playing Ravenclaw in just a few weeks, and Ginny was determined they not lose a second match. She had the team up early to train on many a morning, and it was on one of these mornings that Ginny left the changing rooms to find Seamus Finnegan waiting for her.
At first, Ginny thought Seamus was waiting for Dean (who was on the team, while Seamus was not). But then she realized that both Dean and Seamus were staring at her, Dean standing awkwardly to the side. “Dean? Seamus? What’s up?” Ginny asked, winding her hair back behind her shoulder.
Seamus hesitated. He glanced at Dean, who gave an encouraging nod. “The thing is, Ginny…I wanted to talk to you,” Seamus said.
“All right.” Ginny flexed her cold fingers. “What about? Shall we head up to the castle for some—”
“No,” Seamus said quickly. He cast a furtive glance at Demelza Robins and Ritchie Cootes as they emerged from the changing rooms and started towards the castle. “I mean—it’s sort of private.”
Ginny looked questioningly at Dean, but he only spared her a discomfited smile. Casting a quick glance around to be sure no one else was nearby, Ginny turned back to Seamus and said, “Is this about Malfoy?”
“What?” Seamus looked astonished, his face going white. “I…what do you mean?”
“Seamus, mate,” Dean said, his tone a little reproving.
Seamus tugged at the collar of his hoodie. He wouldn’t meet Ginny’s eye. “You know?”
“That you were one of the ones who beat up Malfoy out here, after the Quidditch match last term?” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know for sure.”
“It was dark,” Seamus mumbled. “I didn’t think you saw me—”
“I didn’t, but I recognized your voice when you deflected my Body-Bind Curse.” Ginny shouldered her bag. “Come on. Let’s sit over there.” She started towards the stands.
“You want me to go?” Dean asked Seamus.
“No,” Seamus said miserably. “You can come with.”
The three of them found a seat together low on the stands. It was a dreadfully frigid morning, the wind occasional but icy, the grass below them frosted with dew. Ginny clasped her gloved hands together and turned to Seamus, seated beside her. “So. You didn’t beat up Malfoy by yourself. Who else was with you?” She looked at Dean, on the other side of Seamus. “It wasn’t you? Parvati said you’d already gone back to the common room.”
Dean shook his head.
“No.” Seamus hunched in on himself. “He’s not as dumb as I am. It was Zacharias Smith.”
Ginny swore.
“I know,” Seamus said glumly. “It was his idea.”
“Seamus.” Ginny could not contain the exasperation in her voice. “Any idea that Zacharias Smith comes up with is not a good one. Please tell me you know that.”
“I know, Ginny.” To his credit, Seamus sounded quite aggrieved. “Normally I’d never listen to that tosser, but…he got to me. You know Malfoy tortured us both last year, with the Cruciatus Curse…and I was so rattled when he came back here, and Smith and I both got to talking about it…” He rubbed his hands together. “But afterwards…especially when I realized you’d almost seen us…I felt rotten, Gin. I thought I’d feel better, hurting Malfoy like he hurt us, but…I realized I was as bad as he was. Worse, even, because no one told me to do it, whereas Malfoy—”
“—whereas Malfoy was only doing what Carrow told him to do,” Ginny finished.
Seamus’ mouth twisted bitterly. For a moment, Ginny thought he was going to argue that point with her, but if wanted to, he held back.
“Look,” Ginny said, “I’m sorry you feel bad about what you did—or, well, no, I’m not, because frankly I’d be worried if you didn’t feel bad over it. But…why’re you telling me this now?”
Dean shrugged. “He just needed to get it off his chest, Gin.”
“He’s obviously already told you,” Ginny pointed out.
“Yeah, but…” Seamus looked up. “Look, we’ve all noticed what you’ve been doing, Ginny—with the Slytherins, I mean. Sticking up for them, hanging around them…and I just wondered…I just thought…I don’t know.” He rubbed a hand over his eye. “I just don’t know what to do.”
Ginny looked at him and suddenly understood. How he felt. He was just like she’d been—full of wrath, and nowhere for it go. He’d tried directing it at Malfoy, only that hadn’t worked. And he was desperate for another answer, another way.
She said, “Have you considered just apologizing to Malfoy?”
Seamus looked aghast. “Do what?”
“It would be the most direct way to make amends,” Ginny pointed out.
“Yeah, but…” Seamus grimaced. “I don’t know if I could, Ginny. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did, but even so…I’m not sure Malfoy deserves an apology.”
“But what does that matter?” she said impatiently. “That’s not what an apology is about. You wronged him, you know that, and you feel bad about it. That’s all you need to apologize to someone. It doesn’t matter what he deserves.” She stood up, pushing her hair out of her face as a gust of wind blustered past. “We can’t think that way about the Slytherins. Deciding who deserves what…we don’t know enough to make that call. I mean, they’re not all the same, are they?”
“Sure seems like it,” Seamus muttered.
“But they’re not,” Ginny said sharply. She thought of Astoria Greengrass, who’d wanted to fight, and Tracey Davis, the Muggleborn. “None of us are like that. Look at Zacharias Smith, he’s Hufflepuff, but is he anywhere near the person Cedric Diggory was? Look at Peter Pettigrew. He was in Gryffindor, but he was still a coward that betrayed his friends to Voldemort.”
Dean nodded gravely, and even Seamus looked abashed. “Is that why you’re helping them?” he asked.
“I’m helping them because they need it,” Ginny answered. She was struck by the truth of her own words, struck by how much she meant them. She hadn’t been sure, when they’d asked for her help. She’d given it reluctantly. But she knew now, looking at Seamus. Lashing out at the Slytherins wasn’t doing anyone any good. And it made her heart ache, to think how long it had taken her to see this.
