Author's note: I know that it is against my better judgment that I start this new fic. But I've been toying with the idea for months now and…I figure that I might as well give it a shot. Please read and review.
Disclaimer: Just like everyone else in fandom, I do not own Harry Potter. That honor goes to J.K. Rowling. Please don't sue me for this.
Unhinged: Chapter 1
In a little while
I'll be gone
The moment's already passed
Yeah, it's gone
And I'm not here
This isn't happening.
How to Disappear Completely, Radiohead
The very beginning of it all was, of course, Ron's mysterious disappearance.
As most beginnings go, this one started out as a day of no real importance. School is school, and 6th year is 6th year: a drone. I attended my classes; I made a dire attempt to look half-awake through most of them, and managed to not land myself in detention. In general, the day was a good one. What you should also understand about Hogwarts and its inhabitants is that dinner is The Highlight. Other than the fact that by dinnertime, everyone is hungry enough to eat human flesh if need be, it's the height of sociable-ness. Breakfast is too early, and lunch comes with the promise of too many classes afterwards. But dinner is perfect—you can make plans for a game of chess afterwards if you like, or if you're like Hermione Granger, you have time to knit and/or read and generally save house-elf kind. (Or at least make a good attempt to. One must admit that her intent is admirable, if a bit foolhardy.) Anyway you look at it, dinner is a good time. It is also a time that my brother-big, gangly, irritating boy that he is, rarely ever misses dinner. And yes, you guessed it—he missed it that night.
"Where's Ron?" Harry was the first to notice the absence of his best friend. Hermione started, and looked up from the book spread over her lap.
"What?"
"Ron," Harry repeated, looking around the Gryffindor table. "I've just remembered that he's not here." Hermione's face wrinkled into a gentle frown, but she quickly grew distracted.
"Oh, well," she said, her eyes already back to her text. "I'm sure there's a good reason. Wouldn't worry."
"Hermione," Harry said gently, looking lovingly and exasperatedly at his girlfriend. I giggled. "Put the book down."
"Harry, I've got to read this! I could very well be on my way to solving one of the greatest mysteries of life—do you really want to interrupt this?"
But Harry's hands were firm, and they promptly snatched the book out of her hand.
"Yes," he said. "I do want to interrupt. I barely see you all day, and I'd like to talk to you."
"Fine," Hermione muttered, but only half-heartedly. After all, any other girl would have gladly had a conversation with Harry than read a big musty book. I turned my head in the other direction, scooting closer to my friend Colin. Living with a hundred brothers (well, alright, only six), thank God, had allowed me to appreciate and respect privacy in all its glory.
"Oy, Ginny, what foo thik of this wod?" Colin said through a mouthful of food. Colin shoved a black and white photo in front of me. A much smaller version of Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy was there. The two of them seemed quite occupied with each other.
"Er," I mumbled awkwardly. "Colin? It's a little…"
"Yea, I know." Colin swallowed. "The quality is a bit blurry, and I do wish I could have gotten a head-on angle, but really, it was the best I could get for a galleon," he finished sheepishly.
"Colin!" I said, shocked. "You paid Malfoy and Parkinson a galleon so you could take a picture of them snogging?" I hoped I would never have to say that sentence again. Colin continued to look completely oblivious to how absurd the thought was.
"Yes?"
"I don't know. It seems a waste," I said gently. "And since when have they been discreet? I'm sure it wouldn't have been hard to get a candid shot of them going at it, and you would have saved yourself a galleon." Colin shook his head.
"You don't know what you're saying, Gin—a candid won't do. And they didn't seem taken to the idea of being photographed so I had no other choice. You know I'm bent on publishing this issue of Hogwarts Monthly. I've got to get it done."
"Colin," I said in what I hoped was a reasonable tone. "It's not even December yet. I'm sure the Valentine's issue doesn't need to take priority at the moment." But Colin's lips were set in a stubborn line.
"Don't you understand, Ginny? The Valentine's issue is our most popular one—everyone in the school reads it. It's got to be perfect. My reputation depends on it," he said melodramatically.
I sighed resignedly. "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't count your eggs before they've hatched," I advised, risking t he chance of sounding corny.
Colin retorted with a blank stare. I pressed further.
"Who knows who will be in love with whom by the time Valentine's Day comes around? If you take the pictures and write the articles now, only to find out that a couple has broken up, you'll have to do the work all over again."
To this, Colin laughed. I felt a jab of annoyance at the fact that he would take my heart-felt advice so lightly.
