Disclaimer: I don't own or pretend to own Harry Potter or any of the characters associated with him. Let's chug along, then.
Miss CellophaneGinny promptly set to the task of approaching Luna so that she could obtain documented information on Alfred Tinelle.
All she and Draco had to go on, at the moment, was what Rita Skeeter printed – and everyone who mattered knew that Rita Skeeter's articles were hardly worth owl cage linings. The harpy was even worse now that she had somehow finagled her way into getting such a popular scoop. Ginny refused to read such tripe. She had absolutely no money to subscribe to any publication at all, but if funds were available, she'd not be buying anything in which Rita Skeeter's name was involved.
And that was why she wanted to enlist Luna's help. The Quibbler was practically wholesome family fun compared to all of the violence being documented in other news sources.
'But, The Quibbler isn't sensational whatsoever…' said a dry, sardonic voice in her mind. Ginny silenced it without delay; she didn't have the time to play Devil's Advocate.
If only Luna weren't so difficult to find! It was evident to all that the dotty girl had very few friends, and Ginny had yet to understand if that should have made it more, or less difficult to scout her out. After searching for the mystifying blonde all Sunday, Ginny had given up and retreated to her dorm, not bothering to spare anyone a greeting – not that there was anyone around to spare a greeting to.
Ron was frittering off with Hermione, and Harry was probably off brooding. As unfair as it was, Ginny definitely didn't want to speak to Colin. He was far too uncomplicated; it made her feel unstable. It might have been nice to speak to Neville; only he was nowhere to be found, either.
So, by light of the huddle of candles upon the windowsill, Ginny finished up the rest of her assignments alone in her room. The hours swam by, and when she heard the sounds of her dorm mates coming up the stairs, she quickly banished all of her books and papers under the bed, and drew up the covers until not a centimeter of lace trim from her nightgown was apparent. Her first order of business on coming upstairs had been to change into her nightclothes in the event that she fell asleep prematurely, so that was no issue.
The real trouble lie in stilling her heartbeat fast enough to fall into Dreamland before the other girls' voices filtered in. As of late, Ginny found herself rushing to be in another realm of consciousness when their chirpings about family and boys surrounded her. She wanted to be dead to the world before she was forced to wonder why nothing about family and "young love" seemed as joyous to her as it did to them.
It finally came to pass that almost a week after meeting with her favorite Slytherin, Ginny was able to pin Luna down. It was ironic that soon after she'd started speaking to the girl on a regular basis, it had become trickier to procure her, and it had only happened this time by chance. The Ravenclaw had implanted in Ginny a newfound affinity for being outdoors.
Or maybe, Ginny thought, as she circuited the area around Hagrid's hut, it was not a newfound desire, but a rediscovered one.
No one could grow up a Weasley child and not spend half of one's days flitting through tall thickets of magical wood or being submersed in a pond. But as the years went on, Ginny found that her world had gradually folded in upon itself, until it consisted mostly of brick and or stone fortresses in which the air itself felt stifled. As the evils of the world increased, spots where she could feel good decreased; the people she felt happiness with drifted away, when there hadn't been very many in the first place. But Luna had given it back to her and Ginny still had more to ask of her.
Drifting by a spot where she had hunted for imaginary (or maybe not so imaginary) creatures, Ginny glanced at Greenhouse Four and saw Neville's tall, stooping figure huddling over a very large pot. She watched as he looked to his right at something she could not see, laughed, and turned his head back to his work.
Curious as always, Ginny made her way up the well-trodden path that led to one of the more dangerous plant houses. Neville noticed her presence only when she was halfway through the door, and he looked as if he was very surprised to see anyone at all.
"Hey, Nev," Ginny said, when the door shut behind her.
Hands deeply entrenched in the ceramic pot before him Neville only returned the greeting with a sheepish sort of smile.
"Wotcher," he saluted, going back to massaging the soil between his fingers; Ginny heard something squeal contentedly. "What brings you down here?"
Ginny shrugged, coming to stand beside him. "I was taking a walk around the lake. No one's really around to talk to in the common room, and you know how I live to be entertained." She peered inside of the pot. "I'm not entirely sure I'd have spoken to anyone, anyway," she admitted.
"I know what you mean," Neville said, not looking up. "It's just…just one of those days, I suppose."
"Or maybe one of those weeks," Ginny corrected. "You haven't been around much lately. Is everything --?"
"They were behind the purple tin of Bowtruckle lice. I told you that you might find them there since Viridian Soil is found very near Crumple-Horned Snorkack habitations and… Oh, hello, Ginny," Luna said brightly, noticing the redhead beside Neville. "I've just found the plant food Neville needed. Was he going to ask you to help me?"
"Oh, er, no, I don't think so…" Ginny replied, looking at Luna first and then back to Neville. His smallish ears were red, and it wasn't due to the light. Something was…off?
"You might not know what Viridian Soil is," Neville offered, after an awkward pause Luna seemed to be unaware of. "It's going to be introduced to Professor Sprout's sixth years on Tuesday. She asked me to prepare it."
"Extra credit?" Ginny asked.
"Yeah, actually."
"And Neville Longbottom, of all people, needs herbology extra credit," Luna said very seriously, fully coming out of the shadow of the back room.
He shook his head energetically. "I don't mind doing it. 'S better than mucking out the magical creatures' pen." He pulled a face. "I wouldn't do that if Hagrid looked like the lead singer of Thirteen Fridays!" After a moment his features froze awkwardly and he sent shifty glances Luna's way.
It was a known fact that there was a current obsession with Cornelia Twitt, head vocalist of the all female band Neville had just mentioned. Ginny always thought that with a name like 'Twitt', the blonde woman should have nothing to croon over; but then again, nor did Ginny, with a name such as 'Weasley'. Furthermore, she'd none of the assets – vocal or otherwise – to supplement it.
"So you keep saying," said Luna, airily and evenly, though Ginny would bet her favorite robes that Neville had never said anything of the sort before.
Luna pried the top off of a cylindrical container. Myrna Farmington's Viridian Goop: Giggles in Every Goober!, Ginny read off the side of the jar. Luna leaned over Neville's arm and poured a generous amount of the slimy green substance into the ceramic plant pot. Amidst the growing chortles inside the soil, Ginny looked up to see a reddish hue on Neville's face.
Nothing's off. Ginny realized with an inward smile. Something's very, very on.