They were all hurting. And none of them knew how to get past it.
“I’m helping them because they’re students, just like us,” she continued. “Hogwarts is their home as much as ours, and right now, they’re not safe in it.”
“Neither were we last year,” Seamus pointed out.
“They weren’t any safer than us,” Ginny shot back. “Don’t you see? They were living in the same hell we were.” These words didn’t feel as though they’d come from her, and it was a second before she realized this was what Harper had said, back in the Room of Requirement. “They were faced with the same dangers, the same choices—”
“And they chose wrong!” Seamus burst out. “They didn’t fight back like we did! They did whatever they were told, just to survive!”
Ginny look at him. He looked so fragile—afire with anger, but that anger was tentative, ready to break. Some part of him knew it was wrong, she thought. But letting go still seemed too hard. She understood.
“Is that such a bad thing?” she asked him. “That they did what they had to, to survive? Is it fair to ask any more of them?”
Even Dean looked dumbstruck by this. “We did more—”
Seamus started.
“So what?” Ginny demanded. “They were still victims, Seamus. They weren’t strong enough to fight back like we did, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own strengths! That doesn’t make them evil, it just makes them survivors. And that’s what we are, too. We survived. We survived the battle of Hogwarts. You, Dean, you survived being on the run and being captured, and Seamus, you survived torture and hiding out here, and the Slytherins—they survived too. As best they could.”
Seamus’ chin was trembling. Ginny saw him clench his jaw tight against it.
“We’re all survivors,” Ginny said. “Us and the Slytherins. And now we have to learn how to survive together. Because this, what everyone is doing now, bullying the Slytherins—it’s hurting all of us. Not just them.”
******
The next Hogsmeade weekend was upon them within a couple of weeks, and Ginny surprised Hermione by telling her that she wasn’t going.
“What?” Hermione looked shocked as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. They were out on the grounds, a little ways down from the courtyard. It was bitterly cold out, and Hermione was dressed warmly in a thick coat, scarf, gloves, and a snug hat. Ginny was dressed less so, because she intended to head back to the castle.
“But, Ginny, Ron and Harry are going to meet us there!” Hermione protested now. “Surely you want to see them?”
“I do—but—”
“Or you want to see Ron,” Hermione said astutely, “but not Harry?”
Ginny flinched.
“Look, you can’t tell me this is about the Slytherins this time,” Hermione said sagely. Her expression was not unkind—indeed, it was a little too forgiving. “Because most of them will be in Hogsmeade—along with everyone else.”
“I know.”
“So this is about Harry, then? You don’t want to see him?” Hermione shook her head. “Ginny, you haven’t spoken to him in almost six months. Are you—I mean—” She hesitated. “Look, I would’ve thought, after everything you’ve been doing for the Slytherins—I mean—are you still mad about Malfoy?”
Ginny looked at her gravely and really considered that question. “No,” she said, and it was true, though hard to admit aloud. Just as with Seamus, letting go of that wasn’t easy—because it meant admitting other, rather harder, truths. “But… Hermione, I’m not sure it was ever really about Malfoy. I mean, yes, I was angry, Harry saying that he’d changed…but…” She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jumper. “But that was just an excuse. Because really…I’ve been angry that Harry wasn’t here.”
“Last year, you mean?” Hermione’s eyes were full with concern and confusion.
“Yes. Last year. When everything was so horrible here. When we were left to fight the Carrows—”
“But, Ginny, I mean…” Hermione looked lost for words. “Look, I know it was awful, but—we had to find the Horcruxes, we had to—”
“I know,” Ginny was quick to interrupt. And she did know that, but… “Look, I’m not saying it’s logical. It’s not, because logically, I know he was doing what he had to, to defeat Voldemort…” Ginny bit her lip. “But it was hell, Hermione. They took Hogwarts, and they made it theirs, and…it’s not that I blame him, exactly. It’s just…I need to focus on me right now, on getting past it.”
Hermione sighed, but it was a knowing sigh—one that said she understood, even if she didn’t want to. But she said, hopefully, “And you don’t think Harry could help you with that?”
“I don’t know,” Ginny said honestly. “But I know I don’t want his help with it. I…I need to be without him. At least for now.”
So, reluctantly, Hermione left, but not first without a hug for Ginny, which Ginny appreciated. She knew that Hermione was Harry’s friend—really, Harry’s friend, and not Ginny’s. Or at least, Harry’s friend first. And Ginny had half-worried that Hermione would not approve, or would try to convince her she was wrong—but then, Hermione was not always a know-it-all, Ginny reflected with a smile. She knew when to just be a friend.
Ginny shivered as she trudged back up the hill to the castle. She had no gloves, and no scarf either, and now she wished she’d brought one, even just to tell Hermione she was staying behind. She zipped her jumper all the way up to her chin and quickened her pace.
She really wasn’t angry at Harry anymore. She knew this now. She had been angry, and for exactly the reason she’d told Hermione—because he hadn’t been here. And it was not so much that she thought he should’ve been here—it was just that he had not been. And now, she didn’t think he could possibly understand what she was going through.
That probably wasn’t fair, she thought. It wasn’t as though Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been off on holiday while the rest of them were suffering; they had been through their own trials. And perhaps she was not giving Harry enough credit, thinking he couldn’t understand. But she could not ignore the fact that the three of them had gone off together, like they always did, and left Ginny behind. Being with Harry didn’t ease the unspeakable loneliness this brought on for Ginny—that it was the three of them, always the three of them. She had never had that, not in all her time at Hogwarts, and now—it just felt like she had to deal with the repercussions of last year alone. Or at least, without the three of them, and only with those people who had been here, like—
Malfoy.
