Draco sat on a low stool in the dungeon, pouring preservative into a large jar of dragon’s liver. He’d felt restless this evening, and had come down to help Professor Snape with some menial tasks. He was glad to keep busy, as moments of idleness gave him time to think. He found he didn’t much like what he thought about these days.
“Finished there, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape asked, corking a small vial of blue liquid called Mesmrixa. It was actually a powerful hypnotic potion, giving the user complete control of his victim. The victim would do whatever was asked of them, even end their own lives, yet they would not appear dull or abnormal to others. It was one of Snape’s more unpleasant mixtures. Draco nodded in response to the query, capping the jar and heaving it over to the storeroom. There he and the professor began the task of cataloguing what had just been replenished and what would need to be replenished soon. Draco wrote carefully, taking the left side of the storeroom while Snape inventoried the right. There was much to do there, as always, and it never failed to impress Draco how Snape knew it all so perfectly. His potions were of the highest quality and fetched a fair amount of Galleons from the apothecaries he sold to. He could have made much more if he had taken his products to the open market, but he didn’t. He chose to remain a Hogwarts teacher and Draco had never understood that. Neither had his father, who didn’t approve of his close relationship with the Potions Master. Draco smiled to himself as he conceded that this was exactly why he’d maintained their friendship. Why had Snape chosen to remain at Hogwarts, though? Draco had never had the nerve to ask before, but tonight he felt particularly frustrated. As he measured a jar of snake eyes, he drew a deep breath.
“I noticed you and Miss Parkinson by the lake this afternoon, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape remarked before Draco could speak. “Did you enjoy the wind off of the water?”
Draco stopped writing and slowly turned towards the professor. Snape’s back was to him as he calmly continued to catalogue potion ingredients, and Draco cleared his throat.
“Well, I wanted to be outside today, since it had stopped snowing. Of course the Gryffindors were taking up half the grounds with their snowball fights, especially Potter and Weasley. If Pansy and I were to have any peace, we had to go down to the lake.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Potter and his faithful sidekick,” Snape said mockingly. “Where there is mischief to be done, there you’ll find the Terrible Twosome.”
Draco laughed and began writing again. “At least they can brew something effectively. I’ve never seen any two who were better at causing trouble and headaches. Three really, we can’t forget about Granger.”
“Yes, my most adept student,” Snape agreed, “so annoyingly unforgettable. I sometimes think she ingests her textbooks. And her knowledge of Hogwarts: A History is legendary, I hear.”
Draco snickered, grinning gleefully as he began to warm up to the topic. “I can just see her doing that. Starting with breakfast she’ll have Arithmancy, Transfiguration for lunch, then Advanced Charms for supper. If brains could give you attitude, she might have made a decent Slytherin!”
“Perish the thought, Mr. Malfoy. I’d hate to think of her bushy head bobbing around the Slytherin Common room, telling everyone what to do.” Snape chuckled.
“Well, it would be constructive, at least.” Draco’s lips pursed. “A lot better than the drivel that spews out of others' mouths.”
“Indeed,” Snape replied absently, leaning over a jar of dried billywigs.
Draco frowned as he remembered the conversation he’d had with Pansy that afternoon. “She thinks I don’t pay enough attention to her. I was wondering when she’d get the hint.”
“I see, the infamous attitude of men being careless and thoughtless. Careful, Mr. Malfoy, you’ll give us all a bad name.”
“I just don’t see myself with her, Professor,” Malfoy said suddenly. “I sometimes don’t see myself following the exact path my father’s chosen for me either.”
Snape turned carefully around to regard his student. Draco had stopped writing and had half turned himself, staring at the ground, the frown on his face betraying his whirling thoughts.
“You’re quick to judge your father’s plans. Are you so certain of what they might be?” Snape asked casually.
“I’m sure of some of them anyway,” Draco replied restlessly. “I look forward to some, but not others. I suppose it’s my laziness, not wanting to always be toiling for the greater good. When do I get to be selfish?”
“I’d say when you open your eyes in the morning, of course,” Snape quipped, causing Draco to laugh.
“Yes, you’re right. I have plenty to be thankful for. I’m rich, influential, and a pureblood. What more could I want?”
“A life, perhaps?” the professor suggested helpfully. Draco smiled slightly as he lifted a jar of scarab beetles, unaware that the professor was studying his every move and word.
“I have a life,” Draco answered.
“Yes, you do,” Snape agreed.
“In fact, I’ve been meaning to tell my father that I want to…” Draco began, but paused uncertainly.
“Let me guess,” Snape smirked, “you’re secretly in love with Ginny Weasley and the two of you intend to elope this summer.”
“Professor!” Draco whirled around in shock, sputtering and dropping his clipboard in the process.
Snape laughed. “Only joking, Mr. Malfoy. My sense of humor tends to get a bit twisted at these late hours.”
Draco smiled weakly, a line forming between his brows as he retrieved his clipboard. Where had that come from? He was wondering how the professor could have said such a thing, when the Potion Master’s voice cut into his thoughts again.
“Did you enjoy Hogsmeade? I thought I’d heard that you had gone on Saturday,” Snape asked. Draco scowled. “Really, Mr. Malfoy, you should have rested,” Snape rebuked quietly.
“Yes, I did go, and no, I didn’t much enjoy it since I hadn’t slept,” he replied. “Stone was in a bit of a snit as well, because I’d had the bad manners to recover quickly.”
“Mr. Stone displays admirable ambition, Mr. Malfoy. I’d have thought the two of you would unite on some point of scholastic collaboration or other.”
Draco smiled wryly at his clipboard. “We have frequently united on term papers and experiments, Professor, as you well know. And he’s helped a fair bit in the development of the skills of some of our younger members, not to mention in finding…er…volunteers for some of our more experimental charms.” Draco laughed as he remembered Stone gesturing to a bush a few weeks before, indicating Neville Longbottom’s presence. Draco had walked over to the bush with his wand extended, and cast a freezing charm he’d been developing. The spell worked similarly to the Body Bind, except it froze the victim in his or her action completely, instead of binding them and leaving them aware. It was more like petrification with a wand, and the victim’s last memory would be seeing the spell cast. Draco grinned as he recalled how Longbottom had frowned at him for the next week. Pity he’d become so used to being the Slytherin whipping boy, as now he no longer offered the extra entertainment of running away from them.
“So you do get along, then?” Snape asked.
“For the most part,” Draco agreed. “But there’s always competition.”
“Indeed yes,” the professor said lightly, “and where would we be without competition to keep our skills sharp?”
“True, but it gets a bit much at times. It’s just so damn constant,” Draco replied, finishing his list. “You know, there are times I feel more unsafe with my own house mates than I do on a Quidditch field. It’s sad.”
“Why is it sad?”
“Well,” Draco stared at the ground, groping for the right words to express what he was feeling, “I see the other houses and the other students and they all seem so happy together. They look like they know that they’re safe, and that their house mates would defend them in an instant if they were in danger. Hell, Gryffindor proves that time and again! But Slytherin only presents a united face to outsiders. On the inside, the scheming and backstabbing is par for the course. When we sit together and chat at tea or meal times, most of the conversations are opportunities to out do each other’s bragging. It’s pathetic sometimes, it really is.”
Snape was quiet for a moment, then spoke carefully. “There will come moments in your life, Mr. Malfoy, when you will experience doubts about the path you choose to walk in life. The thing to remember is that your choice, once made, will define your person for all time. Whether that leads to success or regret is entirely up to you.”
