C7: Pity Party
Ginny braced herself before opening the Burrow’s backdoor and stepping into the kitchen. The breath she’d held as she crossed the threshold whooshed out of her as a projectile slammed into her uterus with a high-pitched screech.
It took a moment for her to process that the projectile had not been a stray Bludger set loose in the house, but a stray child.
“Aunt Geeeeeeee!” four-year-old Victoire squealed, alternating between bouncing on her toes and hugging Ginny, laughter pouring out of her mouth in excitement.
Ginny returned the hug and mimicked her niece's greeting with her own, “Vickyyyyyy!” Then she lifted the girl off the ground and rocked her back and forth, her legs flopping like a doll’s as Ginny squeezed her harder and smothered her face with kisses, Victoire laughing breathlessly the whole time.
“How many times must I tell you, Ginevra? Her name is not Vicky,” Fleur said with a shudder. She stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room, smiling despite her distaste for her daughter’s nickname.
“If you keep telling me, I’ll find a nickname for you, too,” Ginny teased as she put Victoire back on the ground.
The girl lifted her arms in the air and said, “Again! Again!”
“If I remember correctly,” Fleur said as Ginny instead ushered Victoire to follow her mother into the living room, where, Ginny supposed, everyone else had gathered, “you did have a nickname for me once. A very unflattering one.”
Ginny’s face flushed, her ears burning. “Knew about that, did you?”
“Did you think I didn’t notice how welcoming you were to me before I joined this family? Did you think I was too beautiful to care?”
Fleur spoke with a nonchalance that indicated a lack of injury, but Ginny felt the stab in the words nonetheless. The honest truth was she had thought Fleur too self-absorbed to care what any of the Weasleys thought of her. Now she wondered if that confidence hadn’t been magnified to hide feelings of rejection instead.
“Fleur…”
Fleur waved her hand dismissively. She turned and gave Ginny a tight hug before releasing her quickly and steering Victoire away from the cookie jar on the counter and back toward the living room. “It is in the past. We are family now,” she said with a smile.
Ginny was still considering her previous and current feelings about her sister-in-law—the situation inundated her with a sense of deja vu for some reason—when they entered the living room.
“Oh, Ginny! We haven’t seen you in ages!” her mum said with a wave from the other side of the room, where she was bouncing Dominique in her lap as if she was still an infant.
“Ginny Weasley? The one and only Ginny Weasley, Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies—that Ginny Weasley?” George said loudly as he chummily elbowed Hermione—who, Ginny was dismayed to see, covered her mouth with a hand to stifle laughter. “I can’t believe the Ginny Weasley has graced this humble abode with her presence!”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Ginny insisted.
She was contradicted by a chorus of “Months!” from every single person in the room, which included her entire family, Harry, Luna, and Hermione.
No gleam of silver hair flashed at her from the sea of orange. The fact that she had specifically sought it out irritated her.
“Where should I put my gift?” Ginny asked Fleur.
“I will take it.” As Ginny pulled an oddly wrapped package out of her pocket and returned it to its normal size with her wand, Fleur glared and said, “This better not be a broomstick, Ms. Ginevra Weasley, Quidditch player extraordinaire!”
Ginny only smiled in response.
Her assembled family were crowded together on the sofa, in armchairs, and on the floor, observing what was no doubt a Gobstones tournament taking place in the center of the room. Harry and Percy sat cross-legged over an array of marbles, considering their next moves while Ron waved his hand over the Gobstones, hovering over one and then jerking back to another in an attempt to stall for time. Victoire draped herself over Ron’s back, giggling and assisting by pointing to the Gobstones she thought most likely to win.
Ginny was disappointed to have missed participating in their little tournament. The last time she’d played Gobstones with her family had been the last time she’d stepped foot inside the Burrow, months and months ago, as everyone had said.
Her face heated as she smooshed herself in between her parents on the sofa and gave a babbling Dominique a kiss on her chubby cheek. She couldn’t help but recall a time when she had been sitting on the floor with Bill, the last two standing in the final round of the Gobstones tournament they had started while waiting for lunch to be ready. Ron, Harry, Malfoy, Fleur, and George had already been knocked out of the game, but they all remained crowded around Bill and Ginny, watching to see if Ginny would remain the reigning champion of Weasley Gobstone tournaments.