Ginny stopped in her tracks, peering up ahead. Malfoy was there. He was sitting in the near-deserted courtyard, by himself, leaning against a pillar and staring down towards the frozen lake. Unlike her, he was dressed quite warmly, in a fancy coat and dragon-hide gloves, with a green Slytherin scarf and a hat. She supposed he was going to Hogsmeade too, although, he was just sitting there, and everyone else had gone.
Ginny dithered, watching him. She should just go back to Gryffindor Tower—she had an essay to write for Charms, not to mention exams in Muggle Studies and Transfiguration to study for. Schoolwork was getting devilishly difficult now that their N.E.W.T.s were approaching, and Ginny didn’t want to fall behind.
And yet—and yet.
She could not help but wonder why Malfoy was not going to Hogsmeade. And that’s all it was, she told herself, as she started towards him. She was just curious.
Ginny was halfway through the trapdoor in the boathouse closet when she remembered that she was going to need the password to the Slytherin common room to get back. She climbed down the steps built into the tunnel wall and then stood, stymied, at the end of the passage. She didn’t care what it took, she was not going back for Malfoy, no matter what. The last thing she wanted to do was ask that prat for help.
Luckily, she didn’t have to, because a minute later, Parvati and Zabini appeared above her. Ginny didn’t know what had happened to Draco, but Parvati shut the trapdoor behind her, so apparently he wasn’t coming. The two of them didn’t say anything to her as they joined her in the passage, for which Ginny was immensely grateful, and they all made it halfway back in complete silence.
Then Ginny said to Parvati, “So. You? And Zabini?”
“Yes.” Parvati’s voice was a little stiff, but she didn’t sound embarrassed. “Is it really so shocking?”
“Well, yes,” Ginny admitted. “But not because he’s a Slytherin. Just because he’s—well—who he is. I mean, he’s a bit of a prat, isn’t he.”
“I heard that, Weasley,” Zabini said from up ahead.
“It started last year,” Parvati said in a soft voice. “I know that sounds weird, given everything that was going on, but—well, that’s why it happened. Because everything was so horrible and Lav—Lavender wasn’t here—” Her voice caught. Lavender Brown had been absent last year because she was Muggleborn, and now, she was dead. Killed in the battle of Hogwarts. “And, well. I don’t know. I found something to get me through it, and that was Blaise. And I’m not going to make any apologies for it.”
“No,” Ginny said distantly, “you shouldn’t.”
There was silence again, for about a minute. Then Parvati said,
“So—you and Draco—you really aren’t—”
“No,” said Ginny, her voice hard. “And I don’t want to talk about him.”
Parvati went quiet.
The problem was, it was not so easy to shut her brain off. She felt…tenuous…like there was so very little holding her together, and it was not because of the Binding Spell she’d gotten caught in. Or at least, it wasn’t only because of that. It was because, in the wake of it, the only thing that had gotten through her blind terror was Malfoy. Not just because he’d freed her, but him, Draco. His voice had cut through her panic. The touch of his hands on her arms had steadied her, the feel of his chest beneath her hand had grounded her.
And that was so beyond wrong that she didn’t know what to do with it.
Things only got worse when they got back to the Slytherin common room, because when Blaise gave the password and the bookcase slid open, Harper was waiting for them on the other side.
“What the hell is this, Zabini?” he demanded, as the three of them emerged from the passageway. He was in his pajamas, flannel bottoms and a Montrose Magpies t-shirt. “Where’s Malfoy? He snuck out of the dormitory nearly an hour ago and…what are they doing here?” He pointed at Parvati and Ginny.
Ginny ignored him completely, shooting him a waspish look as she stalked towards the main entrance. Behind her, she heard Zabini heave an exasperated sigh. “Look, I’m dating her, all right? Get over it already.”
“Weasley?” Harper sounded confused.
“No, you idiot, Parvati.”
“Hi,” said Parvati.
“But, what’s Weasley doing here?”
“Don’t ask, Cole. Seriously. Leave it alone.”
Ginny reached the stretch of wall that was the entrance to the common room and stopped, staring at it. She had just realized she had no idea how to open it. Defeated, she kicked at the wall.
“It’s the sconce, Weasley,” Zabini said helpfully. “Just pull it.”
Ginny yanked at the sconce on the wall beside her, and the door slid open. Without a backward glance, she stomped out into the corridor, back towards her own common room.
She had no idea what time it was when she finally reached Gryffindor Tower. She hadn’t even cast another Disillusionment Charm on herself as she’d traversed the dungeons, the entrance hall, and the stairs, but she hadn’t encountered a single soul along the way, not even Filch. She wasn’t sure what she would have done if she had seen someone. She wasn’t in the mood for confrontation and she didn’t have the patience to lie her way out of anything.
“My, aren’t we out late,” said the Fat Lady, as Ginny stood below the portrait. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Well, what are you doing awake, then?” Ginny demanded.
“I’m a portrait,” the Fat Lady sniffed. “I can stay up as late as I want.”
Ginny stared at her in utter frustration. Her annoyance was not really with the Fat Lady, of course, but with everything else, Malfoy, Zabini, the whole night. She realized she was never going to be able to sleep, not like this, and so, without another word, she turned and walked away.
“Hang on!” the Fat Lady called after her. “Where are you going? It’s after midnight, you know!”
Ginny didn’t care. She stalked down the corridor and started down the staircase at the end, thinking maybe she’d go to the kitchens and get a snack—she couldn’t think what else to do—but halfway down, the staircase shifted and began to move, swinging over to another landing that opened onto the fourth floor. It was a part of the castle Ginny didn’t know very well, and with a huff, she took the next staircase she came across, not paying any attention to where she was going.