Draco stared at the Potion Master. His father had often spoken to Draco about choices in life, but not like this. Was Snape telling him something? Draco couldn’t decide, but he had no doubt that he’d been handed another kernel of wisdom from his mentor. Snape just usually chose to be cryptic about it.
“I’m finished with this. What else needs to be done, sir?” Draco said, handing Snape the clipboard.
“That’s all for tonight, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape replied. “You may go.”
Draco nodded and took his leave, heading up the stairs towards the Slytherin Common room. He had made it to the blank stone wall that was the door to the common room before deciding he was hungry. He turned away then and headed for the kitchens.
Like many other students, Draco had discovered the kitchens and the joys of after hours snaking thanks to the obeisant House Elves. Finding Dobby there had been a bit of a shock, and the former Malfoy servant had never once spoken to or served him, but it really didn’t bother Draco. It had irked his father to have to hire paid help, but life had continued pretty much the same for the Malfoy family even after Dobby’s departure. Nothing would ever stop them from living as they were accustomed to.
Draco reached the painting of the fruit bowl and tickled the pear, sweeping into the large kitchen grandly. The House Elves always treated him with the respect he was due, and it was fun reminding them of his station – and theirs.
Immediately upon his entering, several House elves ran over to him, smiling widely and bowing.
“Master Malfoy, is you hungry? We has some freshly baked puddings.” One called Dinky squeaked happily.
Draco looked around imperiously. “That will do, and a sandwich as well.”
The Elves bobbed as four more came running up behind them. Two of them carried a pudding on a plate; another carried a glass, while the fourth carried a small flask of pumpkin juice. Draco accepted them and looked around for a place to sit.
“Yous can sit with Miss Wheezy!” Dinky said shrilly. Draco blinked.
“Sit with what?” he asked.
“He said you can sit with Miss Weasley,” said a low voice from the fireplace. Draco’s head snapped towards the hearth, where Ginny sat looking coolly at him. He scowled.
“What are you doing here?” he snapped. She cocked her head and smiled in amusement.
“The same as you, apparently,” she replied. “I was studying for a test tomorrow and got hungry.”
The House Elves had already cleared a place for Draco next to Ginny, spreading a blanket on the stone floor and placing his sandwich next to her. It was on the tip of his tongue to order them to wrap everything to go, but he decided against it when Ginny smiled and said, “You afraid of me, Malfoy?”
“Afraid?” he laughed, “don’t be stupid.” He strode over to her and sat down, pouring the pumpkin juice and digging in to his sandwich. He looked over and saw that she was having the same, a corned beef sandwich and pudding. Dinky ran over to them.
“You need more food?” he asked eagerly.
“No, you may go,” Draco replied coldly, making Ginny glare.
“Thank you, Dinky,” she said pointedly, “but I’m fine. I don’t need anything else.”
Draco was irritated by the rush of sudden embarrassment he felt. Why should he be embarrassed? They were servants, and he treated them as such. Why did she have to make it seem like he was being an arse? As soon as Dinky ran back to his duties, he turned to her.
“Look, you and I have both had a pretty rough time recently. If it’s not too much to ask, could we possibly just eat in peace? I’m starving and really not in the mood for an argument.”
Ginny looked at him, surprised at this little demonstration of maturity. He was frowning intently at her, and she had to admit he did look tired. The tender bruises under his slightly red eyes lent him an aspect of vulnerability, much as the night when he’d been attacked. And he looked thinner: his cheeks appeared sharper in his pale face. Even his hair was slightly mussed, falling over his stormy gray eyes and sticking out in little tufts around his ears. She blinked as she realized he was cute.
“Well?” he demanded impatiently, causing her to start.
“All right, yes.” She frowned, turning away and stuffing her sandwich in her mouth to cover her embarrassment. Draco looked at her for a moment, then nodded and turned his attention to his own meal.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, Ginny glancing furtively at him. He ate quickly, obviously famished. She wondered what he’d been doing to work up such an appetite, and then wondered why she cared. He certainly seemed to take no more notice of her once their little agreement had been reached, which irritated her. A sudden desire to make him acknowledge her presence seized hold, and she followed it.
“The first Quidditch game of the season is next week,” she said casually, “Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. Are you ready for it?”
Draco looked up at her, frowning. “What do you mean ‘am I ready’? Of course I’m ready. I’ve been training harder than last year, so why wouldn’t I be ready?”
“Sorry,” she replied irritably, “I was just making conversation.”
“Supper’s for eating, Weasley. If I want conversation I’ll find my friends.”
“Crabbe and Goyle,” she laughed, “what brilliant discussions you must have! Do they involve words?”
“Sod off!” he snapped.
Ginny glared for a moment then turned away, gulping her pumpkin juice so forcibly she choked.
“Watch it!” Draco began pounding on her back roughly, causing Ginny to spew out half her juice. She grabbed a napkin and pressed it to her mouth with one hand, using the other to fend off his fist.
“I’m all right,” she gasped, “stop it, I’m fine!”
“Sorry.” He stopped hitting her, feeling awkward. “You sure you’re all right?”
Ginny nodded, one hand pressed against her chest as she waited for the burning in her throat to die down. He looked at her, wanting to ask again if she was all right, and feeling a flash of irritation for it. She wasn’t dying, for heaven’s sake!
After a moment, she lowered her napkin and rubbed her throat. It was then that they both noticed several of the House Elves ringed around them, looking anxiously at Ginny.
“Does Miss need a warm drink?” one of them asked. Ginny smiled and shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she croaked, sounding for all the world like a frog with laryngitis. Draco barely stifled a snort, and the House Elves continued to watch Ginny with concern. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“Really, I’m all right.” This time her voice was merely scratchy, and the House Elves breathed a collective sigh of relief. Probably think they’d be held responsible, Draco thought in amusement. He didn’t see how, though, considering the forgiving nature of the Headmaster. Now if they worked for the Malfoys, it would be a different matter entirely.
“You can go,” he said to them. Ginny nodded her agreement, and the elves dispersed.
Ginny continued to rub her throat, though every second it was feeling better. She turned to Draco and found him grinning at her.
“What?” she asked, frowning in surprise.
“You,” he replied, shaking his head. “For a moment you sounded like a toad.”
She glared at him. “If I did, it’s your fault Malfoy.”
“My fault, is it? How’s that? I didn’t go and make you slurp your drink like that. You should be more careful. Next time you might drown on a glass of milk.”
She closed her eyes. “Malfoy, do me a favor and shut up!”
He chuckled, feeling giddy and enjoying her embarrassment. Drown on a glass of milk! He cracked himself up sometimes. She was throwing him quite an evil look, but it only made him laugh harder. Her lip twitched, and for some reason that was funny too. He began to chortle and rock forward, holding his stomach.
“I’m fine,” he croaked in imitation of her, and Ginny had to bite her lips to keep from smiling.
“It’s not funny,” she said forcefully, her face contorting as the struggle not to join him became obvious. But at that moment, Draco rocked forward hard enough to almost bang his head upon the floor, and as he reared back he over balanced and cracked his skull into the fireplace.
“Ouch!” he cried, his hands flying to the back of his head. Ginny’s laughter burst out of her, the situation rendered all the more ridiculous because Draco was now curled up on the floor, holding his head and laughing like a maniac. He had a laugh like a crazed hyena, which amazed her, and tears started to run down her face.