"Might I borrow Luna off you for a minute, Neville?" Ginny asked with a guileless smile.
Neville's brows drew together seeming to hear something unsettling in Ginny's tone. "Of course. Ask her."
"I might be able to leave for a moment," Luna said lightly. "Provided that he remembers to spread Myrna's Goop evenly throughout the pot. Last week he left too much on the top, and they didn't giggle at all."
"Erm, will do," Neville said blankly, and watched the two girls step out of the greenhouse.
Once outside, Ginny led Luna a bit off the path in the off chance that there were any invisible ears.
"Sorry for disrupting your… yours and Neville's…"
"Extra credit?" Luna supplied helpfully.
"Exactly," said Ginny. "See, I've sort of got another favor to ask of you, and it's something rather substantial which is why I needed to speak to you privately."
Luna bobbed her head encouragingly. "Go on."
Ginny gave her a half-smile. Here was the hard part. "I know that we had our career advice meetings last year, but I'm still thinking about what I'd like to do in the future, of course. Most of the pamphlets that we were given centered on more magical focused jobs – like auror work and stuff."
"Magical stuff," asked Luna, "isn't what you're interested in?"
"I don't necessarily have an aversion to that type of thing," Ginny clarified. "But being around Colin has made me think of other lines of work. Such as reporting."
"Reporting?" Luna breathed. "That's a very noble area. We do need more journalists with wider spectrums of thought, these days."
"That's what Colin said," Ginny quipped, fingers twisted so tightly behind her back she feared they'd pop. "As it stands, though, I haven't got enough experience to fill the Prophet's crossword puzzle, more less a whole column – which is what I'd eventually like to have."
"That might not be a bad thing. Last Sunday, the answers to five down and thirty-seven across were 'propaganda' and 'goblineaters', respectively."
Ginny's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "I hadn't noticed."
Luna shrugged and fingered the necklace of daisies above her collarbone. Ginny wondered where she had gotten them so late in the year. "Don't worry. You're not the only one. Most people aren't aware that there is a new campaign in the Prophet using subliminal messages. It's really quite a wicked thing to do to people, but there you are."
"Definitely. Anyway, I was thinking of honing my skills by researching the latest stories; and the one that came to mind first was the recent article about Alfred Tinelle."
Luna blinked, but said nothing, so Ginny plunged on.
"In the last edition of The Quibbler, I saw that there was a really interesting article on him – right after the one about the rabid Fire Wraith sighting in Edinburgh."
"Ooh," Luna said agreeably. "That's one of Daddy's favorites; he was able to arrange an actual interview with the woman who survived the encounter."
"So I read," said Ginny. "And it made me realize that your dad must have really good resources: that woman didn't give an interview to any other paper. I started wondering if your father had access to any back issues of The Quibbler – ones with old stories on Mr. Tinelle. He's a rather respected wizard." She hesitated. "Tinelle, I mean. Well, at least he was, and so there should be information about his personal history somewhere, you know?"
"How far back would you like to go?"
Ginny thought for a moment. "Fifteen to twenty five years?"
Luna meandered forward at a leisurely pace. "Daddy hardly ever throws anything of importance out. I imagine he'd have editorials ranging from Wizard Tinelle to the Leprechaun Gold Extortion case sixty years ago."
An image of great mounds of yellowing magazines and newspapers surrounded by various oddities sprang up in Ginny's mind. She saw Luna and a kind, but faceless man (as she had never actually seen Mr. Lovegood), sorting through them.
"So you're saying it's possible?" Ginny asked eagerly. "I mean for him to lend me a few copies."
"It should be; I'll write to Daddy and see what he says." She clasped her hands together in an unusually businesslike manner. "In the mean time, you should send him in an owl as well. He'd love to hear directly from a fan of the paper."
A grin split across Ginny's face. "I'll do that then!"
Luna only responded with a wide-eyed, cursory nod. Without any further exchange of words she turned round to return to the greenhouses.
With a smile still on her face, but a lingering question on her tongue, Ginny called her back before she was too far away.
"Luna?"
The girl turned. "Ginny?"
The redhead kicked up a bit of dirt. "Say, I saw this really gorgeous owl in the owlery the other day. I've been asking around to see whose it is. Is it yours?"
Luna let out an abrupt shot of laughter. "Do you know what's in that owl feed up there? Rodge prefers flying about the castle; he finds places to stay."
"All right," Ginny shouted back. "Just wondering!"
Ginny chuckled a little to herself as she trudged contentedly up the hill to the castle. Something was definitely on.
"What've you got there?"
Ginny looked around sharply at a hovering Colin, her hand stilling over the parchment. She really needed to stop fidgeting.
After seeing Luna, Ginny had gone up to the castle to draft a letter to Mr. Lovegood, summarizing why she wanted such a cache of information in the first place, and adding a few anecdotes about interesting stories she'd read in The Quibbler. Ginny had looked the parchment over more than a few times, wanting to make sure that it didn't sound too contrived. Her story may have been, well, spurious…but her intentions were sincere, at least.
"Only a letter," she said, slipping it into her pocket.
"Was that what you spent so much time writing upstairs?" Colin quizzed.
"Yeah, only I hadn't realized how late it had gotten, or else I would've hurried up and mailed it before dinner."
"You were awfully involved; the clock read 'Suppertime for growing children!' for at least fifteen minutes before you even looked up." Colin turned to the rest of the group. "I had to remind her to come down here."
"And how I do so appreciate it, Colin," Ginny sighed with affected wistfulness. "There are so few babysitters worth their salt these days…do remind me to look both ways when we leave the Great Hall."
"Why don't I just owl Mum for one of the twins' old kiddy leashes," suggested Ron. "Save ourselves some peace of mind."
Ginny snorted. "Don't forget to ask for my footy pajamas." They all laughed. "Honestly, though, when Bill told me about those things I nearly laughed my head off."
"The pajamas or the leashes?" asked a grinning Harry.
"The leashes, of course," Ginny said. "From what I heard, Fred and George preferred running around with not a stitch on and giving their clothes to the gnomes."
With a huge, malicious grin, Ron nodded. "The leashes are these long bits of string that come in primary colors. You wrap one end around the body, and the other end floats near the parent's hand; the things go on without someone holding onto it, but precaution's needed. Bill told me he and Charlie would magic the leashes to yank Fred and George around a bit; they'd go bonkers for it."
