To love or not to love, that is the question
A/N: Takes place in Ginny's fourth year.
Chapter 1
It's a hard life
***
This is a tricky situation
I've only got myself to blame
It's just a simple fact of life
It can happen to any one
You win - you lose
It's a chance you have to take with love
--- Queen, It's a hard life
***
It was dark, so dark that she could barely see. All that she could distinguish were tall, shadowy shapes. Trees? Maybe. However, she had no time to give them further thought. She had to flee, to run away from the thing that was following her. She stopped, panting and knowing that she simply couldn't run any more. Her whole ribcage ached and when she tried to inhale, she felt as if somebody had stuck a knife into her chest, repeatedly. Exhausted, she wanted to sit down, regardless of the fact that the thing that was hunting her might arrive soon. Suddenly, two hands shot out of the darkness and grabbed her wrists with an iron grip, preventing her from falling down. They were freezing cold and she winced at their touch. Slowly, she raised her head, afraid of what she would see and met the icy, unwavering gaze of two gray eyes. Her pupils widened in dismay and she screamed.
Ginny woke up with a start, breathing heavily. Her heart was beating so fast as if she'd just played in the Quidditch Finals. Trembling, she sat up and put her head wearily into her hands, sighing raggedly. Not this one again. Please not again.
Even after all the years, even without the diary, he was still haunting her. Tom Riddle. Sometimes she had nightmares featuring him, like this one. Also, she couldn't look into another person's gray eyes without being reminded of his.
Slowly, Ginny stretched out on the grass she'd been lying all the time and glanced up to the sky. The fact that it was already dark-blue and that there were stars sparkling on it, astonished her.
"I must've been here for quite a long time," Ginny muttered to herself.
She remembered going to her favorite place amidst the trees not far away from the Burrow as she often did when she felt unhappy and alone. It had been 6 p.m. then. She'd lain down and had looked up to the blue infinity of the sky, various thoughts whirling through her head. Apparently, she'd fallen asleep and had slept for several hours.
"I guess I should go back to the house, otherwise Mum and Dad will worry about me," she said out loud and tried to ignore the unpleasant little voice in her head that said that they wouldn't because they were preoccupied with other things.
Nobody gives you a thought and you know that, the voice added maliciously.
Ginny became annoyed and almost retorted that it wasn't true, but if somebody heard her talking to herself, they would think she was going crazy. She didn't need that. Moreover, she had the feeling that her alter-ego wasn't very far from the truth. Her parents were preoccupied with other things, mostly with Harry who had been very reticent and reserved ever since the end of the school-year. Of course, Ginny didn't blame him. She didn't know how she would have handled the situation he was in and shutting himself off was probably Harry's way to deal with Cedric's death and the events that had accompanied it.
A week ago, he and Hermione had come to the Burrow to spend the rest of their holidays there. There had been quite an argument between Dumbledore and Molly Weasley on that topic. Molly had insisted on keeping Harry away from the Dursleys and Dumbledore hadn't wanted to allow that because of the powerful protection charm that lasted on Harry only as long as he was with his blood-relatives. However, Molly had won the argument, coming up with the fact that in his current shape, Harry couldn't possibly endure the Dursleys the whole summer and that Sirius could come and visit him in his dog form when Harry would be at the Burrow ( The Weasleys had been informed about the real situation with the Potters' Secret-Keeper and fortunately they believed in Sirius' innocence, as Albus did.). Finally, Dumbledore had given in, but he had used his connections at the Ministry to ensure Harry's safety and let the Burrow be guarded by so many Aurors that it was now certainly the safest wizarding house in Britain, even if this safety measure made it harder for Sirius to remain undiscovered. Ginny didn't mind the Aurors much because usually she and the others didn't see them anyway. They were positioned in the surroundings of the house and kept themselves out of sight. Only sometimes, Ginny had the impression of hearing the swishing sound of a cloak and seeing a bit of black material between some trees. Other than that, everything was as normal as it could be at the Burrow. Fred and George still played their pranks, Percy's worcaholism hadn't faded away and Arthur was still interested in everything that was Muggle. He could spend hours talking to Hermione about things like computers and toasters. And Harry… well, Harry ignored her, as always. He wasn't rude or unfriendly or anything, he just didn't take notice of Ginny and that was much worse, in her opinion. She grimaced as she realized that ever since the arrival of Harry and Hermione, she'd spent more time outside the house than inside, not being able to bear being around the Trio all the time. Harry, Ron and Hermione were extremely tiring when they were together. They formed a perfect little circle and Ginny always felt like an outsider when she saw them sitting together and discussing things they never told her about.