“Stop it!” she gasped. “I have to pee now!”
Draco nodded vigorously, his face red and tear streaked as well. After several minutes they were able to stop, but the moment they looked at each other, they burst into giggles again.
Is this happening? Ginny wondered. It felt very unreal, lying on a stone floor laughing hysterically with Malfoy. It was several more minutes before she was able to reign herself in again, and as she sat up, she noticed Draco was flushed and glowing.
“Blimey, you look good with color in your face,” she murmured.
Draco stopped laughing and stared at her in surprise. “What?”
Ginny blinked, unable to believe she’d said that out loud. “Er…well you’re always so pale,” she explained awkwardly, “I was just saying, I mean thinking…you look all right,” she finished lamely.
Draco wasn’t at all certain how to take that. Had Weasley just complimented him? Or was this a clever insult? His expression was caught somewhere between confusion and irritation, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Ginny fidgeted for a moment, and then stood up abruptly.
“I have to get back,” she said, not looking at him. “Er…good night.”
She had almost reached the door when Draco’s voice stopped her. “Hey Weasley!”
She turned around to face him. He was still sitting on the floor, his robes askew and his hair sticking out in all directions. There was a strange look in his eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his face.
“Thanks for the laugh,” he said quietly.
Ginny’s heart gave a thump at that. “You’re welcome Draco. Good night.”
A moment later she was gone, leaving Draco to wonder what was happening to his life.
*****************
The weeks passed and autumn became winter. It was a cold Saturday morning in December when Ginny found herself headed for the Quidditch Pitch with the rest of the school. The match for the day was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, and Ginny was eager to get a good spot to watch Harry and Ron, who’d become a Chaser in his fifth year. Hermione gripped a jug of pumpkin juice and grinned at Ginny, and they walked faster towards the Pitch.
Once they arrived, they were able to snag top spots in the stands. The teams were still in their locker rooms, so Ginny took a glass of juice from Hermione and settled in to wait. The stands were filling fast, and students were jostling playfully and talking excitedly about the chances of Hufflepuff pulling a victory out of the hat. They had a new Beater named Enid Foster, a fourth year with a strong arm who could deliver powerful blows from her bat. Their Captain, Donald MacCabe, had put together a strong team, and their Seeker -- a girl by the name of Charlotte Graham – was quick as lightening and particularly adept at diving. But Gryffindor still had Harry; arguably the best Seeker the school had ever seen, who owned the best broom around, and Ron, a fierce Chaser who thought nothing of flying recklessly through any formation in front of the goal post to gain a score. Their Beaters, two fifth years named David Stiles and Andrew MacLeod, were spot on with their bats, often almost knocking opponents off their brooms. The other two Chasers, Natalie MacDonald and Robert Carroll, and the Keeper, Neville Longbottom, were all strong and capable players. Neville had surprised everyone when he’d finally built up his courage enough to try out for a position, but he’d turned out to be an excellent Keeper, strong and quick on his broom. The Quaffle rarely got by him.
“D’you think it’ll be a tough game?” Dennis Creevy, seated next to Ginny, asked anxiously. She grinned.
“Yes, but I think our chances are excellent. We’re undefeated so far.”
“If Slytherin could just manage to lose their match next Saturday, they’d be that much closer to elimination,” Hermione sniffed.
Not bloody likely, Ginny thought. Slytherin’s only defeat so far was to Gryffindor, which put them just behind in the competition for the Quidditch Cup. If Hufflepuff could win this game, they’d pull ahead of Ravenclaw. Ginny found herself hoping that wouldn’t happen, since Ravenclaw was her best friend’s House. Not to mention she was rooting for Gryffindor!
She looked around the stands, and directly across from their position, saw the Slytherins all grouped together. She squinted a bit and caught the silver blond head of Draco Malfoy standing with Crabbe and Goyle, as usual. He was looking around the field and talking with several people, but he was too far away for her to see his expression clearly. Her heart gave a thump as she stared at him and she felt confusion flood her mind. She hadn’t forgotten that night in the kitchen. She had, in fact, thought about it a great deal. Since that time she’d been unable to see him in the halls without blushing. She was no longer certain about who he was, or how she felt about him, and that made her angry and miserable. She felt her face grow warm as she recalled the times their eyes had met whilst they passed each other in the corridors. She would see him, and his eyes would lock with hers. Something tremendous and almost palpable would pass between them in those scant moments, and she never failed to experience a draining heat wash over her. Only a few seconds, yet it felt timeless and unreal as her heart would begin to pound. But they never spoke or had any other communication except that. Something like frustration shivered through her, and she had to tear her eyes away from him in order to force it from her mind.
“Professor Lupin!” Hermione gasped, causing Ginny to start. Hermione was looking towards the stairs as Lupin and a woman Ginny didn’t know entered their row. He smiled widely at Hermione and Ginny, walking towards them and taking a spot on Hermione’s other side. Hermione shook hands with him and the lady, and then turned to Ginny.
“This is Ron’s sister, Virginia Weasley. Ginny, you know Professor Lupin, and this is his friend, Elizabeth Morgan.”
“Call me Ginny,” she smiled, shaking hands with both. The woman was very pretty, but there was something about her that pricked Ginny. She had strange hazel eyes, short dark hair, and was dressed in violet robes. She and the professor were holding hands, which was nice. But Ginny felt slightly uneasy in her presence.
All around Lupin the students who remembered him were greeting him enthusiastically, asking where he taught at the present and if he’d consider returning to Hogwarts. Remus laughed and thanked everyone, but assured them that he was very busy and was unlikely to return to the school. Disappointment greeted his words, but everyone was glad to see him.
“What brings you here Professor?” Ginny asked. He turned back to her and smiled.
“I was in Hogsmeade picking up supplies and I thought I’d visit. It’s always wonderful to see the place and the staff, especially the headmaster. And since I haven’t seen a good Quidditch match in a while,” he grinned here, “I asked if perhaps I could see how the teams have changed since I’ve been here.”
Hermione laughed. “Very clever Professor. I’m sure we could all benefit from your critique on the match as well.”
Elizabeth laughed too. “I always tell him he’s too clever for his own good!”
Ginny smiled but said nothing, turning her attention to the Pitch. The players were emerging, and Caleb Anderson, a Slytherin sixth year and the new commentator, began to announce them.
“The Hufflepuffs take the Pitch, all decked out in their canary yellow too. Fashionable color, yellow, you can see it for miles! Aahh, and here comes Gryffindor in their own ketchup colored robes. This should be an interesting game indeed! Er…is anyone suddenly in the mood for a hamburger, or is it just me?”
“Professor Snape,” McGonagall glared, “perhaps you could encourage your student to concentrate on the game?”
The Potions Master smirked. “Now, Mr. Anderson, please refrain from using too many accurate descriptions. No one will be able to watch the game from laughing.”
“Apologies, Professor. Back to the game—and the Quaffle is up, caught by Weasley, whose hair clashes with his robes. Sorry Professor, just an observation. He’s trundling along—nice pass to MacDonald. Knows when he’s licked, of course. MacDonald is streaking over to the Hufflepuff goal--Oo--Almost knocked off her broom by a Bludger from Foster. She’s dropped the Quaffle, and it’s picked up by MacCabe, who I hear wears frilly pants under his school robes-“
“Anderson, you will keep such drivel out of your commentary!” McGonagall growled.