"Must explain why they're such animals," said Hermione, cutting up her roast.
"Animals with loads of galleons," Ron shot back. "For a tenth of their profit I'd let them horse around all they liked."
"Well money hasn't bought them character," she insisted.
Looking up, Ginny wondered if Hermione was still annoyed about the twins jangling their tin of coins in her face whenever they sold a Skiving Snackbox. The redhead puzzled over that; she'd thought the older girl had gotten over it after the mischief makes had showed Umbridge up.
Harry caught Ginny's questioning glance. "She's pulling that because she caught a third year with a packet of Fainting Fancies sticking out of his pocket."
Ginny nodded her understanding, but hastily looked away from Harry. She supposed that Ron had smoothed things over with him, and that it was relatively magnanimous of Harry to forget their row, still felt rather awkward pretending as if nothing happened.
"She's pulling that," Hermione cut in, "because those things are contraband and the long term effects of it are still unknown."
"For all their scores, Fred and George are top wizards, Hermione –"
"– Furthermore," the Head Girl interrupted, "a third year knows absolutely nothing about scholastic stress! What would he need to pass out of a class for?"
"I've no idea," said Harry, adjusting his glasses. "Third year was a cinch for me."
The group collectively paused.
And then they all burst out laughing. Neville, Dean, and Seamus, who were chatting further down the table, turned their heads briefly and gave them an odd look.
"Ho, ho," Hermione said blandly.
"No, it makes sense," Ginny said chuckling, "because everyone knows your second year was much more difficult."
Everyone opened their mouths as if to start up chortling once more, until they realized that that their second year was Ginny's first…and the humor sort of died in their throats.
There was an uncomfortable silence. Ginny realized that making that sort of joke was a bit like the time Charlie's friend from the dragon reservation told a quip about armed robbery. He'd lost his right one when a Ridgeback was feeling peckish. No one had laughed very much then, either. At least the twins had, until her mother smacked them rather ungraciously – and conspicuously. Ginny remembered thinking that if they'd all just chuckled their way through it, less attention would have been called to the matter.
She cleared her throat a little. "They're thinking of bottling the portable swamp and selling it, you know."
Everyone resumed eating.
"When did they tell you that? Have they been writing you?" asked Ron.
"Sure," Ginny replied, biting into her potato. She took a rather long time in swallowing. "Loads." -- Once, actually, since her arrival at Hogwarts. But admittedly, it was rather long considering of whom they were speaking. The majority of the message had been trying to goad her into conducting a survey to see what the demand was among, 'The dear pupils of their esteemed alma mater.' Ginny was still toying with the idea. They'd have to give her further incentive.
Ron looked stumped. "I'd no idea."
Ginny shrugged. "I didn't know about Percy writing you that obnoxious little letter until a few months ago."
"Trust me," Ron grumbled, still incensed about their elder brother's attempt at garnering support for Fudge in his fifth year, "you wouldn't have wanted to know about it any earlier. The way everyone's temper was that year, I reckon you would've shoved it right up his –" Hermione coughed. "– Nose."
Ginny smirked. "And you trust me, Ron," she said slyly. "You won't want to know anything more about what the twins are up to."
The remainder of the meal was spent in tepid silence. When Ginny had finished, she rose with a short word about sending Pig out.
"I'm going up, too," said Colin. "If you want, we can walk to the Owlery together; it's not too late."
Not wanting to risk Colin seeing the name on the rolled parchment, Ginny was tempted to decline his offer, but she couldn't find the heart to say no.
"All right, then," she said, standing fully. Looming over the rest of the diners, Ginny gave the table a once over; she smiled mischievously at Neville who looked up in time to catch it. Then, just as she went to turn away fully, she also snagged Gavin's eye. Two people away from Neville, he turned floridly to the person beside him and struck up a loud conversation.
"I got an O on that last Arithmancy assignment, you know! Wasn't it laughable how easy it was?"
Ginny's temper flared, but she sought to control it.
Don't say anything, she said inwardly. He's just trying to get a rise out of you, the berk.
She stepped away from the table with a huff. Noticing her sudden haste and assuming that it was because she was extra eager to retire, Colin blew his bangs out of his face and grinned artlessly. "Remember to look both ways, Ginny."
It was burning in her pocket.
Not figuratively, as in, 'I've been waiting for this for an obscene amount of time-how did he manage to get it to me-I want to read it over and over again and post it up on my wall despite skimming it twice already-it's like I can feel it burning in my pocket. . . .' but literally, it burned.
When Ginny moved around, the small bit of parchment behaved as a small bit of parchment should have, and lay just inside the fold of her robes; an unremarkable presence. However, she'd discovered that if she went still for any indeterminate amount of time the smooth paper radiated with a heat that was not worrisome or uncomfortable, merely…noticeable. She rationalized that he'd obviously put some sort of charm on it, though she'd no idea why. Perhaps he'd wished to keep her mind grounded, lest she be tardy or completely absent for the meeting he had scheduled for that evening.
Ginny sighed wearily. Draco Malfoy was a prick, albeit a clever one.
Their meetings had been incredibly sparse – in fact, nonexistent – since their last one a couple of weeks before. It had been around the start of term then, and all the students were running around like mad, getting reintroduced to life at Hogwarts; no one really had the time to monitor anyone else. Now, though, people were properly settled – and with that came routine. Everyone fell into the habit of being where they were supposed to be at a particular time, and most people knew where others were expected to be. Free time was hardly a wild card as it was spent playing Quidditch (if you played), doing clubs (if you desired), or studying (if you cared).
And if you weren't doing any of those things, and you weren't in the common room, you were off being secretive – and that got around to everyone.
For a boyfriend-less girl with a limited amount of friends, Ginny had few excuses to offer if she went missing too often. She still regretted having to give up the Hufflepuff-lover ruse with Ron, but it had been unavoidable. Intent on not being unaware as he'd been with Michael Corner, Ron had insisted on questioning her relentlessly about her new paramour's character until she'd admitted that his 'character' consisted mostly of air and imagination. Along with that, he had pried the old news of her detentions into the open (to his knowledge she'd done them alone) and tried to guilt her into staying out of trouble.
"Fine," she'd retorted. "I'll be a six year old and play dolls. Just let me find Grawp first; he'd love to join."
He'd shut up after that.