She’d defended her title well, and while Bill had shaken her hand good naturedly, ever the fair eldest brother, George and Ron had made matching sounds of contempt, their hands flying in the air in defeat.
Ginny had been proud of herself for coming out on top while Malfoy’s eyes had bored into the side of her, watching her every move, making her overthink not only her plays but how she handled the Gobstones, how she reacted to one exploding, her laughter, her breathing. Knowing Malfoy had been so close to her had made her more aware of herself in the one place where she should have been able to relax without worrying about how she would be perceived. She got enough scrutiny from the press and the public. So she had resented Malfoy for coming to lunch with Harry and Ron—just as she always resented his presence at the Burrow—but his scrutiny had been different somehow. Personal.
As she’d risen to her feet, elated by her victory in spite of Malfoy’s attention, she’d made sure not to look at him once. Unfortunately, her painstaking attempts to avoid his gaze had caused her to step on a Gobstone, which had exploded underfoot and sent her tumbling down.
Right into Malfoy’s lap.
Ginny hadn’t had time to feel terror from the fall. She hadn’t had time to think about how a broken tailbone would affect her ability to play in the semi-finals against the Tutshill Tornados the next weekend. In a single second she had slipped and been saved. By Malfoy. For the fourth time.
He had still been sitting on the floor cross-legged, and somehow Ginny had fallen right into his lap like some kind of cliche. Her bum nestled in the nest of his legs, the bend of her knee draped perfectly over his arm, his other arm cradling her back, twin expressions of confusion on their faces as they stared at each other.
Immediately and all at once, her family’s voices had clammored over one another to ask if Ginny was alright, to praise Malfoy for being so perfectly positioned to catch her.
Ginny hadn’t heard any of their voices. She was caught in Malfoy’s wide-eyed gaze, partly wondering how such colorless eyes could have so much depth, and partly wondering if this wasn’t why she had been avoiding him all morning. Had she known she wouldn’t be able to look away?
She began to fidget when the warmth of his body registered through her shock. After falling so fortuitously into his arms, he had tightened his grip on her, as though to make sure she didn’t fall out of his lap as disastrously as she’d fallen off her feet. His arm bracing her under her knees and behind her back had burned against her skin, through her jeans, through the sleeve of his robe, without an ounce of skin on skin contact.
Worst of all was the heat of his torso. It made sense that his arms were hard as iron bands around her. At least, it made a logical sort of sense, if not a practical one. (Why would Draco Malfoy hold her closer? Why didn’t he push her away? Why didn’t Ginny climb out of his lap? These were the practical questions for which she had not bothered to search for an answer.) But with her body pressed against his, her ribs, the side of her breast, an awkwardly angled shoulder, she could feel how solid he was, but also how soft, and his heat rolled off him in waves, burning Ginny up from the outside in.
She had known even then that she would not be able to forget how comfortable Malfoy’s body had been surrounding hers. To this day, she could not remember a time in her life when she had ever felt safer than she’d been in Malfoy’s arms.
Once the thought had crossed her mind, she’d finally shoved herself away from him and returned herself to her feet. She’d spent the rest of the morning and afternoon avoiding Malfoy harder, and, just to be safe, she hadn’t gone back to the Burrow since then.
Until now.
The memory of that Gobstones tournament and its aftermath filled Ginny with heat once more. Her anger was flaring back up, and the object of her anger wasn’t even here to receive it. After Percy was crowned the new Gobstones champion, Ginny dragged Ron off to the side and asked him the question that had plagued her since she’d stepped foot in the living room.
“Where’s Malfoy?”
He eyed her oddly, as if he couldn’t quite believe she cared enough to ask. “He didn’t come. I guess he was avoiding you.”
A physical pang rang through Ginny’s body, but she didn’t want to examine why Ron’s assumption hurt. “Why would you say that?” she asked instead, turning a bit of her ire on her brother.
“Because. He told me he had to do something for Luna today, but she’s standing right over there—” Luna and Harry were by the fireplace, each holding onto one of Victoire’s arms and bouncing her up and down. “—And when I asked her about Draco, she had no idea what I was talking about.”