The castle was dark and quiet around her. Ginny was not afraid of the dark, but she felt quite alone in the silence, as though there was no one else in the castle. She hugged her arms around herself and suddenly realized she was going up the stairs, not down towards the kitchens. But she kept walking.
She thought back to the Binding Spell she had gotten caught in, the netting Blaise had left behind, and shivered. She couldn’t believe how quickly she had panicked, but the terror that had taken over her at the
feel of that net had utterly consumed her.
It was because of last year. Last year, when she’d been caught sneaking into Snape’s office—for the second time. The first time, she’d been with Neville and Luna, and they had all gotten detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest—which hadn’t been so bad. Nothing could be so bad with Hagrid around. But the second time, she’d been by herself. She hadn’t planned it—the opportunity had just presented itself—which was why she’d been alone.
But she’d been caught, by Alecto Carrow, no less, and the Death Eater had decided to punish her by taking her into the Forbidden Forest alone. No Hagrid, no Fang, no Neville or Luna to accompany her. And this time, Alecto had trapped her with a Binding Spell and left her trussed up in a tree all night. And all night long she’d hung there, unable to move, listening to all the horrors that haunted, stalked, and slithered through the Forbidden Forest at night, wondering what was going to find her and what it was going to do to her…
It was a miracle she had survived. And the nightmares that had haunted her ever since were relentless. Worse than the dreams she had of Harper and the Cruciatus Curse.
That was why she’d panicked so thoroughly when she’d been trapped in that net tonight. And even once she was free, she hadn’t been able to pull out of that overwhelming fear. It was Malfoy that had finally reached her, his firm grip on her arms comforting, the feel of him beneath her steadying…
But it was Malfoy. Malfoy.
She looked up suddenly and realized where she was. The seventh floor. A little ways down was the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy and opposite of it, the blank stretch of wall that concealed the Room of Requirement. Ginny wandered down, stared at the wall for a moment, and then closed her eyes.
She asked the room to become the Slytherin common room. The same room Draco had taken her to when they’d met with the other Slytherins. He’d said she would be able to get back in on her own, but not with any others who weren’t Slytherin. Those must have been the parameters they’d set for the room.
A mahogany door formed in the wall, and Ginny walked inside.
The room was just as it had been before, with its green wall hangings, cushions, and rugs, its dark wood bookcases and desks, its cushy sofas and armchairs. Only this time, it was empty. There were no other students in there, Slytherin or otherwise, no one at all, except for Ginny.
She stepped down into the room until she reached the large, ornate coffee table in its center. She’d just been in the real Slytherin common room, and she’d hardly paid attention to it. It looked very similar to this room, except that its windows had looked out into the bottle green depths of the lake. Which was quite creepy, really.
Ginny gazed around this room now, and tried to convince herself of the wrongness of it. She tried to tell herself that the dark furnishings were macabre and sinister, she tried to see the green-and-silver decor and recall a sense of displeasure, a knee-jerk feeling that she’d lost somewhere in the past several weeks.
The truth was, the dim lighting and black leather sofas did not put her off as they once might have. The truth was, she couldn’t help but feel that the atmosphere was rather snug and cozy, and something about the way it closed in around her made her feel protected and safe.
She felt, suddenly, that all the anger and panic of the night had drained out of her, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.
She curled up on the sofa before her and went to sleep.
Exhausted though she was, her sleep was fitful. Her dreams were dark, full of torture and fear, the pain of the Cruciatus Curse, the terror of being left in the Forbidden Forest, trussed up and helpless. And at the end of it all, she saw Harper. Only, his face wasn’t cruel and sneering like it usually was in her dreams. Instead, he was crying, the frightened tears of a child, just as helpless as Ginny was.
When she woke in the darkness, she was the one who was crying. The leather arm of the sofa, pillowed beneath her, was damp with her tears.
Then she realized someone was sitting beside her on the sofa.
In an instant, Ginny whipped her wand out from her sleeve and pounced, pinning the intruder to the other side of the sofa.
“Merlin, Weasley, it’s me,” said Malfoy hoarsely.
It was Malfoy. His pale blond hair shone in the darkness, and his face was appropriately anxious, given that Ginny had him restrained against the arm of the sofa, her wand thrust beneath his chin. All the lamps and candles around her had gone out, all save the one near the door, but even still, the fear on Malfoy’s face was clear to see.
“Are you scared of me, Malfoy?” she said in a low voice. “Scared what I’m going to do to you?”
“Right now? Yeah.” Malfoy swallowed visibly. “Yeah, I am.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Malfoy seemed to be taking a lot of care not to move. “This room was meant to be a sanctuary for Slytherins. You’re not Slytherin.”
“Why were you watching me?” she snapped. “Just now. You were sitting there, watching me sleep—”
“I wasn’t,” Draco protested. “I was going to wake you—you looked like you were having a nightmare—”
“Oh, so you were concerned about me, were you?”
Malfoy’s gray eyes were dark like a storm. “Maybe I was. Is that so hard to believe?”
A sliver of unease twitched through Ginny. She suddenly realized how familiar this felt—here she was, practically sitting on top of Malfoy, their faces only inches from each other. The atmosphere seemed different now, because of the fearful tension hanging between them, and yet it was not so different at all. Ginny’s free hand clutched at Malfoy’s shoulder, and just like before, he was warm, and solid, and she should have been repulsed to touch him, but she wasn’t.
She jerked back at once, letting him go and scooting away. But she kept her wand trained on him as she said, “Is that hard to believe? Yes, Malfoy, it is. And do you know why? Because we are not friends. I told you, we’re not friends, not anything—” This was suddenly important, so, so important—
“We don’t have to be friends, Weasley,” Malfoy groused. “I’m not saying we are or that we should be. I’m only trying to make you see that, maybe, just maybe, I’m a decent person!”