All the same, Ron's mothering had fringe benefits: if he wanted to keep an eye on her, she would have to shadow him. Oh-so-conveniently, that meant shadowing the Trio. To be honest, she'd already been doing that; now she just had permission of a sort. Truthfully, it was a bit of a disappointment, though probably an intentional one. The four Gryffindor all fooled around and studied together on occasion, but Ginny knew that Hermione, Ron, and Harry held their whispered conversations elsewhere.
It was no matter. She and Draco would've done the same if they had found the time.
And finally, finally, he had.
Ginny caught Draco watching her all Monday, and not very covertly either. She had been wary when it continued on Tuesday, until they crossed paths in the afternoon.
Walking side by side with Pansy Parkinson, he'd murmured, "Soon," when she was within earshot.
"Soon, what?" Ginny had heard Parkinson say.
"We'll soon be rid of a ginger haired pestilence, is all," he'd replied loudly. Pansy shrieked and Ginny bit her lip angrily. Draco Malfoy certainly wasn't experiencing the dip in popularity that his father was.
But she'd gotten the message and all that remained were the details, which arrived Thursday morning just after breakfast. Coming back down the main stairs after retrieving a forgotten textbook, Ginny had stopped to chat quickly with Neville, who was heading outside. Just as they were about to part, she spotted a familiar bright head approaching the two of them. She felt a trickle of annoyance when Neville stiffened; it was bad enough that he played games with her when alone, but the least he could do was to let up on her friends. So instead of paying the blond any attention, she faced Neville fully to say a proper goodbye.
In the next moment, everything escalated out of control. It started with the seams of her schoolbag coming undone; her papers and books fell to the floor with a loud clatter, but surprisingly, no teachers peeked out of their rooms to find out what it was all about.
Whistling lightly, Draco stopped walking just short of them, a seemingly startled look on his face, when Neville shouted his name.
"I saw what you did to Ginny's bag, Malfoy!" Neville clamored, starting in on the blond. "Don't you…you'd better leave her alone, she doesn't want any trouble."
"Trouble?" asked Draco foggily, staring openly at Ginny. "Who said anything about trouble? If I wanted that, I would have gone to the Ravenclaw common room and snogged your…thing…"
"Don't you –!" Neville demanded, face beet red.
"Thank Merlin it's not trouble I'm after, then," Draco went on calmly. He bent swiftly and picked up a sheaf of parchment with Ginny's notes on it. "Sloppy people do slippery things, Weasley, but I never figured you for the type to just toss your things around." He reached forward and tucked it into a mute Ginny's pocket, then regally wiped his hands off on his trousers. "But if you'd like, stop by the Room of Requirement right after lunch and we'll see if you won't lay out a few more."
"You slimy –"
"Neville, no!" Ginny burst out, grabbing hold of the back of the Gryffindor's robes as he launched forward, barely missing Draco's nose. "Stop it! He's being stupid! I'm not…not even listening!"
Draco watched Neville with unconcealed amusement; the latter's face puffing up with ire, eyes glittering.
"For your sake, Weasley, I hope you are. Remember what I said – or you can always ask Longbottom to help you with that; his family's brilliant at that sort of thing."
"Just…just get out of here!" Neville yelled furiously, the last statement wrenching at what was left of his composure. "I swear I'll just…Arg! Just…"
Draco put his hands up. "Was a bit hard to catch with all the stuttering, but I think I've got the message." He cleared his throat. "See you in Potions, Longbottom?" he asked. A profanity was his answer and Draco shrugged. Ginny watched, with Neville in her arms, as Draco walked down the hall, turned left to the moving staircases, and was gone from sight.
Panting heavily, Neville had thrown himself out of Ginny's hold, pushing her roughly away so that she nearly hit the opposite wall. She saw the same look in his eye that she had seen two years ago in the Spell Damage ward at St. Mungo's. It dared her to say one word, one solitary word against the sacrifice his parent's had made.
Ginny dared not. She'd remained silent, face nearly on fire with shame as she saw Neville swipe violently at the shine in eyes.
"They were…they were good people," he whispered.
Ginny nodded very quickly. "Yes, yes; I know. I –"
"Not like him, Ginny," he cut her off. "Not like his sort, and I'm not ashamed of them one bloody bit."
"Neville…" she pleaded impotently. "I don't…"
"I'm sorry for pushing you," he said quietly, eyes lowered and fists clenching so tightly that they were white against his robes.
But before she could give him any real words of condolence – anything at all – he'd turned away without another sound, half-running away from her until he reached the main doors. He was a dark spot against the dusky wood, and more so when the doors opened and his robes were outlined against the light gray sky. Then, when the tall doors shut, he had been utterly invisible; the sound of his labored breaths muted.
Ginny sighed once more and returned to the present. Encoded in Draco's slander had been hints and directions that she was to follow; she had managed to get that much out of it. So directly after lunch, Ginny had slipped off (successfully leaving Colin behind) and gone up to the seventh floor, across the hall from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Facing the unembellished door to the Room of Requirement, Ginny gathered her thoughts.
What was she supposed to ask for?
After at least seven minutes of unproductive brainstorming, approaching voices filtered to her from nearby and she hurriedly walked back and forth three times, thinking of the room that she and Malfoy had shared when they had been there last. When it manifested, Ginny almost didn't notice; there was little change to the outer appearance of the door, and if she were anyone else, she might not have noticed anything different. Diffidently, she stepped inside.
A low fire rumbled in the grate, the lights were dim, and the furnishings spare but comfortable. Had the room not harbored memories that made her insides churn, Ginny would not have minded returning to it more often. Clasping her hands together in a business-like manner, Ginny proceeded to look around. There was nothing out of place to indicate anything remarkable, at the very least a secret message. There was a half-empty cup of butterbeer on the mantle, a book on mind control on the small table (different from the one she'd pilfered from the Restricted Section), a . . .
Wait.
Ginny did a double take at the mantle. Resting innocently beside the half-empty glass was now a small bit of parchment. She picked it up warily and scanned it carefully; a slow grin crossed her face as she did so. This was it; what she had required. A secret message.
If you're reading this, it began without preamble, (and you'd better be), you're only half as daft as expected.
Tonight, in the other room, eleven sharp. Do not be late.
You're getting warm just imagining it, aren't you?
MThe grin had long faded from her lips as she reviewed it once more, and it reversed into a frown as she recalled what he had said to get the message across. Warm indeed, she snorted silently. He had definitely charmed it.