"Don't worry about that, Ginny. Do you really think that Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson would suddenly call it quits after all these years? Everyone knows they're joined at the hip. It won't happen. Maybe when pigs fly, though."
I had to agree to that. Ever since I had entered this school, the two of them had been inseparable. I figured that some people really were destined to be together.
"Just don't get yourself into trouble, then," I said gruffly. Colin waved me away before proceeding to show me a flood of other new photos he had taken. Before I knew it, dinnertime was over, and the Great Hall was beginning to empty. I realized with a jolt that Ron had still not arrived. I was beginning to grow slightly worried—I didn't know then just how worried I should have been.
With a mostly irritated sigh, I left the table and the hall to return to the common room. On the way to the tower, I heard two heated, yelling voices. Rounding the corner, I saw the lovely couple Colin and I had only just been talking about. Instinctively, I thought of turning around—but there was no other way to get to Gryffindor Tower. Tentatively, I continued forth, until it was too late for me to hide. Pansy's usually pale face was flushed dark. If she did see me, she made no indication of it.
"Shut up, Malfoy," she was saying as I came to a complete stop behind them. "And the next time you feel like playing father to me, you can remind yourself to shove off, can't you?"
Draco Malfoy, whose face I could not see, moved forward at an attempt to grab Pansy and whirl her around.
"Don't touch me," she said coldly. "Good night." She snatched her wrist out of his grasp before briskly walking down the long corridor, and then disappearing into the dark.
I stood frozen for as long as Malfoy stood there, his back still turned towards me.
"Care to go away, Weasley?" he said suddenly, his angry voice breaking the silence with a shatter. I jumped. I hadn't been aware that he had been aware.
"Well—I—sorry," I said impulsively. For a moment, I meant it. I hadn't intended to intrude.
"Of course you're not," he said nastily, turning around to face me. Any apologetic feelings disappeared immediately. His cheeks were pale, paler than I'd ever seen them. "But it's just like you Weasleys to tread where they shouldn't."
"I told you, I didn't mean to," I said defensively, feeling my face grow hot at the prospect of an argument with Malfoy. "Stop acting so angry at me. It's not my fault that there's trouble in paradise," I spat.
Malfoy seemed enraged at my words, for a moment. Then, just as quickly, he calmed, as if deciding at the last moment that I was not worth it—a surprisingly sage move from someone so bigoted. With a simple shrug, he said, "It was only a fight. There's no trouble."
"Right," I said, quite disbelievingly. Briefly, I thought of the irony of what I had previously said to Colin, earlier that night. "'Bye, then."
With that clumsy goodbye (and really, why had I even uttered a farewell?) I dodged past him and followed the route to the security of Gryffindor Tower.
"Is Ron still not back?" I asked with slumped shoulders as I climbed through the portrait hole. Harry looked up.
"He's not with you?"
"Does it look like he's with me?" I snapped, shooting Harry a look of annoyance.
"I—I suppose not."
"He's not, anyway, " I said, softening my tone. "Not that I'm going to worry any more about that boy. If he's decided to disappear, that's good for us. One less brother to kill off later on." I grinned. Harry smiled back, and when I felt that he was not going to begrudge me for being testy with him, I said goodnight and decided to go to bed early.
By the next morning, however, I could not pretend that I didn't care about my brother's missing status.
"He's still not here, Ginny," Harry said automatically as I seated myself at breakfast.
"Bloody nuisance," I muttered. "What is he, five? Must I be forced to keep track of him? Keep him on a leash, maybe? The least he could do is owl us to tell us he's okay." When in fact, that was just a way—my way-of saying, 'I hope he's okay.' Ron was never one to care too much for his wellbeing. It was a trait he, Harry and Hermione shared.
"Well, he's not five years old," reminded Hermione gently. "I'm sure he's alright."
"I'm not worried," I said, before shoving a mouthful of toast in my face. Hermione shrugged. I would just skip breakfast then, to find that brother of mine and promptly ask him if he'd any idea how worried his friends had been.
"Of course you're not. That's why you're not going to go off looking for him."
"Hermione!" I complained. "He hasn't been to his dorm all night—that means he's been sleeping somewhere else—and who knows where that might be!"
"Ginny's right," Harry interjected. "I'm going." Once again, it seemed that Harry's tendency towards heroism was taking over. When I stood up to join him, Hermione followed us with a disgruntled cluck of her tongue.
"Honestly," she said. "Paranoid—that's what you lot are."
"Right," Harry said, turning round to face us. "I figure we should split up."