Ginny shook her head and made a scoffing sound. “What do his lies have to do with me?”
Ron shook his head, too, slowly. The gesture made Ginny feel foolish for some reason. “All of his lies have to do with you, Ginny.” He walked off before she could delve further into that mysterious statement.
Malfoy’s absence continued to mess with Ginny’s head as the afternoon rolled on. The family moved into the kitchen for the birthday celebrations, and everyone smiled and laughed as two-year-old Dominique tried to eat her cake with a fork like a big girl, but only succeeded in demolishing it, cake and icing flinging all over the table. That resonated with Ginny. She felt like she was always making a mess, disappointing someone, somehow. Whether it was missing family events, the excess drinking, or her ongoing feud with Malfoy, no matter what she did and for which reasons, she was always letting someone down or making things worse.
While Bill, Fleur, and Victoire helped Dominique unwrap her presents, Ginny hovered by the backdoor and wondered if anyone would notice if she snuck out. She was itching for a drink to wash away the feelings of inadequacy that had surfaced at the Gobstone-triggered memories, but she didn’t want to indulge here because Ron would stare at her in disapproval, blowing it all out of proportion.
Just as she reached for the doorknob, Hermione came to stand beside her.
“Oh, look,” she said, nodding toward the center of the kitchen where Dominique was grappling with some ripped wrapping paper. “Draco bought her the Quidditch balls to go with the broom you got her.”
Too concerned with her desire to leave, Ginny hadn’t paid any attention to any of the gifts so far, but she paid attention now. Victoire had taken over the unwrapping for her preoccupied little sister, revealing a child-sized wooden chest, just like the one the Holyhead Harpies used to store their Quidditch balls in between practices. It was even painted green with gold accents—the Harpies’ colors. Or maybe it was Slytherin green…. Ginny wasn’t sure.
“It matches my gift exactly,” she said, her throat suddenly dry.
“I might have given him a suggestion,” Hermione said with a shrug.
“Why?”
“He didn’t know what to buy a toddler, so—”
Ginny cut her off. “No. I mean why are you friends with him? After everything he’s done, why do you tolerate him?”
Hermione turned, giving Ginny her full attention as the party continued on around them. “I feel a little sorry for him, don’t you?”
“Why should I feel sorry for him? He was horrible at school, to Harry, to Ron, to you. Then during the war, he did awful things!”
“Did he?”
Ginny unclenched her fists, brought up short by Hermione challenging what was a common, documented truth. “What do you mean?”
“I feel sorry for him because he’s kind of useless. Don’t you think so? He didn’t do anything right during the war. He didn’t kill Dumbledore. He didn’t identify Harry when we were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor, even though he clearly recognized me. He couldn’t capture Harry at the Battle of Hogwarts. He would have died if it wasn’t for Harry. He was a boy who had no talent or skills and could accomplish nothing on his own.”
When she put it that way, Malfoy didn’t sound at all like the demon Ginny recognized him to be. But who had the wrong impression of him? Ginny or Hermione?
Hermione continued on, capitalizing on Ginny’s silence. “You know how Harry is. He only sees the world in black and white, good people and Death Eaters. Snape was awful to all of us, to Harry most of all, but because he sacrificed himself, because he loved Harry’s mother in his twisted way, he’s forgiven in Harry’s eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Harry names one of his future children after him.”
A sound that mixed shocked laughter with disgust fell out of Ginny’s mouth. “Luna would never let him.”
Hermione shrugged again. “So is it really so shocking that Harry and Ron would forgive Draco and befriend him after he saved their lives from a Death Eater?”
Ginny was suddenly emerged in ice, her whole body stiffening, her breath lodged deep and immovable in her throat. “He what?”
A small smile stretched Hermione’s lips. “That mission they went on last year. Harry and Ron got themselves cornered by Lestrange. Wandless, literally backed up against a wall while Lestrange performed an Unforgivable on them. Draco could have saved himself. Everything we knew about him from school suggested he was cowardly enough to leave them behind.”