Still, she would meet him all the same, though he'd been horrible to Neville (and only given her less than half a day to construct a credible alibi); there was no other option. Ginny tucked the note into her pocket where smoldered harmlessly.
It was easier this time to thwart her friends than it had ever been, and essentially all she had done was tell the truth. Ginny told Colin that she was going to the library and, readily enough, he decided to come with her. That was no problem at all since he already had plans to scarper off at quarter past eight and nab some photos. All of those poor unsuspecting victims…
Ginny opted to stay until the very last moment – nine o'clock – although that was the time curfew began. She hoped that if she took the path back to the common room used most frequently by Gryffindors, she'd catch a prefect from her own house. He or she would most likely let her off (House loyalty counted for more than some thought) and in return she would have knowledge of where at least one of the Hogwarts prefects was operating. Those parts of the castle would be avoided readily.
That had gone accordingly. Though the prefect was not a Gryffindor, a feeble shrug indicating her load of books and a coy smile allowed her to go on her merry way.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were applying themselves assiduously in the common room when she entered: Harry's glasses were askew and the pages of Advanced Transfiguration - Level 2 fluttered softly around his slumbering breaths; Ron was practically sucking his text through his nose, his snores were so energetic. Ginny snickered, catching Hermione's attention. The older girl met her eyes and smiled compactly, no doubt displeased with the boys' weak show of enthusiasm.
"It's rather late, isn't it, Ginny?" Hermione asked.
"Only just after nine or so," Ginny told her. "I lost track of time in the library, and…and…" she yawned, not affectedly "I'm knackered. I'll probably go straight up to bed."
"You should; from the look of things you've been at it for awhile…" A dark look was cast at the boys sharing the sofa.
Ginny grinned, and took care to pass in front of Ron. She kicked his feet off of the table they were propped up on, and he popped straight up.
"Scarves from pudding! I swear!" he shouted, wide-eyed and tousled all over. Harry's glasses fell off.
Ginny snorted and Ron turned to look at her, squinting as if to recall when, exactly, she had turned up.
"Actually," Hermione said sharply, a dangerously keen edge to her voice. "Melissande Najal Wright transfigured scarves from the desert sand!"
"Desert …dessert…" sighed Ron. "Either way you want something to drink."
"Then trust that I'll never go anywhere with you again," she snapped. "Lest you transfigure gillywater for me when I'm drowning."
"Nice one," said Ginny.
"Did you need something?" queried Ron grumpily.
"Pudding, perhaps?"
"Let her alone, Ron!" Hermione ordered, even though Ginny was doing most of the baiting. "And wake Harry up."
The redhead nudged his friend roughly in the shoulder.
"Whatimezit?" Harry asked jerkily, going for his wand. Realizing that his wand was not what he needed, but his glasses, Harry patted the sofa down, and then discovered them on the floor. "When'd we finish studying?"
"We haven't. We will have if you remember who Melissande N. Wright was."
"She conjured slippers in the desert, right?" he asked a bit foggily, placing the spectacles on his face.
"That and treacle tart, apparently," Ginny put in.
"Go to bed, Ginny," Ron commanded.
"But you two are so amusing," she said ruefully. "My dreams aren't nearly as entertaining."
"I'll wager that you pair haven't even gone on to chapter two yet," Hermione accused.
"You don't like betting," said Harry.
"Oh, I think I've got this one in the bag."
"Really, there's no need to be upset," Ron informed her. "We don't have to be further than page twenty-seven for tomorrow and we're already beyond that."
"Forty-seven," Hermione corrected. "And even if you were on top of your assignment – which I know you aren't – you oughtn't sit back and try and breathe in the text through your nostrils. I assure you it won't work, and laziness –"
"This is the first time we've slipped all term," Ron argued. "Sorry that we haven't finished all four hundred and ninety-eight pages by yesterday, but having a life sort of interfered."
"Then have a life on your own Saturday night," Hermione said archly. Ron's ears went pink.
"You –"
"We'll have got it done by McGonagall's class," Harry interrupted, body limp and molded into the couch.
Exasperated, Hermione set down her studying paraphernalia and stood up. "Fine. I'm late for patrol. Don't stay down here too late." She walked over to the portrait hole, snapping the clasp of her robes together to keep the chill out. "If they start sleeping when I'm gone, kick them again, Ginny," she said over her shoulder. She walked out.
The younger girl froze as Harry and Ron stared at her.
"Er, night!" she said hastily, scampering quickly up the girls' staircase. Their voices called after her, mixing with her laughter, and faded away when she shut the door to her room behind her. The other girls were already sleeping, some with gentle snores – some with loud, rumbling ones – all of them unaware of Ginny's late arrival. Her smile widened. It was just how she liked it.
Ginny waited until quarter past ten to emerge again. Changed into darker, more practical clothing for roaming about the castle at night, she arranged her pillows into the rough form of a body in her four-poster. For insurance she spelled the hangings shut with a voice charm that would respond to her only.
Ginny crouched at the head of the stairs to the common room and peeked down to see if Harry and Ron were still down there, but they weren't. Only their parchment remained strewn across the sofa and floor – they must have gone to bed – and so she tread carefully down the flight. Reaching the exit, she looked around once more, and then pushed the Fat Lady open as gently as possible. The delicately rounded woman snorted unevenly in her sleep, but remained vegetative. With a small grin, eyes gleaming anxiously in the night, Ginny stole cautiously through the dimly lit passageways, senses alert for traces of a patrolling Hermione or anyone else.
When the heavily frequented corridors gave way to lesser known ones Ginny quickened her pace. Long strips of darkness alternated eerily with short, torch lit settings, and the redhead was tempted to run through it all, desirous not to become entranced in the strange, haunted aura of Hogwarts at night. At times the shadows seemed to be opaque ghosts shifting in and out of focus and she swore at one point that one had gone through her. The portraits she passed which peered out at her between their seemingly closed lids did not cheer the situation any. They tittered and whispered without giving the impression of moving their oil painted lips at all; they pointed without ruffling a silk covered sleeve.
Hogwarts was…alive; and Ginny had never realized it until that moment. It teemed with the sinister, numinous, and mythical all at once, and it weighed heavily on her. The alien feeling of being watched by a softly cackling poltergeist from above caught her breath and made her spring around, wand at attention, more than once. She imagined Peeves laying bets with the Bloody Baron: if the former succeeded in dropping the marble bust of Demeter on her head before she reached the Ravenclaw staff room, the latter would trap a poor first year in Myrtle's loo for at least five hours. A bargain, if he really thought about it…
And finally, finally, she was there.