“But you’re not, Malfoy. You’re not.” She heard how she sounded, so vicious, like him, but she couldn’t help it. “Do you want to know why Harry and I broke up? The real reason? It was because of you, Malfoy.”
Draco blinked, all the indignation gone from his face. He looked quite off-kilter. “What…me?”
“Yes.” And she felt like she had forgotten this, and how could she have forgotten this? She’d told herself, when she agreed to help the Slytherins, that she wasn’t doing what Harry had done. Harry had stepped up for Malfoy, and it was this that Ginny could not condone. It was this that Ginny could not forgive, not after everything Malfoy had done, and Harry thought he knew, but he didn’t. Because Seamus was right—Harry hadn’t been here. He didn’t know, he didn’t understand, he could never understand.
And yet, in these past few weeks, what had Ginny done? She had let Malfoy in. She had even…softened…towards him. They had not become friends, not even close, but that she’d even agreed to go with him to follow Blaise—that spoke to how far she’d slipped. She’d allowed herself to humanize the Slytherins, and she knew now, that that was right. But that didn’t mean she needed to humanize Malfoy. She shouldn’t humanize Malfoy.
“Harry spoke for you,” Ginny spat. “He vouched for you, explained away everything you’d done to the Ministry, and I—I was not okay with that. I’m not okay with that. Because I don’t believe it, Malfoy. I don’t believe you and your family deserve to go free, I don’t believe you deserve to escape the consequences of what you’ve done, everything you’ve done—!”
“I know!” Malfoy burst out. “I know, don’t you get it?”
Ginny broke off, near breathless after her tirade. She stared at Malfoy in amazement.
“I know everything I’ve done.” Draco’s voice was strangled, like there was something caught in his throat. He sounded very unlike himself. “And you’re right, Weasley. You don’t have to tell me. Me, my father…we’ve gotten far better than we deserve. I told you, didn’t I?” He laughed, a sad, hysterical little laugh. “That’s why I left home. Because my dad clearly had no remorse for what he’d done, and I couldn’t stand it, because I have loads of it, and if he wasn’t going to have any then that meant I had to carry his share too—”
Ginny clenched her jaw. A part of her wanted to dismiss this as a plea for sympathy, but the shattered look in his eyes and the quivering mess of his voice—she didn’t think a person could fake that. Not even Malfoy.
“But everything that happened—” Malfoy made an odd, choking sound. “It haunts me everyday, Weasley. That’s why I came back to school. It wasn’t just my dad, it was this, this—this—” He gestured at himself, as though to indicate all the guilt and shame he bore. “I didn’t know what to do with it. And I couldn’t run from it, but I tried. I came here. Just for some way to distract myself, because all I could do at home was sit around in that big house and remember when Voldemort was there and think about all the terrible things I did for him—t-torturing whoever he wanted me to, trying to kill Dumbledore, Merlin, I almost killed Katie Bell and your brother and I let Death Eaters into the school, and it’s all on me, them, Dumbledore, Snape, all of it—”
“Malfoy.” Ginny broke in before she knew what she was doing. “Stop.”
He did stop. He heaved in a huge, huge breath, but his face was as gray as a ghost.
“Look, you can’t take credit for all that.” Her voice was hard, unsympathetic. “For Snape, and even for Dumbledore…Voldemort wanted Dumbledore dead, and if he hadn’t asked you to do it, then he would have asked someone else.”
Malfoy gawked at her with bloodshot eyes. “Are you…trying to make me feel better?”
“No,” Ginny said crossly. She was not. She just couldn’t bear to listen to him anymore. It was too disturbing because…because he sounded like he actually meant it all. And also— “I’m just saying. Taking on guilt about things that weren’t entirely in your control…well, now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself. Making it all about you, as usual.”
Draco laughed again, a pitiful, thin sound. “Is that what I’m doing?” He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know, Weasley. Maybe I am. But I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know what to do with it, I don’t know where it starts and where it ends…”
Ginny realized she’d lowered her wand, leaving it sagging in her lap, and now she tucked it away and rose to her feet. “Look, Malfoy—” She raked a hand through her long hair, her fingers tangling in its snarls. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry you feel this way? I’m not. Frankly, you should feel this way. If you really mean it and you feel guilty for everything you’ve done…well, good.”
Malfoy did not look as though he had even heard her. He sat upright against the back of the sofa, but as she watched, he began to slump. One hand covered his eyes, and as his shoulders began to shake, she realized he was crying.
“Do you know what the worst part is?” he asked thickly. “Sometimes, I look back at it all… and I’m not sure where I went wrong. I mean, sometimes I don’t know what else I could have done, Weasley. I know right from wrong—despite what my father taught me—but none of it was ever that easy. I’m like Harper, I was scared, I was—I am—” He drew in a low breath, or tried to, but a sob broke through. “A coward. I’m a coward. And even if I was faced with the same choices today…I don’t know that I could do anything different. I’d like to think that I could, but that’s a child’s dream. Because I know what I am now.”
Ginny’s heart felt leaden. She clutched at the ends of her jumper, and she didn’t know what she was feeling, welling up inside her, but it was too much.
Draco shuddered, another sob racking his body. “How do I live with that?” he choked. “How do I—live like that? How do I do it every day, how do I just…keep going—”
That was when Ginny knew. His words fell into place inside her like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Because she knew that, she had felt that. Not feeling like a coward, but his words, those words…How do I live like that? How do I do it every day?
She had been asking herself those same questions ever since Fred died.