“But he didn’t,” Ginny said. Her fingertips and toes stung with numbness. She was lightheaded imagining the situation Harry and Ron had found themselves in. She remembered that mission. What she remembered most about it was how angry she’d been when she’d learned afterward that the Head of the Auror Division hadn’t sent Harry and Ron to France with backup. They’d come back successful, excited, and a little smug. She hadn’t known how close they’d come to failing the mission—or losing their lives.
“No. And he didn’t take credit, either. They covered it up to save Harry and Ron’s careers, because Lord knows Robards would have taken them out of the field if he’d known Draco Malfoy was responsible for saving two of his Aurors’ lives.”
“They never said. None of them. Malfoy always gloats about saving me… why didn’t he gloat about this?”
Ginny was trembling now. This was just too much information, too much all at once. In her head, memories were shifting, conversations gaining new context she hadn’t had before. The last year was starting to make more sense and less all at once.
“Harry and Ron promised him they wouldn’t say anything, but I made no such promise. And of course Ron told me everything.” An uncharacteristic smirk graced Hermione’s face, and Ginny realized with sudden clarity that she must have acquired the expression from repeated exposure to Malfoy.
Hermione’s voice gentled, as if she knew Ginny was reeling and didn’t want to break her brain further. “Once upon a time, two boys walked into a loo to save an obnoxious girl from a troll. They walked out of the loo the best of friends. Is it so hard to believe that Harry and Ron could go to France with Draco Malfoy and come back wanting him to be their friend, too?”
No. It wasn’t hard to believe at all. She knew Harry. She knew exactly what he was like. They never publicly acknowledged the good deed Malfoy had done, so Harry would have done anything necessary to make sure Malfoy got the recognition he deserved. If that meant becoming Malfoy’s friend, so be it.
If both Harry and Ron, two of Malfoy’s worst enemies, could forgive him to the point of desiring his friendship, it was no wonder the rest of Ginny’s family learned to accept him as well. Ginny had been the only one who couldn’t see past her own anger.
She was starting to realize she had been angry for a very long time.
Ginny braced herself before opening the Burrow’s backdoor and stepping into the kitchen. The breath she’d held as she crossed the threshold whooshed out of her as a projectile slammed into her uterus with a high-pitched screech.
It took a moment for her to process that the projectile had not been a stray Bludger set loose in the house, but a stray child.
“Aunt Geeeeeeee!” four-year-old Victoire squealed, alternating between bouncing on her toes and hugging Ginny, laughter pouring out of her mouth in excitement.
Ginny returned the hug and mimicked her niece's greeting with her own, “Vickyyyyyy!” Then she lifted the girl off the ground and rocked her back and forth, her legs flopping like a doll’s as Ginny squeezed her harder and smothered her face with kisses, Victoire laughing breathlessly the whole time.
“How many times must I tell you, Ginevra? Her name is not Vicky,” Fleur said with a shudder. She stood in the doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room, smiling despite her distaste for her daughter’s nickname.
“If you keep telling me, I’ll find a nickname for you, too,” Ginny teased as she put Victoire back on the ground.
The girl lifted her arms in the air and said, “Again! Again!”
“If I remember correctly,” Fleur said as Ginny instead ushered Victoire to follow her mother into the living room, where, Ginny supposed, everyone else had gathered, “you did have a nickname for me once. A very unflattering one.”
Ginny’s face flushed, her ears burning. “Knew about that, did you?”
“Did you think I didn’t notice how welcoming you were to me before I joined this family? Did you think I was too beautiful to care?”
Fleur spoke with a nonchalance that indicated a lack of injury, but Ginny felt the stab in the words nonetheless. The honest truth was she had thought Fleur too self-absorbed to care what any of the Weasleys thought of her. Now she wondered if that confidence hadn’t been magnified to hide feelings of rejection instead.
“Fleur…”
Fleur waved her hand dismissively. She turned and gave Ginny a tight hug before releasing her quickly and steering Victoire away from the cookie jar on the counter and back toward the living room. “It is in the past. We are family now,” she said with a smile.
Ginny was still considering her previous and current feelings about her sister-in-law—the situation inundated her with a sense of deja vu for some reason—when they entered the living room.