Ginny went purposefully down the last endless corridor, yanked the door open, and shut it solidly behind her. The door thudded and then snapped, but Ginny didn't waste time wondering what that meant. She chucked the weightless bag on her shoulder (a present from Bill) to the floor and sank gratefully into one of the two comfy couches. The clock read five to eleven: she was getting better at navigating her way into the West Wing of the castle. Even better, she realized with a grin, she'd arrived earlier than The Idiot.
At 11:23, as Ginny was in the process of marking interesting passages off and committing some to memory, the lock in the door began to rattle impatiently from the outside. She snatched her wand up apprehensively. The sound stopped shortly and all was quiet again, until the catch ticked succinctly. The door swung open noiselessly and a surly Draco crossed the threshold.
"Next time, don't shut the door all the way. The professors like to pretend that they're protecting ancient Mayan temples or something." Tie still fastened in place, shirt still crisp and buttoned from the morning, and Head Boy badge clipped on in full view, Draco looked as if he had not come to rest since classes were let out that afternoon.
"Eleven sharp," Ginny said calmly, eyeing him dispassionately. It was his own fault if he was tired; who told him to schedule the meeting so late?
"That was intended for you, not me," he replied just as moderately. "I'm surprised that you managed to decipher the message at all." He lowered himself into the couch facing her, and undid the silver fastening at his neck so that his robes fell open. "Who knew that Weasleys were capable of understanding subtlety?"
Ginny turned her eyes back onto the book in her lap. "Yes, that fine art," she murmured. "When you undid the seams of my bag as if they were recalled dress robes and practically highlighted phrases like, 'Room of Requirement after lunch', you showed sporting examples of subterfuge. If it turns out that Neville followed me, I'll not be surprised."
"Pudgy little Gryffindor wanted to do me in, did he?" Draco asked, amused. "Well he'd be sorry for even wishing it if he knew he was aiding the greater good."
Ginny made a face. "Yeah. Neville would love knowing that he'd given your father a helping hand."
"My father would chop his own off first," the blond promised in a macabre tone. "But seriously, though, I thought the gormless sap took it rather well, so let's not split hairs. It's all too obvious that you're planning on being verbally chivalrous on his behalf, and I'm telling you with implicit honesty that it isn't necessary; he released all that angriness in the form of three melted cauldrons."
After all of that, Ginny could do nothing but smile. "You'll get your comeuppance one day, Malfoy, and it'll be plenty vicious. Just wait."
He sneered; all traces of humor gone with Ginny's prophetic threat. "That's no way to greet me after such a long time."
"Then shut up," Ginny ordered. "Before all the nastiness that's sustaining you leaks out and leaves me here with your pasty shell."
"You're one to talk about nastiness, Weasley; you've been trying to give your 'bestest' friend the slip all week." He smirked. "When you left dinner tonight and noticed he wasn't following, you exhaled so heavily I thought you'd deflate." Ginny reddened and then cursed herself for it when he blinked knowingly. "That's taken care of then. Did you speak to Loony Lovegood?"
Ginny settled for nodding. "Yes, Pig."
He sniffed at the name, and she tilted an eyebrow.
"Oh, not you, Malfoy, I meant my owl. He was surprisingly expeditious; hasn't gotten a good fly in a while I suppose… Anyway, Luna told me it would be fine; she sent her own owl off to tell her father about it, and I sent Pig, as well." She marked off a line in her book, imagining how Hermione would react to a defamed piece of prose. "I'm expecting his reply any day now."
Draco waved a hand at her, retrieving something from his bag with the other. "Good to see you're doing what you've been told."
Ginny's quill nearly snapped in her fingers, and she reined in her temper. It was the last sugarquill in her pack, she told herself, and she'd not have the opportunity to go to Hogsmeade until Halloween.
"Well what have you been doing with your time?" she probed accusingly. "I'm sure I've seen Hermione attending to her Head Girl duties more than I've see you at yours."
She watched, pleased, as Draco bristled. "If you must know, I'm marked down for Thursday nights and three other days of the week – which is obviously why we can be here tonight."
"You mean to say you're meeting with me when you could be taking points off of sleep-deprived Hufflepuffs?"
"Don't fret," he said, "I caught one on my way here. He got twenty points off for hideous sleepwear straight away."
Ginny looked at him in disbelief, though she knew there was no point in saying that he had been unfair – that had probably been half the thrill for him. "It's marked down where you're supposed to be patrolling, isn't it? Some prefect is bound to notice you're not around."
She saw him take in a deep breath and was glad. She hoped she was making him miserable. "Leave, then," he said, mercury eyes intent on her own. "And don't come back. The prefects might trace you back to me."
"I'm only trying to clear up your tracks."
"Well I haven't left any, so feel free to 'shut your gob', as your halfwit brother would say. If you were so enamored with the comings and goings of prefects, then you should have made an effort to pass your classes. Maybe then you'd have the privilege of being one."
Nearly igniting him with the molten glare she sent his way, Ginny took up her wand and turned it around a few times in her hands. After a moment, she pointed it at him and flicked it sharply. The fireplace behind his chair lit up with a guttural pant and Ginny set her wand down in her lap, noting with pleasure the tense line around his mouth.
"I hope I didn't frighten you," she said simply. "I thought was cold in here."
He didn't blink. "I'm sure."
"If you're so concerned, I made sure the other prefects were scattered around the castle so that theoretically, each one should only come across my patrol area once, if that." He paused. "The Head Girl is also on duty tonight, so if something comes up I'm sure Beaver can just chomp her way out of the situation."
Ginny neglected to mention that Hermione's teeth were perfectly fine, as she was sure that would only cause him to laugh outright.
"Luckily or not so luckily," he continued, oblivious to Ginny's annoyance, "Thursday is the only night out of the week we share rounds. I had requested it first because it's the latest night patrol and it would have been convenient to have," he admitted gesturing shortly to the papers around them. "But then Granger showed up shrieking that she wanted it as well."
"She probably had a good reason," Ginny suggested. "Not everything is a conspiracy to oust your heart of what it so desperately desires."