And she recognized that feeling now, welling up inside her. It was her own grief, so keenly echoed by Draco. She felt sick with it. Because her brother was gone, but it was so easy, here at school, to pretend it wasn’t true. That he was still out there, he was at the shop with George, and she would see him again when she went home for the summer—
A tear, hot and unwanted, spilled down Ginny’s cheek. Fred wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere. She would never see him again, and sometimes, she didn’t know how she lived from one second to the next, knowing that.
She moved then, and half of her didn’t know what she was doing, but half of her did, and it wasn’t wrong. It didn’t feel wrong. She lowered herself down onto the sofa, right next to Malfoy, right up against him.
His sob stuttered in his throat, and he dropped his hand from his face. “What—”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” she said, and she hugged him.
She hugged him. She turned towards him, and wrapped her arm around his shoulder, and the other around his middle, and she lay her head on his chest, and she held him. She could hear his heart beating beneath her, and he was trembling like a leaf. But he was also warm, and he was there, and she wasn’t sure where it coming from, this comfort, this solace. But it was here, with him, and she wondered if he felt it too.
“I don’t know how you live with it,” she told him, her words muffled by his shirt. “I think…you just keep doing it. Today, and every day, and then maybe…one day…it isn’t so hard anymore.”
Draco had gone still and tense, but at these words, he relaxed. His shoulders sagged, and he let out another shuddering sob, and he wrapped his arms around Ginny too. And they sat there, in the darkness, in the silence, and held each other, and cried.
Ginny woke with a stiff neck. The reason for this was quite apparent, as she had fallen asleep sitting up, her neck dangling onto the arm of a sofa. Stifling a groan, she lifted her head, reaching back to rub at the strained muscles. That was when she became aware of a weight pressed against her, and she looked down—
Draco Malfoy. Was sleeping beside her. With his head in her lap.
The events of the night before rushed back to her—Malfoy spilling his guts to her, his crying, the way they’d held each other until they’d fallen asleep. Ginny shot up straight. She regretted this at once, as Malfoy shifted and mumbled in his sleep. She went still, holding her breath. She wondered if it was possible to get up without waking him, maybe if she just—very carefully eased back—
The door to the room flew open with a bang! Ginny choked on a gasp and, in an instant, Draco flew upright, looking around wildly.
“’S going on?” he asked sleepily. “Where…” He looked to the door. “Goyle?”
The door slammed shut, and it was indeed Gregory Goyle who stepped into the room. He looked between Ginny and Draco, and his eyes narrowed. “What’re you two doing here?” he asked.
“What?” Malfoy ran a hand over his hair—which was a good idea, since a piece of it was sticking up. He looked around—again—and this time, his gaze landed on Ginny. “Weasley!”
Ginny cleared her throat. “Malfoy.”
She watched it go through his eyes, the same way it had gone through her when she woke. His brow furrowed in confusion—just for a second—and then his eyes widened. As he remembered. He lurched to his feet, spinning away from her. “What are you doing here, Goyle?”
“Hiding,” Goyle said, without a trace of embarrassment.
“But what’re you doing here? And with Weasley?”
“I—we—” Draco coughed. He did not look back at Ginny.
“Did you say you were hiding?” Ginny frowned. “Hiding from who?”
Goyle scowled. “A couple of Hufflepuff duds—trying to hex me. I came straight here to get away.“
Ginny considered pointing out that calling the Hufflepuffs “duds” was not really any better than others calling the Slytherins evil, but then, if they were trying to hex another student without provocation, perhaps they deserved the insult. “You know,” she said, getting to her feet, “I’ve been at this for about a month now, defending you lot, and I know my actions haven’t gone unnoticed. I’d rather hoped most of this would’ve died down by now, but it hasn’t, has it?”
“Well,” said Draco, and he startled Ginny by looking at her—straight at her. “You can’t expect everyone to change over night, can you?”
Ginny met his gaze—though it was difficult, she met it, and she held it. “No,” she admitted, “but I can expect them to at least try.”
“You never did say what you’re both doing in here.” Goyle looked between the two of them, puzzled.
“Malfoy will explain,” Ginny said lightly. “I’m starving. Hopefully I haven’t missed breakfast.”
The look Draco turned on her was indignant. Ginny only smiled, first at him, and then at Goyle—and then she left the room, leaving Malfoy to come up with whatever explanation he could.
Ginny did not see Malfoy much over the next few weeks, even though they both stayed at Hogwarts over the Christmas holiday. Hermione had worried that Ginny was trying to avoid Harry by staying, but Ginny had assured her that was not the case. Truthfully, she wanted to stay in obligation to those Slytherins who were also staying, which had turned out to be quite a few of them.
Once school was back in session, much of Ginny’s time was focused on Quidditch. They were playing Ravenclaw in just a few weeks, and Ginny was determined they not lose a second match. She had the team up early to train on many a morning, and it was on one of these mornings that Ginny left the changing rooms to find Seamus Finnegan waiting for her.
At first, Ginny thought Seamus was waiting for Dean (who was on the team, while Seamus was not). But then she realized that both Dean and Seamus were staring at her, Dean standing awkwardly to the side. “Dean? Seamus? What’s up?” Ginny asked, winding her hair back behind her shoulder.
Seamus hesitated. He glanced at Dean, who gave an encouraging nod. “The thing is, Ginny…I wanted to talk to you,” Seamus said.
“All right.” Ginny flexed her cold fingers. “What about? Shall we head up to the castle for some—”
“No,” Seamus said quickly. He cast a furtive glance at Demelza Robins and Ritchie Cootes as they emerged from the changing rooms and started towards the castle. “I mean—it’s sort of private.”