“Oh, Ginny! We haven’t seen you in ages!” her mum said with a wave from the other side of the room, where she was bouncing Dominique in her lap as if she was still an infant.
“Ginny Weasley? The one and only Ginny Weasley, Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies—that Ginny Weasley?” George said loudly as he chummily elbowed Hermione—who, Ginny was dismayed to see, covered her mouth with a hand to stifle laughter. “I can’t believe the Ginny Weasley has graced this humble abode with her presence!”
“It hasn’t been that long,” Ginny insisted.
She was contradicted by a chorus of “Months!” from every single person in the room, which included her entire family, Harry, Luna, and Hermione.
No gleam of silver hair flashed at her from the sea of orange. The fact that she had specifically sought it out irritated her.
“Where should I put my gift?” Ginny asked Fleur.
“I will take it.” As Ginny pulled an oddly wrapped package out of her pocket and returned it to its normal size with her wand, Fleur glared and said, “This better not be a broomstick, Ms. Ginevra Weasley, Quidditch player extraordinaire!”
Ginny only smiled in response.
Her assembled family were crowded together on the sofa, in armchairs, and on the floor, observing what was no doubt a Gobstones tournament taking place in the center of the room. Harry and Percy sat cross-legged over an array of marbles, considering their next moves while Ron waved his hand over the Gobstones, hovering over one and then jerking back to another in an attempt to stall for time. Victoire draped herself over Ron’s back, giggling and assisting by pointing to the Gobstones she thought most likely to win.
Ginny was disappointed to have missed participating in their little tournament. The last time she’d played Gobstones with her family had been the last time she’d stepped foot inside the Burrow, months and months ago, as everyone had said.
Her face heated as she smooshed herself in between her parents on the sofa and gave a babbling Dominique a kiss on her chubby cheek. She couldn’t help but recall a time when she had been sitting on the floor with Bill, the last two standing in the final round of the Gobstones tournament they had started while waiting for lunch to be ready. Ron, Harry, Malfoy, Fleur, and George had already been knocked out of the game, but they all remained crowded around Bill and Ginny, watching to see if Ginny would remain the reigning champion of Weasley Gobstone tournaments.
She’d defended her title well, and while Bill had shaken her hand good naturedly, ever the fair eldest brother, George and Ron had made matching sounds of contempt, their hands flying in the air in defeat.
Ginny had been proud of herself for coming out on top while Malfoy’s eyes had bored into the side of her, watching her every move, making her overthink not only her plays but how she handled the Gobstones, how she reacted to one exploding, her laughter, her breathing. Knowing Malfoy had been so close to her had made her more aware of herself in the one place where she should have been able to relax without worrying about how she would be perceived. She got enough scrutiny from the press and the public. So she had resented Malfoy for coming to lunch with Harry and Ron—just as she always resented his presence at the Burrow—but his scrutiny had been different somehow. Personal.
As she’d risen to her feet, elated by her victory in spite of Malfoy’s attention, she’d made sure not to look at him once. Unfortunately, her painstaking attempts to avoid his gaze had caused her to step on a Gobstone, which had exploded underfoot and sent her tumbling down.
Right into Malfoy’s lap.
Ginny hadn’t had time to feel terror from the fall. She hadn’t had time to think about how a broken tailbone would affect her ability to play in the semi-finals against the Tutshill Tornados the next weekend. In a single second she had slipped and been saved. By Malfoy. For the fourth time.
He had still been sitting on the floor cross-legged, and somehow Ginny had fallen right into his lap like some kind of cliche. Her bum nestled in the nest of his legs, the bend of her knee draped perfectly over his arm, his other arm cradling her back, twin expressions of confusion on their faces as they stared at each other.
Immediately and all at once, her family’s voices had clammored over one another to ask if Ginny was alright, to praise Malfoy for being so perfectly positioned to catch her.
Ginny hadn’t heard any of their voices. She was caught in Malfoy’s wide-eyed gaze, partly wondering how such colorless eyes could have so much depth, and partly wondering if this wasn’t why she had been avoiding him all morning. Had she known she wouldn’t be able to look away?
