7

The redhead knelt on the floor, picking up scattered books and placing them into her arms.

A muscled boy with a vicious face stood over her. Another dreaded 'I.S.' badge gleamed on his chest. "Your books are in my way, Weasley."

Behind the vicious boy, the blond boy sat at one of the library's many tables. He peered over the top of his open book, watching.

"You knocked my books into your way," the redhead snapped.

"Are you talking back?" The vicious boy smiled. "Detention. With me."

Next to the redhead, a girl gasped. The vicious boy stalked out of the room, quite pleased with himself.

The redhead looked for the blond boy, but his face was already hidden back behind his book. With a sigh, she plunked her stack of books back down on the table.

"Not Crabbe!" the girl next to her said. "His detentions are the worst!"

"I guess it's been awhile since I had a bad one." The redhead couldn't help glancing one last time at the blond boy, still hidden behind his book. "I'll manage."

•           •           •

Ginny and Draco walked a ways down the road from the Burrow before he broke the comfortable silence. "So, where was it you wanted me to take you?"

Her nose scrunched. "Home? I don't know where it is. I vaguely remember a little flat."

Draco smiled. "You got that when they half-disowned you. It was sold ages ago."

Ginny flushed, glad the darkness hid it. "Oh."

"So I'm assuming you don't want me to take you back to your old room at the Burrow…"

She shook her head. "They'd never let me live that down. Where was I this morning? Can I go back there?"

A smile twitched at his lips. "Of course. But I do feel like I'm taking advantage of your faulty memory."

"Why's that?"

He turned his full gaze on her. "You just invited yourself over to my house."

"Oh! I didn't mean—"

"And while that would make me more than happy," he cut her off, "I'm not sure you know who I am."

She looked down at her feet. "George told me we were engaged, before."

His mouth twisted unpleasantly. "That's not what I meant. Never mind, I'll get you a hotel."

•           •           •

The vicious boy sneered at the redhead over a long line of wicked looking utensils. "Pick," he said. "Pick one that'll make the lesson stick and maybe I won't have to use all of them."

Defiance flashed in her eyes. "You're a coward. Face me with a wand and we'll see whose lesson sticks."

The vicious boy's sneer never wavered. "You want me to pick, then? I'd enjoy that."

The door opened. The blond boy entered, looking bored. "Weasley's needed elsewhere."

The vicious boy grunted. "How long till she's back?"

"Won't be," said the blond boy. "She'll serve her detention there."

Another grunt issued from the vicious boy, but he said nothing further. The redhead walked past him, looking dazed as she exited with the blond boy.

She walked next to him down the hallway, watching his face, waiting for him to speak.

He said nothing, not daring to look at her. Just as the redhead looked away, he spoke. "You never finished telling me about Sirius. I'm fairly sure everything my mother and aunt ever said about him was a lie."

•           •           •

Ginny sat on the luxurious hotel bed, knees clutched to her chest. Draco had paid for a room in the nicest hotel in Wizarding Britain, wished her goodnight, and promptly left.

That was three hours ago.

Although she was dead tired (and still sore from being trampled), the last thing she wanted to do was sleep.

It was terrifying being thrust into a world where everyone else knew you better than you knew yourself. Sure, she remembered quite a bit, now, but there was little personal attachment with it. Like watching bits and pieces of a play that was convoluted to begin with. And even in the parts she did know, occasionally sound dropped out or faces blurred.

She felt ungrateful, but it would be really nice to just know who her friends were. At least all her family were red-haired and stuck out at Hogwarts.

Ginny felt so helpless, so weak and alone. And she hated it.

Suddenly, she remembered a special quality of Wizarding fireplaces—and saw that her top-of-the-line room was indeed equipped with one.

She stepped in, grabbed a bit of the powder, flung it down and said the name, dearly hoping her memory was right on this person being a friend.