Ginny looked questioningly at Dean, but he only spared her a discomfited smile. Casting a quick glance around to be sure no one else was nearby, Ginny turned back to Seamus and said, “Is this about Malfoy?”
“What?” Seamus looked astonished, his face going white. “I…what do you mean?”
“Seamus, mate,” Dean said, his tone a little reproving.
Seamus tugged at the collar of his hoodie. He wouldn’t meet Ginny’s eye. “You know?”
“That you were one of the ones who beat up Malfoy out here, after the Quidditch match last term?” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know for sure.”
“It was dark,” Seamus mumbled. “I didn’t think you saw me—”
“I didn’t, but I recognized your voice when you deflected my Body-Bind Curse.” Ginny shouldered her bag. “Come on. Let’s sit over there.” She started towards the stands.
“You want me to go?” Dean asked Seamus.
“No,” Seamus said miserably. “You can come with.”
The three of them found a seat together low on the stands. It was a dreadfully frigid morning, the wind occasional but icy, the grass below them frosted with dew. Ginny clasped her gloved hands together and turned to Seamus, seated beside her. “So. You didn’t beat up Malfoy by yourself. Who else was with you?” She looked at Dean, on the other side of Seamus. “It wasn’t you? Parvati said you’d already gone back to the common room.”
Dean shook his head.
“No.” Seamus hunched in on himself. “He’s not as dumb as I am. It was Zacharias Smith.”
Ginny swore.
“I know,” Seamus said glumly. “It was his idea.”
“Seamus.” Ginny could not contain the exasperation in her voice. “Any idea that Zacharias Smith comes up with is not a good one. Please tell me you know that.”
“I know, Ginny.” To his credit, Seamus sounded quite aggrieved. “Normally I’d never listen to that tosser, but…he got to me. You know Malfoy tortured us both last year, with the Cruciatus Curse…and I was so rattled when he came back here, and Smith and I both got to talking about it…” He rubbed his hands together. “But afterwards…especially when I realized you’d almost seen us…I felt rotten, Gin. I thought I’d feel better, hurting Malfoy like he hurt us, but…I realized I was as bad as he was. Worse, even, because no one told me to do it, whereas Malfoy—”
“—whereas Malfoy was only doing what Carrow told him to do,” Ginny finished.
Seamus’ mouth twisted bitterly. For a moment, Ginny thought he was going to argue that point with her, but if wanted to, he held back.
“Look,” Ginny said, “I’m sorry you feel bad about what you did—or, well, no, I’m not, because frankly I’d be worried if you didn’t feel bad over it. But…why’re you telling me this now?”
Dean shrugged. “He just needed to get it off his chest, Gin.”
“He’s obviously already told you,” Ginny pointed out.
“Yeah, but…” Seamus looked up. “Look, we’ve all noticed what you’ve been doing, Ginny—with the Slytherins, I mean. Sticking up for them, hanging around them…and I just wondered…I just thought…I don’t know.” He rubbed a hand over his eye. “I just don’t know what to do.”
Ginny looked at him and suddenly understood. How he felt. He was just like she’d been—full of wrath, and nowhere for it go. He’d tried directing it at Malfoy, only that hadn’t worked. And he was desperate for another answer, another way.
She said, “Have you considered just apologizing to Malfoy?”
Seamus looked aghast. “Do what?”
“It would be the most direct way to make amends,” Ginny pointed out.
“Yeah, but…” Seamus grimaced. “I don’t know if I could, Ginny. I know I shouldn’t have done what I did, but even so…I’m not sure Malfoy deserves an apology.”
“But what does that matter?” she said impatiently. “That’s not what an apology is about. You wronged him, you know that, and you feel bad about it. That’s all you need to apologize to someone. It doesn’t matter what he deserves.” She stood up, pushing her hair out of her face as a gust of wind blustered past. “We can’t think that way about the Slytherins. Deciding who deserves what…we don’t know enough to make that call. I mean, they’re not all the same, are they?”
“Sure seems like it,” Seamus muttered.
“But they’re not,” Ginny said sharply. She thought of Astoria Greengrass, who’d wanted to fight, and Tracey Davis, the Muggleborn. “None of us are like that. Look at Zacharias Smith, he’s Hufflepuff, but is he anywhere near the person Cedric Diggory was? Look at Peter Pettigrew. He was in Gryffindor, but he was still a coward that betrayed his friends to Voldemort.”
Dean nodded gravely, and even Seamus looked abashed. “Is that why you’re helping them?” he asked.
“I’m helping them because they need it,” Ginny answered. She was struck by the truth of her own words, struck by how much she meant them. She hadn’t been sure, when they’d asked for her help. She’d given it reluctantly. But she knew now, looking at Seamus. Lashing out at the Slytherins wasn’t doing anyone any good. And it made her heart ache, to think how long it had taken her to see this.
They were all hurting. And none of them knew how to get past it.
“I’m helping them because they’re students, just like us,” she continued. “Hogwarts is their home as much as ours, and right now, they’re not safe in it.”
“Neither were we last year,” Seamus pointed out.
“They weren’t any safer than us,” Ginny shot back. “Don’t you see? They were living in the same hell we were.” These words didn’t feel as though they’d come from her, and it was a second before she realized this was what Harper had said, back in the Room of Requirement. “They were faced with the same dangers, the same choices—”
“And they chose wrong!” Seamus burst out. “They didn’t fight back like we did! They did whatever they were told, just to survive!”
Ginny look at him. He looked so fragile—afire with anger, but that anger was tentative, ready to break. Some part of him knew it was wrong, she thought. But letting go still seemed too hard. She understood.
“Is that such a bad thing?” she asked him. “That they did what they had to, to survive? Is it fair to ask any more of them?”