She began to fidget when the warmth of his body registered through her shock. After falling so fortuitously into his arms, he had tightened his grip on her, as though to make sure she didn’t fall out of his lap as disastrously as she’d fallen off her feet. His arm bracing her under her knees and behind her back had burned against her skin, through her jeans, through the sleeve of his robe, without an ounce of skin on skin contact.
Worst of all was the heat of his torso. It made sense that his arms were hard as iron bands around her. At least, it made a logical sort of sense, if not a practical one. (Why would Draco Malfoy hold her closer? Why didn’t he push her away? Why didn’t Ginny climb out of his lap? These were the practical questions for which she had not bothered to search for an answer.) But with her body pressed against his, her ribs, the side of her breast, an awkwardly angled shoulder, she could feel how solid he was, but also how soft, and his heat rolled off him in waves, burning Ginny up from the outside in.
She had known even then that she would not be able to forget how comfortable Malfoy’s body had been surrounding hers. To this day, she could not remember a time in her life when she had ever felt safer than she’d been in Malfoy’s arms.
Once the thought had crossed her mind, she’d finally shoved herself away from him and returned herself to her feet. She’d spent the rest of the morning and afternoon avoiding Malfoy harder, and, just to be safe, she hadn’t gone back to the Burrow since then.
Until now.
The memory of that Gobstones tournament and its aftermath filled Ginny with heat once more. Her anger was flaring back up, and the object of her anger wasn’t even here to receive it. After Percy was crowned the new Gobstones champion, Ginny dragged Ron off to the side and asked him the question that had plagued her since she’d stepped foot in the living room.
“Where’s Malfoy?”
He eyed her oddly, as if he couldn’t quite believe she cared enough to ask. “He didn’t come. I guess he was avoiding you.”
A physical pang rang through Ginny’s body, but she didn’t want to examine why Ron’s assumption hurt. “Why would you say that?” she asked instead, turning a bit of her ire on her brother.
“Because. He told me he had to do something for Luna today, but she’s standing right over there—” Luna and Harry were by the fireplace, each holding onto one of Victoire’s arms and bouncing her up and down. “—And when I asked her about Draco, she had no idea what I was talking about.”
Ginny shook her head and made a scoffing sound. “What do his lies have to do with me?”
Ron shook his head, too, slowly. The gesture made Ginny feel foolish for some reason. “All of his lies have to do with you, Ginny.” He walked off before she could delve further into that mysterious statement.
Malfoy’s absence continued to mess with Ginny’s head as the afternoon rolled on. The family moved into the kitchen for the birthday celebrations, and everyone smiled and laughed as two-year-old Dominique tried to eat her cake with a fork like a big girl, but only succeeded in demolishing it, cake and icing flinging all over the table. That resonated with Ginny. She felt like she was always making a mess, disappointing someone, somehow. Whether it was missing family events, the excess drinking, or her ongoing feud with Malfoy, no matter what she did and for which reasons, she was always letting someone down or making things worse.
While Bill, Fleur, and Victoire helped Dominique unwrap her presents, Ginny hovered by the backdoor and wondered if anyone would notice if she snuck out. She was itching for a drink to wash away the feelings of inadequacy that had surfaced at the Gobstone-triggered memories, but she didn’t want to indulge here because Ron would stare at her in disapproval, blowing it all out of proportion.
Just as she reached for the doorknob, Hermione came to stand beside her.
“Oh, look,” she said, nodding toward the center of the kitchen where Dominique was grappling with some ripped wrapping paper. “Draco bought her the Quidditch balls to go with the broom you got her.”
Too concerned with her desire to leave, Ginny hadn’t paid any attention to any of the gifts so far, but she paid attention now. Victoire had taken over the unwrapping for her preoccupied little sister, revealing a child-sized wooden chest, just like the one the Holyhead Harpies used to store their Quidditch balls in between practices. It was even painted green with gold accents—the Harpies’ colors. Or maybe it was Slytherin green…. Ginny wasn’t sure.
“It matches my gift exactly,” she said, her throat suddenly dry.
“I might have given him a suggestion,” Hermione said with a shrug.
“Why?”