"We shouldn't—and anyway, let's just go back?" Hermione said. I glared at her.
"Of course we should split up—we need to find Ron right away so that I can finish eating without disturbance. I'll take the lower level," I prompted.
"Hermione and I will take the upper floors, then," Harry said. "Meet back here in an hour, whether or not he turns up."
Nodding, I headed for the stairs that lead to the dungeons. Soon enough, the damp, mossy smell of the area pervaded my senses, and almost on instinct, I grew slightly more wary. My footsteps, which had previously been clunking along ignorantly, grew softer.
"Hello?" I peeked my head into an empty classroom. "Ron!" I called. "Ronald Weasley! Prat!"
Every room I encountered I peered into, hoping that my brother would be there. But his whereabouts remained unknown. As the number of classrooms lessened, I grew slightly more worried, now with a note of slight panic. This wasn't like my brother at all—first to skip dinner, then to not return to the tower all night. Skipping two entire meals was unheard of, especially if he was alone, especially if he was without Harry and Hermione. I walked faster.
But the very last classroom in the lower level proved to be empty.
"Ron, you great bloody fool," I whispered to myself, whirling around to head back down the way I had come—
When the wall moved. My body tensed and stilled, hearing, watching for movement. I watched the wall, the one to the left of me, that I could have sworn had creaked. Upon stepping closer, I realized with wide eyes that it had indeed moved—I now noticed a small, nearly inconspicuous doorway. It had been perfectly concealed along the wall's stone façade, but the crack was definitely there—if I could get my fingers wrapped around it, it would open.
My curiosity eventually won the argument against reason. I grabbed the small raise in the surface, and pulled. It opened quite easily, and a dim orange glow emanated from the depths. I looked below and saw a flight of rickety-looking stairs. It wasn't really odd, you know. After a fair few years at Hogwarts castle, you begin to realize that secret rooms are as normal as a sunrise. As I descended, against my better judgment, my only defense was this: stairs were made for climbing, weren't they?
Although, now that I think of it—if I had known what would have been in store for me at the end of those stairs, I'm sure I would not have taken it. Just as if Pandora had known what would be in her box, she would not have opened it. But she did not have the gift of foresight, and neither did I. Therefore I stumbled erratically to my doom.
"Ron?" The voice was not my own. A hand flew to my mouth when I saw a figure emerge from a corner of the room. Naked. I could barely see the outline of her voluptuous figure. Thrown into shock, I watched mutely the vision in front of me.
"Pansy," my brother said. "I think I should go."
"You shouldn't have to do anything you don't want to," Pansy said firmly. "So stay."
"No," Ron insisted, pushing against her lingering hand upon his shoulder. "I'm not used to worrying my friends and sister. I have to go."
"Then you'll at least be gentlemanly enough to call for me, won't you?"
Ron hesitated.
"You know I'll be furious if you don't. Please tell me that those months and months of time spent in the library—fighting-has lead us somewhere."
"Why?" Ron looked pensive. Pansy looked cold and hard.
"Because I don't fuck strangers. You better not be one, Weasley, because I can't very well pretend we didn't just screw each other."
My brother chuckled, then stifled it.
"I'll owl you."
That seemed to suffice for Parkinson. With a grunt, she grabbed her clothes and began roughly putting them back on. Ron waited until she was dressed before moving. When he did, she watched him carefully. He looked self-conscious, avoiding her gaze at all costs. When my brother buttoned up his shirt, I was thrown back into reality. I ducked out of the way and hurried up the stairs quietly, my heart pounding.
My brain, being so unused to these sorts of things, did not even attempt to understand what I had just seen. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined what was to follow—to me, this was just a piece of surreal-ity. With a slightly confused cry, I leaned back against the wall, my breathing growing labored as I relived the events that had occurred only moments before. Ronald and Pansy, naked. They had…made love? No. Making love was reserved for two people who truly cared for each other. This…this was simply a prank. My brother must have been spelled into doing this—a horrible joke from the Slytherins. I grew cold at the thought.
I reasoned with myself very well—because in the actually tangible world that the rest of us lived in, such a thing as my brother having sex with Pansy was impossible. It was like trying to argue that two and two equaled five. It was never possible, not even if it were the end of the world.
My thoughts stilled, and I did not even flinch as a frozen and invisible hand slipped around my neck. A familiar and angry face appeared before me, distinctive only by his gray eyes.
"Weasley," Malfoy growled. "What is it with you and butting into other people's businesses?"