Even Dean looked dumbstruck by this. “We did more—”
Seamus started.
“So what?” Ginny demanded. “They were still victims, Seamus. They weren’t strong enough to fight back like we did, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have their own strengths! That doesn’t make them evil, it just makes them survivors. And that’s what we are, too. We survived. We survived the battle of Hogwarts. You, Dean, you survived being on the run and being captured, and Seamus, you survived torture and hiding out here, and the Slytherins—they survived too. As best they could.”
Seamus’ chin was trembling. Ginny saw him clench his jaw tight against it.
“We’re all survivors,” Ginny said. “Us and the Slytherins. And now we have to learn how to survive together. Because this, what everyone is doing now, bullying the Slytherins—it’s hurting all of us. Not just them.”
The next Hogsmeade weekend was upon them within a couple of weeks, and Ginny surprised Hermione by telling her that she wasn’t going.
“What?” Hermione looked shocked as she wrapped her scarf around her neck. They were out on the grounds, a little ways down from the courtyard. It was bitterly cold out, and Hermione was dressed warmly in a thick coat, scarf, gloves, and a snug hat. Ginny was dressed less so, because she intended to head back to the castle.
“But, Ginny, Ron and Harry are going to meet us there!” Hermione protested now. “Surely you want to see them?”
“I do—but—”
“Or you want to see Ron,” Hermione said astutely, “but not Harry?”
Ginny flinched.
“Look, you can’t tell me this is about the Slytherins this time,” Hermione said sagely. Her expression was not unkind—indeed, it was a little too forgiving. “Because most of them will be in Hogsmeade—along with everyone else.”
“I know.”
“So this is about Harry, then? You don’t want to see him?” Hermione shook her head. “Ginny, you haven’t spoken to him in almost six months. Are you—I mean—” She hesitated. “Look, I would’ve thought, after everything you’ve been doing for the Slytherins—I mean—are you still mad about Malfoy?”
Ginny looked at her gravely and really considered that question. “No,” she said, and it was true, though hard to admit aloud. Just as with Seamus, letting go of that wasn’t easy—because it meant admitting other, rather harder, truths. “But… Hermione, I’m not sure it was ever really about Malfoy. I mean, yes, I was angry, Harry saying that he’d changed…but…” She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jumper. “But that was just an excuse. Because really…I’ve been angry that Harry wasn’t here.”
“Last year, you mean?” Hermione’s eyes were full with concern and confusion.
“Yes. Last year. When everything was so horrible here. When we were left to fight the Carrows—”
“But, Ginny, I mean…” Hermione looked lost for words. “Look, I know it was awful, but—we had to find the Horcruxes, we had to—”
“I know,” Ginny was quick to interrupt. And she did know that, but… “Look, I’m not saying it’s logical. It’s not, because logically, I know he was doing what he had to, to defeat Voldemort…” Ginny bit her lip. “But it was hell, Hermione. They took Hogwarts, and they made it theirs, and…it’s not that I blame him, exactly. It’s just…I need to focus on me right now, on getting past it.”
Hermione sighed, but it was a knowing sigh—one that said she understood, even if she didn’t want to. But she said, hopefully, “And you don’t think Harry could help you with that?”
“I don’t know,” Ginny said honestly. “But I know I don’t want his help with it. I…I need to be without him. At least for now.”
So, reluctantly, Hermione left, but not first without a hug for Ginny, which Ginny appreciated. She knew that Hermione was Harry’s friend—really, Harry’s friend, and not Ginny’s. Or at least, Harry’s friend first. And Ginny had half-worried that Hermione would not approve, or would try to convince her she was wrong—but then, Hermione was not always a know-it-all, Ginny reflected with a smile. She knew when to just be a friend.
Ginny shivered as she trudged back up the hill to the castle. She had no gloves, and no scarf either, and now she wished she’d brought one, even just to tell Hermione she was staying behind. She zipped her jumper all the way up to her chin and quickened her pace.
She really wasn’t angry at Harry anymore. She knew this now. She had been angry, and for exactly the reason she’d told Hermione—because he hadn’t been here. And it was not so much that she thought he should’ve been here—it was just that he had not been. And now, she didn’t think he could possibly understand what she was going through.
That probably wasn’t fair, she thought. It wasn’t as though Harry, Ron, and Hermione had been off on holiday while the rest of them were suffering; they had been through their own trials. And perhaps she was not giving Harry enough credit, thinking he couldn’t understand. But she could not ignore the fact that the three of them had gone off together, like they always did, and left Ginny behind. Being with Harry didn’t ease the unspeakable loneliness this brought on for Ginny—that it was the three of them, always the three of them. She had never had that, not in all her time at Hogwarts, and now—it just felt like she had to deal with the repercussions of last year alone. Or at least, without the three of them, and only with those people who had been here, like—
Malfoy.
Ginny stopped in her tracks, peering up ahead. Malfoy was there. He was sitting in the near-deserted courtyard, by himself, leaning against a pillar and staring down towards the frozen lake. Unlike her, he was dressed quite warmly, in a fancy coat and dragon-hide gloves, with a green Slytherin scarf and a hat. She supposed he was going to Hogsmeade too, although, he was just sitting there, and everyone else had gone.
Ginny dithered, watching him. She should just go back to Gryffindor Tower—she had an essay to write for Charms, not to mention exams in Muggle Studies and Transfiguration to study for. Schoolwork was getting devilishly difficult now that their N.E.W.T.s were approaching, and Ginny didn’t want to fall behind.
And yet—and yet.
She could not help but wonder why Malfoy was not going to Hogsmeade. And that’s all it was, she told herself, as she started towards him. She was just curious.
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