“He didn’t know what to buy a toddler, so—”
Ginny cut her off. “No. I mean why are you friends with him? After everything he’s done, why do you tolerate him?”
Hermione turned, giving Ginny her full attention as the party continued on around them. “I feel a little sorry for him, don’t you?”
“Why should I feel sorry for him? He was horrible at school, to Harry, to Ron, to you. Then during the war, he did awful things!”
“Did he?”
Ginny unclenched her fists, brought up short by Hermione challenging what was a common, documented truth. “What do you mean?”
“I feel sorry for him because he’s kind of useless. Don’t you think so? He didn’t do anything right during the war. He didn’t kill Dumbledore. He didn’t identify Harry when we were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor, even though he clearly recognized me. He couldn’t capture Harry at the Battle of Hogwarts. He would have died if it wasn’t for Harry. He was a boy who had no talent or skills and could accomplish nothing on his own.”
When she put it that way, Malfoy didn’t sound at all like the demon Ginny recognized him to be. But who had the wrong impression of him? Ginny or Hermione?
Hermione continued on, capitalizing on Ginny’s silence. “You know how Harry is. He only sees the world in black and white, good people and Death Eaters. Snape was awful to all of us, to Harry most of all, but because he sacrificed himself, because he loved Harry’s mother in his twisted way, he’s forgiven in Harry’s eyes. I wouldn’t be surprised if Harry names one of his future children after him.”
A sound that mixed shocked laughter with disgust fell out of Ginny’s mouth. “Luna would never let him.”
Hermione shrugged again. “So is it really so shocking that Harry and Ron would forgive Draco and befriend him after he saved their lives from a Death Eater?”
Ginny was suddenly emerged in ice, her whole body stiffening, her breath lodged deep and immovable in her throat. “He what?”
A small smile stretched Hermione’s lips. “That mission they went on last year. Harry and Ron got themselves cornered by Lestrange. Wandless, literally backed up against a wall while Lestrange performed an Unforgivable on them. Draco could have saved himself. Everything we knew about him from school suggested he was cowardly enough to leave them behind.”
“But he didn’t,” Ginny said. Her fingertips and toes stung with numbness. She was lightheaded imagining the situation Harry and Ron had found themselves in. She remembered that mission. What she remembered most about it was how angry she’d been when she’d learned afterward that the Head of the Auror Division hadn’t sent Harry and Ron to France with backup. They’d come back successful, excited, and a little smug. She hadn’t known how close they’d come to failing the mission—or losing their lives.
“No. And he didn’t take credit, either. They covered it up to save Harry and Ron’s careers, because Lord knows Robards would have taken them out of the field if he’d known Draco Malfoy was responsible for saving two of his Aurors’ lives.”
“They never said. None of them. Malfoy always gloats about saving me… why didn’t he gloat about this?”
Ginny was trembling now. This was just too much information, too much all at once. In her head, memories were shifting, conversations gaining new context she hadn’t had before. The last year was starting to make more sense and less all at once.
“Harry and Ron promised him they wouldn’t say anything, but I made no such promise. And of course Ron told me everything.” An uncharacteristic smirk graced Hermione’s face, and Ginny realized with sudden clarity that she must have acquired the expression from repeated exposure to Malfoy.
Hermione’s voice gentled, as if she knew Ginny was reeling and didn’t want to break her brain further. “Once upon a time, two boys walked into a loo to save an obnoxious girl from a troll. They walked out of the loo the best of friends. Is it so hard to believe that Harry and Ron could go to France with Draco Malfoy and come back wanting him to be their friend, too?”
No. It wasn’t hard to believe at all. She knew Harry. She knew exactly what he was like. They never publicly acknowledged the good deed Malfoy had done, so Harry would have done anything necessary to make sure Malfoy got the recognition he deserved. If that meant becoming Malfoy’s friend, so be it.
If both Harry and Ron, two of Malfoy’s worst enemies, could forgive him to the point of desiring his friendship, it was no wonder the rest of Ginny’s family learned to accept him as well. Ginny had been the only one who couldn’t see past her own anger.
She was starting to realize she had been angry for a very long time.
Author notes:
I think just one more chapter to go! We'll see though. :)
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