Draco sneered at her. "'In the event that one Head should be unattainable, the other will be able available'," he crooned, in a horrid imitation of the bushy-haired girl's admittedly swotty tones. "She insinuated to McGonagall that I wouldn't be responsible enough to be on call if I alone were given Thursday patrol, so she weaseled her way in. A nasty habit she picked up along the way, I'm sure."
"Get new material, Malfoy," said Ginny, not rising to the bait. "You aren't exactly 'on call' now, are you?"
He said nothing back; there was no arguing with blatant truth.
Ginny rubbed at her eyes to scrub out the weariness, but kept them closed afterward. There was a stockpile of thoughts inside of her head multiplying by the second, and she dreaded having to sift through it all. Dumbledore was lucky: there was a nice little pensieve resting inside one of the cupboards in his cluttered office, and whenever he wished, he could slip even the slightest musing in it for safe keeping.
Ginny yawned. That's how he was able to twinkle his starry-blue eyes in even the most trying of circumstances. If Dumbledore wondered why her brother, Harry, and Hermione were skulking about, he could slosh a few speculative reflections about in his stone basin and jump into them later. She had a few that she could lend him… The irony of Hermione scheduling NEWT revision for Ron and Harry even though she'd not even be there to enforce it like usual…the hilarity of Hermione swooping down on Draco and taking his coveted Thursday patrol…the frustration she felt with Draco for not even apologizing about what he'd said to Neville…
She shifted on the supple, warm couch.
Hadn't Neville gotten a new toad, or at least a companion for Trevor? Or maybe it was a new plant…? No, it was a toad, and its name was Rodge, strangely enough. And it was strange because it was a female toad…but Luna had liked the name, and Ginny sort of did as well. Colin would have, except he was mute for some reason… and Draco was laughing at him and saying, "See, Weasley? Isn't it better that he's finally shut up? Eh, Weasley? Weasley? Weasley?"
Ginny jerked upright with a gasp, but shot back painfully after her head collided with Draco's – who swore fantastically.
"Do you head butt everyone who interrupts your snoring?" he snapped.
"I'm so –" Ginny cut her apology short, eyes a bit teary but gradually focusing. "I don't snore, Malfoy. And you…you shouldn't have startled me like that." He was bending over her still sitting form, holding his forehead. "What time is it?"
"Five past," he said shortly. "You've been having a lie-down and left me to do all the work."
"Five past! Past twelve?" Ginny exclaimed, ignoring his complaints. "It can't be!" She looked around his slim form to the vastly diminished embers in the grate. "We've got to go!"
"Obviously." The blond rolled his eyes. "Pack up your things; I've done mine already, but yours are all over the floor. Do you normally thrash around that much? In bed I mean."
Ginny's face suffused with heat as his offbeat question hit her, and she realized that they had not been this close to each other since their detentions. "Don't worry about it," she snapped. "You'd be the last to find out."
He snorted. "Last and first, then, seeing as I'm halfway there as it is." She picked up her wand threateningly and he smirked. "But as I was saying, you need to haul yourself back to your Gryffindor hole; I've got to meet up with Granger in ten minutes or so. Even your mind can comprehend that that isn't much time."
Not quite over her jumpiness, but unwilling to be accommodating, Ginny stretched languorously and sat up. "I can make it back on my own," she informed him. "It's terribly sweet of you to look after me, I'm sure, but I'll have to say no thanks."
Draco's lips tightened. "Fine." He stopped for effect. "Just don't cross paths with Filch and be forced to explain why you're anywhere near the West Wing. And don't tell him you've been making up with Michael Corner – even if he buys that I don't think he'll care."
Ginny's eyes lit up. "Don't tell me what I can or cannot say! I'll say I was with Snape if I bloody well please." She summoned her scattered papers off the carpet and shoved them roughly into her bag. "I've absolutely no problem with espionage, Malfoy. And I don't need your advice, of all people, on how to get out of a scrape." She stood boldly in front of him, the backs of her knees brushing the couch she'd been sitting in, so that there was minimal space to move about.
"Is that so?" he asked slickly. Ginny rolled her eyes, but did not move. "Then you ought to at least cover your face before you leave, lest someone see you scuttling off. Thicker people than you – marvelous that there are any – have managed to be hauled before their Heads of House because they were absentminded enough to forget a disguise."
Ginny took pause, unsure of whether she would rather defy him just to hack him off further, or take his backhanded advice. She settled for hitching her bag onto her shoulder and giving an impatient sigh. Lifting her arms up without warning, so that her elbows nearly clipped him on the face, Ginny loosened the hood of her robes and yanked it messily over her head.
"I'd have done that without your advice," she lied staunchly. "I'm not stupid."
His eyes narrowed, he smiled mockingly. "Of course not; you're just misunderstood – rather like Crabbe and Goyle."
Ginny jabbed her pointer finger in his face. "You –" She blinked. "Malfoy…you're…shining…"
It was strange sight to Ginny's eyes, and she fully expected to see the same sentiment mirrored in the blond's face; so she was baffled when he looked down sharply, not at all perplexed. A soft, verdant light spilled form the outline of the serpent on his Head Boy Badge, and it pulsed every half-second, beckoning him to…to touch it?
"What is it do–?"
"Shut up!" Draco whispered harshly. "And move back. Now."
"Where? You're standing right in front of me! Or shall I melt into the sofa, perhaps? Or maybe–"
Draco grabbed Ginny's arm to forestall any more smart remarks, when her arm brushed against his chest, sliding past the badge. The pin seemed to explode into a light that expanded and crept toward the center until not only the circumference was aglow, but the entire thing. After a second the intensity lessened, leaving only a subtle, steady glimmer.
Peering forward inquisitively, Ginny though she was seeing a long hole of nothing, until indistinct shapes began forming. A staircase, was it? And a long, winding banister? And was someone whimpering?
"Malfoy! Draco Malfoy!"
Ginny noticed the voice was a different tone than that of the whimpering cry. She leaned in closer to connect faces to the voices somehow, but just as someone came into focus, Draco snatched the badge off of his robes and turned a gimlet eye onto it. He moved it so that Ginny was unable to view any of the front of it, and she frowned, irritated.
"I'm here. Who is – Wotright?"
Both occupants of the room stood frozen, arrested with surprise. What on earth was Gavin communicating with Draco Malfoy after twelve in the morning?
"Yes, yes it's me!" the younger boy's voice said. "Something dreadful has happened!"