“Sorry Professor McGonagall. And MacCabe is headed off midway by Carroll, who snatches the Quaffle quite nastily away. Makes you wonder at their constant accusations of cheating to Slytherin—yes Professor, I was just saying—Carroll ducks a Bludger and is thrown into contact with Barnes. Nice shoving match! Oo, and Barnes is kicking. Any wagers as to who gets knocked off their broom?”
“Mr. Anderson,” Snape smirked nastily, “betting is not allowed.”
“Indeed not, Professor Snape. And Carroll whips around Barnes as Alnor knocks a Bludger towards—but he’s past them! Keeper Lara Bussey charges out to stop—GRYFFINDOR SCORES!”
Ginny cheered loudly and enthusiastically, almost dancing with glee. Ron spun a loop with joy, then raced back into the fray. The Quaffle was now held by James Caldwell, a Chaser for Hufflepuff, who was flying like mad towards the Gryffindor goal. He was stopped short when MacLeod swung his bat and sent a Bludger straight for him.
“FIRST BLOOD!” screamed Caleb Anderson. “Caldwell gets a Bludger to the face! Very picturesque, I might add. Sorry Professor. An unbiased observance, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
Ginny gasped with everyone else as Caldwell floated jerkily to the ground. A time out was called, and Ginny looked up to see where Harry was. She spotted him flying high above the Pitch and she knew he was searching for a glimmer of gold. After a few moments, the game resumed, Caldwell having refused to stop playing, cleaning up as best he could. The Quaffle was thrown and once again caught by Ron, who flew towards the goal post. He was forced to pull up as a Bludger from Foster flew towards him, and as he dodged the Quaffle was snatched out of his arms by MacCabe, who once again began to zip towards the Gryffindor goal. Stiles bashed viciously on a Bludger, aiming for MacCabe’s broom, but the Hufflepuff Captain expertly dodged. He managed to sweep past MacDonald, but almost smacked into Carroll and the two tussled furiously before MacCabe managed a mid-air roll away from the Gryffindor Chaser. Ron was still flying towards him, but he had a clear shot and launched the Quaffle.
BAMPF! The sound of leather colliding with cloth met MacCabe’s ears as Neville suddenly appeared and blocked the shot perfectly, launching the Quaffle at Ron as soon as he was close enough. MacCabe and Caldwell sped after him.
The game grew furious. Down in the stands, Ginny was clutching at Hermione’s robes and cheering herself hoarse. Ron passed to MacDonald, who shot upwards and managed to avoid both Bludgers aimed at her. When Barnes streaked for her, she passed the Quaffle smoothly to Carroll, who shot it to Ron in front of the goal. Once again Gryffindor scored. They were up twenty to zero, and the cheers from the Gryffindors in the stands were deafening. Another time out was called, and Ginny took a moment to grab her juice and gulp it excitedly, her throat raw from screaming. It was then that she noticed Professor Lupin’s companion, the woman named Elizabeth, was gone. Professor Lupin was talking excitedly to several students and Ginny had a clear view of the lower stands from where she was. But the woman had vanished.
“Professor, your friend might want to return quickly, before the time out is over,” Ginny said, looking at the Pitch.
“What’s that?” The Professor blinked at Ginny, and then looked around. “I’m sure she’ll be along in a moment. Probably had to take care of some personal business, if you know what I mean.”
Ginny nodded, wondering why he wasn’t concerned. Probably? Hadn’t she told him? They’d seemed rather close when they’d appeared, so she had a hard time believing that Elizabeth had ran off without even saying where she was going. The feeling of uneasiness returned, and Ginny began to wonder what secrets the woman might be keeping from Lupin. But perhaps she was overreacting. She knew absolutely nothing about the woman; perhaps this was the way she always behaved. . Ginny tried to shrug off the negative feelings by allowing her eyes to sweep the stands for Draco again. She found him quickly, and felt her stomach clench when she saw Pansy Parkinson standing with him, her arm looped comfortably through his. He didn’t seem to mind, and Pansy, as usual, appeared to be talking since she was gesturing a lot with her other hand. What in the name of sanity did he see in her? Even from this distance, Pansy’s every gesture and move spoke of her shallowness. Her stance was affected and obvious, and Ginny could almost hear her annoying voice bulleting out mindless drivel, from make-up to this or that person’s appearance. Draco Malfoy might be shallow and rude himself, but surely he didn’t like hearing it from someone else, did he? The crowed roared suddenly, indicating that the match was resuming. It was then that Ginny caught a flash of violet to Draco’s left.
She snapped her gaze back towards the stands; straining her eyes at the spot she’d seen it. But it was too far away, and all she could see were the black robes of the students. She continued to sweep her gaze over and over the spot, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Another roar of applause told her another goal had been scored, so she reluctantly tore her eyes away and tried to concentrate on the game. Hufflepuff had scored a goal, and it was now ten to twenty. Harry was flying low over the players, almost in their midst. Charlotte Graham was doing the same and seemed to be marking Harry’s every move. It made sense, since her broom wouldn’t match the speed of Harry’s Firebolt.
“And the Gryffs are still ten points up,” Anderson prattled. “But perhaps the Badgers might be able to change things, if they can get focused! Don’t know when I’ve seen Beaters miss so much, though perhaps Foster and Alnor can look forward to a successful career with the Chudley Cannons. Joking, Professor, only joking. Weasley has the Quaffle, amazingly enough, and the Hufflepuffs pursue him lovingly—AH!—MacDonald collides with Barnes, preventing him from getting to Weasley—MacCabe flying like a madman towards the goal and—successful block by Bussey, and the Hufflepuffs take possession. Hang on, Potter is diving!”
Ginny watched as Harry suddenly swept into a spectacular dive, arm outstretched. Graham was right behind him, fighting to catch up and stretching her arm out as well. Everyone stopped and held their breath as the seekers fought to lay hands on the Snitch. Ginny couldn’t see it, until it suddenly streaked vertically, avoiding the ground and the Seekers’ grasping hands. Harry was after it in a flash; Graham struggled to match speed with him as the crowd roared louder than ever. Ginny lost the Snitch after a second, but she saw Harry begin a sharp horizontal rise. Graham was still a little behind him, but was catching up. A Bludger suddenly flew towards Harry, and he was forced to slow and pull his hand back, giving Graham the chance to pass him. Ginny could almost hear Harry swearing viciously in her mind, and she watched him race towards the Snitch with redoubled speed. He and Graham were neck and neck, reaching and diving and stretching their arms—
Harry’s longer reach allowed him to pull ahead of Charlotte and his hand snapped closed. He suddenly slowed and rocked back on his broom, holding his hand high above his head. He’d caught the Snitch!
“Potter pulls it off,” Anderson yelled sourly as the stands exploded with cheers. “Gryffindor wins 170 to 10. Now who’s just as stunned as I am?”
Ginny was jumping up and down with Hermione and the other Gryffindors. They’d done it, they’d won! She was sure a party would be thrown. Hermione was glowing with pride, and even Professor Lupin was grinning from ear to ear.
“Has the game changed much professor?” Ginny asked breathlessly. He laughed.
“Not at all Miss Weasley, it’s everything I remember and more!”
Ginny spun around happily, feeling silly but not really caring. Victory was in the air, and she loved it. She looked across the Pitch once more, hoping to see Malfoy and maybe catch his eye and rub it in. But the Slytherins were already emptying out of the stands, and she was just in time to see Draco’s silver blond head disappear through one of the exits.
Followed by a figure in violet robes.
“Finished there, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape asked, corking a small vial of blue liquid called Mesmrixa. It was actually a powerful hypnotic potion, giving the user complete control of his victim. The victim would do whatever was asked of them, even end their own lives, yet they would not appear dull or abnormal to others. It was one of Snape’s more unpleasant mixtures. Draco nodded in response to the query, capping the jar and heaving it over to the storeroom. There he and the professor began the task of cataloguing what had just been replenished and what would need to be replenished soon. Draco wrote carefully, taking the left side of the storeroom while Snape inventoried the right. There was much to do there, as always, and it never failed to impress Draco how Snape knew it all so perfectly. His potions were of the highest quality and fetched a fair amount of Galleons from the apothecaries he sold to. He could have made much more if he had taken his products to the open market, but he didn’t. He chose to remain a Hogwarts teacher and Draco had never understood that. Neither had his father, who didn’t approve of his close relationship with the Potions Master. Draco smiled to himself as he conceded that this was exactly why he’d maintained their friendship. Why had Snape chosen to remain at Hogwarts, though? Draco had never had the nerve to ask before, but tonight he felt particularly frustrated. As he measured a jar of snake eyes, he drew a deep breath.
“I noticed you and Miss Parkinson by the lake this afternoon, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape remarked before Draco could speak. “Did you enjoy the wind off of the water?”
Draco stopped writing and slowly turned towards the professor. Snape’s back was to him as he calmly continued to catalogue potion ingredients, and Draco cleared his throat.
“Well, I wanted to be outside today, since it had stopped snowing. Of course the Gryffindors were taking up half the grounds with their snowball fights, especially Potter and Weasley. If Pansy and I were to have any peace, we had to go down to the lake.”
“Ah yes, Mr. Potter and his faithful sidekick,” Snape said mockingly. “Where there is mischief to be done, there you’ll find the Terrible Twosome.”
Draco laughed and began writing again. “At least they can brew something effectively. I’ve never seen any two who were better at causing trouble and headaches. Three really, we can’t forget about Granger.”
“Yes, my most adept student,” Snape agreed, “so annoyingly unforgettable. I sometimes think she ingests her textbooks. And her knowledge of Hogwarts: A History is legendary, I hear.”
Draco snickered, grinning gleefully as he began to warm up to the topic. “I can just see her doing that. Starting with breakfast she’ll have Arithmancy, Transfiguration for lunch, then Advanced Charms for supper. If brains could give you attitude, she might have made a decent Slytherin!”
“Perish the thought, Mr. Malfoy. I’d hate to think of her bushy head bobbing around the Slytherin Common room, telling everyone what to do.” Snape chuckled.
“Well, it would be constructive, at least.” Draco’s lips pursed. “A lot better than the drivel that spews out of others' mouths.”
“Indeed,” Snape replied absently, leaning over a jar of dried billywigs.
Draco frowned as he remembered the conversation he’d had with Pansy that afternoon. “She thinks I don’t pay enough attention to her. I was wondering when she’d get the hint.”
“I see, the infamous attitude of men being careless and thoughtless. Careful, Mr. Malfoy, you’ll give us all a bad name.”
“I just don’t see myself with her, Professor,” Malfoy said suddenly. “I sometimes don’t see myself following the exact path my father’s chosen for me either.”
Snape turned carefully around to regard his student. Draco had stopped writing and had half turned himself, staring at the ground, the frown on his face betraying his whirling thoughts.
“You’re quick to judge your father’s plans. Are you so certain of what they might be?” Snape asked casually.
“I’m sure of some of them anyway,” Draco replied restlessly. “I look forward to some, but not others. I suppose it’s my laziness, not wanting to always be toiling for the greater good. When do I get to be selfish?”
“I’d say when you open your eyes in the morning, of course,” Snape quipped, causing Draco to laugh.
“Yes, you’re right. I have plenty to be thankful for. I’m rich, influential, and a pureblood. What more could I want?”
“A life, perhaps?” the professor suggested helpfully. Draco smiled slightly as he lifted a jar of scarab beetles, unaware that the professor was studying his every move and word.
“I have a life,” Draco answered.
“Yes, you do,” Snape agreed.
“In fact, I’ve been meaning to tell my father that I want to…” Draco began, but paused uncertainly.
“Let me guess,” Snape smirked, “you’re secretly in love with Ginny Weasley and the two of you intend to elope this summer.”
“Professor!” Draco whirled around in shock, sputtering and dropping his clipboard in the process.
Snape laughed. “Only joking, Mr. Malfoy. My sense of humor tends to get a bit twisted at these late hours.”
Draco smiled weakly, a line forming between his brows as he retrieved his clipboard. Where had that come from? He was wondering how the professor could have said such a thing, when the Potion Master’s voice cut into his thoughts again.
“Did you enjoy Hogsmeade? I thought I’d heard that you had gone on Saturday,” Snape asked. Draco scowled. “Really, Mr. Malfoy, you should have rested,” Snape rebuked quietly.
“Yes, I did go, and no, I didn’t much enjoy it since I hadn’t slept,” he replied. “Stone was in a bit of a snit as well, because I’d had the bad manners to recover quickly.”
“Mr. Stone displays admirable ambition, Mr. Malfoy. I’d have thought the two of you would unite on some point of scholastic collaboration or other.”
Draco smiled wryly at his clipboard. “We have frequently united on term papers and experiments, Professor, as you well know. And he’s helped a fair bit in the development of the skills of some of our younger members, not to mention in finding…er…volunteers for some of our more experimental charms.” Draco laughed as he remembered Stone gesturing to a bush a few weeks before, indicating Neville Longbottom’s presence. Draco had walked over to the bush with his wand extended, and cast a freezing charm he’d been developing. The spell worked similarly to the Body Bind, except it froze the victim in his or her action completely, instead of binding them and leaving them aware. It was more like petrification with a wand, and the victim’s last memory would be seeing the spell cast. Draco grinned as he recalled how Longbottom had frowned at him for the next week. Pity he’d become so used to being the Slytherin whipping boy, as now he no longer offered the extra entertainment of running away from them.
“So you do get along, then?” Snape asked.
“For the most part,” Draco agreed. “But there’s always competition.”
“Indeed yes,” the professor said lightly, “and where would we be without competition to keep our skills sharp?”
“True, but it gets a bit much at times. It’s just so damn constant,” Draco replied, finishing his list. “You know, there are times I feel more unsafe with my own house mates than I do on a Quidditch field. It’s sad.”
“Why is it sad?”
“Well,” Draco stared at the ground, groping for the right words to express what he was feeling, “I see the other houses and the other students and they all seem so happy together. They look like they know that they’re safe, and that their house mates would defend them in an instant if they were in danger. Hell, Gryffindor proves that time and again! But Slytherin only presents a united face to outsiders. On the inside, the scheming and backstabbing is par for the course. When we sit together and chat at tea or meal times, most of the conversations are opportunities to out do each other’s bragging. It’s pathetic sometimes, it really is.”
Snape was quiet for a moment, then spoke carefully. “There will come moments in your life, Mr. Malfoy, when you will experience doubts about the path you choose to walk in life. The thing to remember is that your choice, once made, will define your person for all time. Whether that leads to success or regret is entirely up to you.”