"Feel free to untie your tongue, then, and let me in on the secret," Draco said laconically.
"It's terrible! Mavis Butters fell down the stairs. I was on my way back from patrolling the first floor corridors when I heard a scream; I ran in the direction of it and found her at the bottom."
Ginny went even more still if it were possible. Mavis had been in bed when she left – she was sure of it.
"You couldn't levitate her to Pomfrey?" Draco's voice broke through the tension filled room, a steely tone suffusing his words. "I'm sure Butterfingers doesn't appreciate lying on the floor, regardless of how used to tumbling down she's become."
There was no sound from the other end, and Ginny wondered if there had been a disconnection, when Gavin returned, sounding rather odd.
"I would have…only Mavis didn't want to be moved. I actually think her leg might be broken. She wanted to wait for you or Hermione Granger to watch her while I fetched Madam Pomfrey…only neither of you was available…" There was another prolonged stillness. "Where are you, Malfoy?" Gavin asked suddenly, and Ginny's stomach plummeted.
"Nowhere."
"Well that's all too evident," came his quick rebuttal. "I did think that I saw something when I initially put the call through. Might you know what I'm speaking of?"
"Your wits," Draco said in clipped tones. "They were crawling away; it happens rather often to you, so I thought I'd be munificent and not mention it." Though his voice was cool and seemingly controlled, Ginny saw that the blond was losing composure. She jerked her head to catch his attention, signaling for him not to go spare at Gavin's commonplace nosiness; they couldn't afford it.
Frustrated, Draco clenched the fist that was not holding the badge. "Put a Cushioning Charm underneath the poor dear and wait for my arrival. I'll be there shortly."
"Already done…" Gavin sang, voice fading away.
Draco fished his wand from his pocket and tapped it to the face of the badge, making sure that it stayed focused only on him. The eerie jade gleam returned momentarily, and then died away until the room was dim once more, save the glow of the still dying embers of the fire.
Ginny looked away from the object in Draco's pale hand and up at his face. He seemed to not want to move at all, though the immediate danger was gone, and she nearly prompted him to say something, when he decided to speak on his own.
"Get out of here," he commanded. "Once you go down the long hallway, take the shortest moving staircase on the right and go down one floor. Once you're off it, take only left turns until you reach a statue of Morgan le Fey – do you know the one I'm speaking of?"
"I think so, though I've only seen it twice at most," Ginny affirmed. "But –"
"Tap it once and say, 'Le Morte d'Arthur'. When it smiles, walk through it – you'll be able to, so don't concern yourself about that. Follow the passage through the statue straight down until you reach the third door on the right – there are only four, so if you overrun it just go back one. Open it with the same password and tap combination as before. You'll end up coming out of the knight in armor down the hall from the Potions dungeons. Find your own way to Gryffindor Tower from there."
Without looking at her any longer or saying anything more, he strode over to the wall furthest from the door and lifted his wand to it. Ginny suddenly remembered that if rapped in the correct pattern, the bricks tumbled across each other until a hole leading to the Hufflepuff staff room opened up.
"Wait!" she called, jogging over. "I'm going with you."
He sneered. "You can't be serious."
"I am! I really think –"
"How awfully nice for you," Draco shot out acidly. "But I'll congratulate you another time. Our covers are about to be blown apart and you pick now to throw yourself at me? Do what I told you and you'll be fine." He turned away from her and tapped the wall quickly – too quickly for her to keep track of – and when the bricks collapsed into a passageway (she desperately hoped there was no one within earshot of the commotion, thought the room was probably charmed against that) he stepped through unhesitatingly.
A slight panic ran through her, Ginny observed the similarly patterned room that the blond melted into; it was much darker than the one she stood in, as there was no fire, but the exit was in the same place. Draco reached the door, pulled it open sharply, and closed it fully behind him – undoubtedly locking it.
Nearly screaming with frustration, Ginny frantically gave her surroundings a once over. When she turned back to the hole, she realized, with further alarm, that it was half the size it had been a minute before. Dashing a few steps away, she snatched up Draco's bag – he'd left it behind – and stuffed it into the reforming wall, not quite knowing what to expect. As the hole decreased in size and met resistance, a few dull, popping sounds emitted from the expensive leather rucksack and Ginny knew that Draco would need to replace a few pots of ink and at least two quills. But more importantly, the wall ceased to shrink and she now had a chance to follow after him, to hell with his absurd plan for her. Why would she ever go traipsing about when something like this was happening? She might be needed.
Ginny raised her wand to expand the area around the crumpled schoolbag, and then hesitated. What she was considering was undoubtedly foolish, and if she'd learned anything from Ron's encounter with the brain at the Department of Mysteries, was that most thoughts were dangerous enough without adding imprudence to the mix…
Ginny gritted her teeth. Ron's heart was still beating and he was virtually unscarred, so to Circe with caution. She fumbled around mentally for a simple but effective spell, and when it came to mind she straightened her aim on the wall.
"Engorgio Vacua," she spoke firm but softly. Almost immediately Draco's bag fell to the floor as the hole widened. Ginny cringed at the noise; the bricks were making far more of a ruckus than they had before, as if they were aware that someone was trying to cheat the precautionary spells. While there was still time, she summoned her own bag, shrank it along with Draco's and tucked them into her pocket; hopefully the fire would snuff itself out. With one last glance about her, Ginny clambered through into a nearly identical, but colder, darker room.
And not a moment too soon.
Her spell gave out and the bricks fell upon each other vindictively and chaotically, leaving her cut off completely from where she had just been. When it was finished, there was only a flat, smooth plane as it should have been. Ginny nearly ran to the door. Once through, she shut it completely as Draco had, and raced down the hall as swiftly and silently as she could, so as not to alert anyone – or anything.
Merlin, but Draco moved fast… She sprinted toward the stairs and peered heedlessly over the side of the banister, nearly tipping over it. A whoosh of air left her lungs when she spotted a shadowy, but familiar figure about four flights down; and then it was gone. She waited impatiently and almost feverishly for the landing to reorient itself back to her, and after nearly three minutes, when it did, Ginny hopped on single-mindedly, chasing Draco's elusive silhouette down to where Gavin awaited him.
That's the end of this one. And no, the wait for the next chapter will not be this long, though it might not be as short as most of you would like. No review responses for the last chapter as I just wanted to get this out there.Huge thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! Please continue!
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