Draco stared at the Potion Master. His father had often spoken to Draco about choices in life, but not like this. Was Snape telling him something? Draco couldn’t decide, but he had no doubt that he’d been handed another kernel of wisdom from his mentor. Snape just usually chose to be cryptic about it.
“I’m finished with this. What else needs to be done, sir?” Draco said, handing Snape the clipboard.
“That’s all for tonight, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape replied. “You may go.”
Draco nodded and took his leave, heading up the stairs towards the Slytherin Common room. He had made it to the blank stone wall that was the door to the common room before deciding he was hungry. He turned away then and headed for the kitchens.
Like many other students, Draco had discovered the kitchens and the joys of after hours snaking thanks to the obeisant House Elves. Finding Dobby there had been a bit of a shock, and the former Malfoy servant had never once spoken to or served him, but it really didn’t bother Draco. It had irked his father to have to hire paid help, but life had continued pretty much the same for the Malfoy family even after Dobby’s departure. Nothing would ever stop them from living as they were accustomed to.
Draco reached the painting of the fruit bowl and tickled the pear, sweeping into the large kitchen grandly. The House Elves always treated him with the respect he was due, and it was fun reminding them of his station – and theirs.
Immediately upon his entering, several House elves ran over to him, smiling widely and bowing.
“Master Malfoy, is you hungry? We has some freshly baked puddings.” One called Dinky squeaked happily.
Draco looked around imperiously. “That will do, and a sandwich as well.”
The Elves bobbed as four more came running up behind them. Two of them carried a pudding on a plate; another carried a glass, while the fourth carried a small flask of pumpkin juice. Draco accepted them and looked around for a place to sit.
“Yous can sit with Miss Wheezy!” Dinky said shrilly. Draco blinked.
“Sit with what?” he asked.
“He said you can sit with Miss Weasley,” said a low voice from the fireplace. Draco’s head snapped towards the hearth, where Ginny sat looking coolly at him. He scowled.
“What are you doing here?” he snapped. She cocked her head and smiled in amusement.
“The same as you, apparently,” she replied. “I was studying for a test tomorrow and got hungry.”
The House Elves had already cleared a place for Draco next to Ginny, spreading a blanket on the stone floor and placing his sandwich next to her. It was on the tip of his tongue to order them to wrap everything to go, but he decided against it when Ginny smiled and said, “You afraid of me, Malfoy?”
“Afraid?” he laughed, “don’t be stupid.” He strode over to her and sat down, pouring the pumpkin juice and digging in to his sandwich. He looked over and saw that she was having the same, a corned beef sandwich and pudding. Dinky ran over to them.
“You need more food?” he asked eagerly.
“No, you may go,” Draco replied coldly, making Ginny glare.
“Thank you, Dinky,” she said pointedly, “but I’m fine. I don’t need anything else.”
Draco was irritated by the rush of sudden embarrassment he felt. Why should he be embarrassed? They were servants, and he treated them as such. Why did she have to make it seem like he was being an arse? As soon as Dinky ran back to his duties, he turned to her.
“Look, you and I have both had a pretty rough time recently. If it’s not too much to ask, could we possibly just eat in peace? I’m starving and really not in the mood for an argument.”
Ginny looked at him, surprised at this little demonstration of maturity. He was frowning intently at her, and she had to admit he did look tired. The tender bruises under his slightly red eyes lent him an aspect of vulnerability, much as the night when he’d been attacked. And he looked thinner: his cheeks appeared sharper in his pale face. Even his hair was slightly mussed, falling over his stormy gray eyes and sticking out in little tufts around his ears. She blinked as she realized he was cute.
“Well?” he demanded impatiently, causing her to start.
“All right, yes.” She frowned, turning away and stuffing her sandwich in her mouth to cover her embarrassment. Draco looked at her for a moment, then nodded and turned his attention to his own meal.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, Ginny glancing furtively at him. He ate quickly, obviously famished. She wondered what he’d been doing to work up such an appetite, and then wondered why she cared. He certainly seemed to take no more notice of her once their little agreement had been reached, which irritated her. A sudden desire to make him acknowledge her presence seized hold, and she followed it.
“The first Quidditch game of the season is next week,” she said casually, “Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. Are you ready for it?”
Draco looked up at her, frowning. “What do you mean ‘am I ready’? Of course I’m ready. I’ve been training harder than last year, so why wouldn’t I be ready?”
“Sorry,” she replied irritably, “I was just making conversation.”
“Supper’s for eating, Weasley. If I want conversation I’ll find my friends.”
“Crabbe and Goyle,” she laughed, “what brilliant discussions you must have! Do they involve words?”
“Sod off!” he snapped.
Ginny glared for a moment then turned away, gulping her pumpkin juice so forcibly she choked.
“Watch it!” Draco began pounding on her back roughly, causing Ginny to spew out half her juice. She grabbed a napkin and pressed it to her mouth with one hand, using the other to fend off his fist.
“I’m all right,” she gasped, “stop it, I’m fine!”
“Sorry.” He stopped hitting her, feeling awkward. “You sure you’re all right?”
Ginny nodded, one hand pressed against her chest as she waited for the burning in her throat to die down. He looked at her, wanting to ask again if she was all right, and feeling a flash of irritation for it. She wasn’t dying, for heaven’s sake!
After a moment, she lowered her napkin and rubbed her throat. It was then that they both noticed several of the House Elves ringed around them, looking anxiously at Ginny.
“Does Miss need a warm drink?” one of them asked. Ginny smiled and shook her head.
“I’m fine,” she croaked, sounding for all the world like a frog with laryngitis. Draco barely stifled a snort, and the House Elves continued to watch Ginny with concern. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“Really, I’m all right.” This time her voice was merely scratchy, and the House Elves breathed a collective sigh of relief. Probably think they’d be held responsible, Draco thought in amusement. He didn’t see how, though, considering the forgiving nature of the Headmaster. Now if they worked for the Malfoys, it would be a different matter entirely.
“You can go,” he said to them. Ginny nodded her agreement, and the elves dispersed.
Ginny continued to rub her throat, though every second it was feeling better. She turned to Draco and found him grinning at her.
“What?” she asked, frowning in surprise.
“You,” he replied, shaking his head. “For a moment you sounded like a toad.”
She glared at him. “If I did, it’s your fault Malfoy.”
“My fault, is it? How’s that? I didn’t go and make you slurp your drink like that. You should be more careful. Next time you might drown on a glass of milk.”
She closed her eyes. “Malfoy, do me a favor and shut up!”
He chuckled, feeling giddy and enjoying her embarrassment. Drown on a glass of milk! He cracked himself up sometimes. She was throwing him quite an evil look, but it only made him laugh harder. Her lip twitched, and for some reason that was funny too. He began to chortle and rock forward, holding his stomach.
“I’m fine,” he croaked in imitation of her, and Ginny had to bite her lips to keep from smiling.
“It’s not funny,” she said forcefully, her face contorting as the struggle not to join him became obvious. But at that moment, Draco rocked forward hard enough to almost bang his head upon the floor, and as he reared back he over balanced and cracked his skull into the fireplace.
“Ouch!” he cried, his hands flying to the back of his head. Ginny’s laughter burst out of her, the situation rendered all the more ridiculous because Draco was now curled up on the floor, holding his head and laughing like a maniac. He had a laugh like a crazed hyena, which amazed her, and tears started to run down her face.
“Stop it!” she gasped. “I have to pee now!”
Draco nodded vigorously, his face red and tear streaked as well. After several minutes they were able to stop, but the moment they looked at each other, they burst into giggles again.
Is this happening? Ginny wondered. It felt very unreal, lying on a stone floor laughing hysterically with Malfoy. It was several more minutes before she was able to reign herself in again, and as she sat up, she noticed Draco was flushed and glowing.
“Blimey, you look good with color in your face,” she murmured.
Draco stopped laughing and stared at her in surprise. “What?”
Ginny blinked, unable to believe she’d said that out loud. “Er…well you’re always so pale,” she explained awkwardly, “I was just saying, I mean thinking…you look all right,” she finished lamely.
Draco wasn’t at all certain how to take that. Had Weasley just complimented him? Or was this a clever insult? His expression was caught somewhere between confusion and irritation, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Ginny fidgeted for a moment, and then stood up abruptly.
“I have to get back,” she said, not looking at him. “Er…good night.”
She had almost reached the door when Draco’s voice stopped her. “Hey Weasley!”
She turned around to face him. He was still sitting on the floor, his robes askew and his hair sticking out in all directions. There was a strange look in his eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his face.
“Thanks for the laugh,” he said quietly.
Ginny’s heart gave a thump at that. “You’re welcome Draco. Good night.”
A moment later she was gone, leaving Draco to wonder what was happening to his life.
*****************
The weeks passed and autumn became winter. It was a cold Saturday morning in December when Ginny found herself headed for the Quidditch Pitch with the rest of the school. The match for the day was Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, and Ginny was eager to get a good spot to watch Harry and Ron, who’d become a Chaser in his fifth year. Hermione gripped a jug of pumpkin juice and grinned at Ginny, and they walked faster towards the Pitch.
Once they arrived, they were able to snag top spots in the stands. The teams were still in their locker rooms, so Ginny took a glass of juice from Hermione and settled in to wait. The stands were filling fast, and students were jostling playfully and talking excitedly about the chances of Hufflepuff pulling a victory out of the hat. They had a new Beater named Enid Foster, a fourth year with a strong arm who could deliver powerful blows from her bat. Their Captain, Donald MacCabe, had put together a strong team, and their Seeker -- a girl by the name of Charlotte Graham – was quick as lightening and particularly adept at diving. But Gryffindor still had Harry; arguably the best Seeker the school had ever seen, who owned the best broom around, and Ron, a fierce Chaser who thought nothing of flying recklessly through any formation in front of the goal post to gain a score. Their Beaters, two fifth years named David Stiles and Andrew MacLeod, were spot on with their bats, often almost knocking opponents off their brooms. The other two Chasers, Natalie MacDonald and Robert Carroll, and the Keeper, Neville Longbottom, were all strong and capable players. Neville had surprised everyone when he’d finally built up his courage enough to try out for a position, but he’d turned out to be an excellent Keeper, strong and quick on his broom. The Quaffle rarely got by him.
“D’you think it’ll be a tough game?” Dennis Creevy, seated next to Ginny, asked anxiously. She grinned.
“Yes, but I think our chances are excellent. We’re undefeated so far.”
“If Slytherin could just manage to lose their match next Saturday, they’d be that much closer to elimination,” Hermione sniffed.
Not bloody likely, Ginny thought. Slytherin’s only defeat so far was to Gryffindor, which put them just behind in the competition for the Quidditch Cup. If Hufflepuff could win this game, they’d pull ahead of Ravenclaw. Ginny found herself hoping that wouldn’t happen, since Ravenclaw was her best friend’s House. Not to mention she was rooting for Gryffindor!
She looked around the stands, and directly across from their position, saw the Slytherins all grouped together. She squinted a bit and caught the silver blond head of Draco Malfoy standing with Crabbe and Goyle, as usual. He was looking around the field and talking with several people, but he was too far away for her to see his expression clearly. Her heart gave a thump as she stared at him and she felt confusion flood her mind. She hadn’t forgotten that night in the kitchen. She had, in fact, thought about it a great deal. Since that time she’d been unable to see him in the halls without blushing. She was no longer certain about who he was, or how she felt about him, and that made her angry and miserable. She felt her face grow warm as she recalled the times their eyes had met whilst they passed each other in the corridors. She would see him, and his eyes would lock with hers. Something tremendous and almost palpable would pass between them in those scant moments, and she never failed to experience a draining heat wash over her. Only a few seconds, yet it felt timeless and unreal as her heart would begin to pound. But they never spoke or had any other communication except that. Something like frustration shivered through her, and she had to tear her eyes away from him in order to force it from her mind.
“Professor Lupin!” Hermione gasped, causing Ginny to start. Hermione was looking towards the stairs as Lupin and a woman Ginny didn’t know entered their row. He smiled widely at Hermione and Ginny, walking towards them and taking a spot on Hermione’s other side. Hermione shook hands with him and the lady, and then turned to Ginny.
“This is Ron’s sister, Virginia Weasley. Ginny, you know Professor Lupin, and this is his friend, Elizabeth Morgan.”
“Call me Ginny,” she smiled, shaking hands with both. The woman was very pretty, but there was something about her that pricked Ginny. She had strange hazel eyes, short dark hair, and was dressed in violet robes. She and the professor were holding hands, which was nice. But Ginny felt slightly uneasy in her presence.
All around Lupin the students who remembered him were greeting him enthusiastically, asking where he taught at the present and if he’d consider returning to Hogwarts. Remus laughed and thanked everyone, but assured them that he was very busy and was unlikely to return to the school. Disappointment greeted his words, but everyone was glad to see him.
“What brings you here Professor?” Ginny asked. He turned back to her and smiled.
“I was in Hogsmeade picking up supplies and I thought I’d visit. It’s always wonderful to see the place and the staff, especially the headmaster. And since I haven’t seen a good Quidditch match in a while,” he grinned here, “I asked if perhaps I could see how the teams have changed since I’ve been here.”
Hermione laughed. “Very clever Professor. I’m sure we could all benefit from your critique on the match as well.”
Elizabeth laughed too. “I always tell him he’s too clever for his own good!”
Ginny smiled but said nothing, turning her attention to the Pitch. The players were emerging, and Caleb Anderson, a Slytherin sixth year and the new commentator, began to announce them.
“The Hufflepuffs take the Pitch, all decked out in their canary yellow too. Fashionable color, yellow, you can see it for miles! Aahh, and here comes Gryffindor in their own ketchup colored robes. This should be an interesting game indeed! Er…is anyone suddenly in the mood for a hamburger, or is it just me?”
“Professor Snape,” McGonagall glared, “perhaps you could encourage your student to concentrate on the game?”
The Potions Master smirked. “Now, Mr. Anderson, please refrain from using too many accurate descriptions. No one will be able to watch the game from laughing.”
“Apologies, Professor. Back to the game—and the Quaffle is up, caught by Weasley, whose hair clashes with his robes. Sorry Professor, just an observation. He’s trundling along—nice pass to MacDonald. Knows when he’s licked, of course. MacDonald is streaking over to the Hufflepuff goal--Oo--Almost knocked off her broom by a Bludger from Foster. She’s dropped the Quaffle, and it’s picked up by MacCabe, who I hear wears frilly pants under his school robes-“
“Anderson, you will keep such drivel out of your commentary!” McGonagall growled.
“Sorry Professor McGonagall. And MacCabe is headed off midway by Carroll, who snatches the Quaffle quite nastily away. Makes you wonder at their constant accusations of cheating to Slytherin—yes Professor, I was just saying—Carroll ducks a Bludger and is thrown into contact with Barnes. Nice shoving match! Oo, and Barnes is kicking. Any wagers as to who gets knocked off their broom?”
“Mr. Anderson,” Snape smirked nastily, “betting is not allowed.”
“Indeed not, Professor Snape. And Carroll whips around Barnes as Alnor knocks a Bludger towards—but he’s past them! Keeper Lara Bussey charges out to stop—GRYFFINDOR SCORES!”
Ginny cheered loudly and enthusiastically, almost dancing with glee. Ron spun a loop with joy, then raced back into the fray. The Quaffle was now held by James Caldwell, a Chaser for Hufflepuff, who was flying like mad towards the Gryffindor goal. He was stopped short when MacLeod swung his bat and sent a Bludger straight for him.
“FIRST BLOOD!” screamed Caleb Anderson. “Caldwell gets a Bludger to the face! Very picturesque, I might add. Sorry Professor. An unbiased observance, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
Ginny gasped with everyone else as Caldwell floated jerkily to the ground. A time out was called, and Ginny looked up to see where Harry was. She spotted him flying high above the Pitch and she knew he was searching for a glimmer of gold. After a few moments, the game resumed, Caldwell having refused to stop playing, cleaning up as best he could. The Quaffle was thrown and once again caught by Ron, who flew towards the goal post. He was forced to pull up as a Bludger from Foster flew towards him, and as he dodged the Quaffle was snatched out of his arms by MacCabe, who once again began to zip towards the Gryffindor goal. Stiles bashed viciously on a Bludger, aiming for MacCabe’s broom, but the Hufflepuff Captain expertly dodged. He managed to sweep past MacDonald, but almost smacked into Carroll and the two tussled furiously before MacCabe managed a mid-air roll away from the Gryffindor Chaser. Ron was still flying towards him, but he had a clear shot and launched the Quaffle.
BAMPF! The sound of leather colliding with cloth met MacCabe’s ears as Neville suddenly appeared and blocked the shot perfectly, launching the Quaffle at Ron as soon as he was close enough. MacCabe and Caldwell sped after him.
The game grew furious. Down in the stands, Ginny was clutching at Hermione’s robes and cheering herself hoarse. Ron passed to MacDonald, who shot upwards and managed to avoid both Bludgers aimed at her. When Barnes streaked for her, she passed the Quaffle smoothly to Carroll, who shot it to Ron in front of the goal. Once again Gryffindor scored. They were up twenty to zero, and the cheers from the Gryffindors in the stands were deafening. Another time out was called, and Ginny took a moment to grab her juice and gulp it excitedly, her throat raw from screaming. It was then that she noticed Professor Lupin’s companion, the woman named Elizabeth, was gone. Professor Lupin was talking excitedly to several students and Ginny had a clear view of the lower stands from where she was. But the woman had vanished.
“Professor, your friend might want to return quickly, before the time out is over,” Ginny said, looking at the Pitch.
“What’s that?” The Professor blinked at Ginny, and then looked around. “I’m sure she’ll be along in a moment. Probably had to take care of some personal business, if you know what I mean.”
Ginny nodded, wondering why he wasn’t concerned. Probably? Hadn’t she told him? They’d seemed rather close when they’d appeared, so she had a hard time believing that Elizabeth had ran off without even saying where she was going. The feeling of uneasiness returned, and Ginny began to wonder what secrets the woman might be keeping from Lupin. But perhaps she was overreacting. She knew absolutely nothing about the woman; perhaps this was the way she always behaved. . Ginny tried to shrug off the negative feelings by allowing her eyes to sweep the stands for Draco again. She found him quickly, and felt her stomach clench when she saw Pansy Parkinson standing with him, her arm looped comfortably through his. He didn’t seem to mind, and Pansy, as usual, appeared to be talking since she was gesturing a lot with her other hand. What in the name of sanity did he see in her? Even from this distance, Pansy’s every gesture and move spoke of her shallowness. Her stance was affected and obvious, and Ginny could almost hear her annoying voice bulleting out mindless drivel, from make-up to this or that person’s appearance. Draco Malfoy might be shallow and rude himself, but surely he didn’t like hearing it from someone else, did he? The crowed roared suddenly, indicating that the match was resuming. It was then that Ginny caught a flash of violet to Draco’s left.
She snapped her gaze back towards the stands; straining her eyes at the spot she’d seen it. But it was too far away, and all she could see were the black robes of the students. She continued to sweep her gaze over and over the spot, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Another roar of applause told her another goal had been scored, so she reluctantly tore her eyes away and tried to concentrate on the game. Hufflepuff had scored a goal, and it was now ten to twenty. Harry was flying low over the players, almost in their midst. Charlotte Graham was doing the same and seemed to be marking Harry’s every move. It made sense, since her broom wouldn’t match the speed of Harry’s Firebolt.
“And the Gryffs are still ten points up,” Anderson prattled. “But perhaps the Badgers might be able to change things, if they can get focused! Don’t know when I’ve seen Beaters miss so much, though perhaps Foster and Alnor can look forward to a successful career with the Chudley Cannons. Joking, Professor, only joking. Weasley has the Quaffle, amazingly enough, and the Hufflepuffs pursue him lovingly—AH!—MacDonald collides with Barnes, preventing him from getting to Weasley—MacCabe flying like a madman towards the goal and—successful block by Bussey, and the Hufflepuffs take possession. Hang on, Potter is diving!”
Ginny watched as Harry suddenly swept into a spectacular dive, arm outstretched. Graham was right behind him, fighting to catch up and stretching her arm out as well. Everyone stopped and held their breath as the seekers fought to lay hands on the Snitch. Ginny couldn’t see it, until it suddenly streaked vertically, avoiding the ground and the Seekers’ grasping hands. Harry was after it in a flash; Graham struggled to match speed with him as the crowd roared louder than ever. Ginny lost the Snitch after a second, but she saw Harry begin a sharp horizontal rise. Graham was still a little behind him, but was catching up. A Bludger suddenly flew towards Harry, and he was forced to slow and pull his hand back, giving Graham the chance to pass him. Ginny could almost hear Harry swearing viciously in her mind, and she watched him race towards the Snitch with redoubled speed. He and Graham were neck and neck, reaching and diving and stretching their arms—
Harry’s longer reach allowed him to pull ahead of Charlotte and his hand snapped closed. He suddenly slowed and rocked back on his broom, holding his hand high above his head. He’d caught the Snitch!
“Potter pulls it off,” Anderson yelled sourly as the stands exploded with cheers. “Gryffindor wins 170 to 10. Now who’s just as stunned as I am?”
Ginny was jumping up and down with Hermione and the other Gryffindors. They’d done it, they’d won! She was sure a party would be thrown. Hermione was glowing with pride, and even Professor Lupin was grinning from ear to ear.
“Has the game changed much professor?” Ginny asked breathlessly. He laughed.
“Not at all Miss Weasley, it’s everything I remember and more!”
Ginny spun around happily, feeling silly but not really caring. Victory was in the air, and she loved it. She looked across the Pitch once more, hoping to see Malfoy and maybe catch his eye and rub it in. But the Slytherins were already emptying out of the stands, and she was just in time to see Draco’s silver blond head disappear through one of the exits.
Followed by a figure in violet robes.
To Be Continued.
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