"As if I wanted to know their deepest secrets," she thought sulkily, " but all I want is to be part of their friendship, nothing more. Why do they always exclude me?"
That was true. How often had she come into a room where they had been talking and they had abruptly changed the topic and had seemed to want to get rid of her as quickly as possible? Ginny had stopped to count. Their ignorance and mistrust made her want to scream. Was she too unworthy and inferior to belong into their circle? Why? This kind of thoughts always made her flee and escape the house. She had grown tired of walking into their oh-so-secret conversations and then hearing things like, " Oh, hi Gin. Didn't you say that you wanted to see the sunset today? I think it's starting now." or " Ginny… would you please degnome the garden with Fred and George? I think they said they needed help." Aargh. At least they could try to be less obvious, couldn't they? In such moments she admired her self-control and privately wondered where on earth she'd gained it. Because not to scream and throw heavy and pointy objects when you had to face constant ignorance and indifference was sometimes very hard to manage.
"Well, I guess it's easy for me seeing that I have a lot of practice in facing those two particular sentiments," Ginny thought grimly while she was heading towards the Burrow. It was a warm, pleasant August night and for a moment, she was tempted to stay and sleep outside. But then she pictured the racket her parents would make if she did and so she decided against it.
"Of course," Ginny muttered with a voice full of sarcasm, " I could get easily kidnapped in a wood full of Aurors. I mean, Death Eaters in particular are known to pick on people Harry couldn't care less for, like me, especially if those people are most carefully protected by the top members of the Auror's Guild."
It was just a pity that she couldn't say it to her parents like that as well. But that was normal, after all. She usually got the best ideas of how to reply to an argument or an insult when she was on her own and when she could let her thoughts make somersaults. Then her carefully formulated responses were sharp, brilliant and witty. The only problem was that the best ideas always came afterwards. Ginny sighed as she closed the entrance door cautiously, so it wouldn't creak too loudly. It seemed as if she was caught in her gloomy mood again. It kept happening quite often these days, ever since the arrival of Harry Potter.
"Wonderful," she said to herself, "I've had a crush on him since I was ten and now I can have him around for about three weeks and I'm in the worst mood ever. Where's the logic?"
But she knew the answer only too well. Such thoughts always led to the never-changing fact that Harry didn't love her. Harry wouldn't even bother to speak to her if she wasn't Ron's sister and if he didn't have to ask her to pass the marmalade at breakfast for example, because he couldn't reach it. Ginny could tell exactly what Harry had said to her that day. It had been three sentences. First: " Gin, could you pass the butter, please?" - at breakfast, then "Have you seen Ron?" - in the afternoon and a few moments later, "You haven't seen Ron, have you?" He hadn't even remembered the reply she had given two minutes ago! It had taken Ginny a lot not to yell out of rage. Instead, she had raced up into her room, had flung herself onto her bed and had cried out of frustration. It just wasn't fair.
With such unpleasant and depressive thoughts on her mind, she'd gone outside. Now she was lying in her bed again, clad in a long, green T-shirt she used instead of a night-gown and staring at the ceiling. Maybe she was being selfish. After all that Harry had gone through, he could be pardoned for not listening to her properly and for wanting to talk only to his best friends and not to her. But it hurt. It really did.
"I know I could be a good friend to him," Ginny thought fiercely. "I would do everything for him, I would listen to him, I would try anything to lighten up his spirits…"
She called herself firmly to a halt. Such thoughts led nowhere. Either she would get over Harry soon or she would end up in St. Mungo's Center for Magical Maladies in the section for the Lovesick and Gone Crazy.
With a resigned sigh, Ginny rolled over in her bed to find a better position to sleep and closed her eyes.
And opened them again.
Having slept early in the evening, she wasn't tired now. Ginny glanced at the clock that was hanging above her desk. It was half past three. What can you do at half past three in the night when everyone save you sleeps?
"Wake them up," Ginny thought and grinned mischievously.
But she pushed the idea away because a few seconds of sadistic satisfaction weren't worth the litany she would probably receive afterwards. Instead of infuriating everyone by disturbing their sleep, she chose to go into the kitchen and get herself some food. Maybe there was still something left from the delicious cherry cake Mum had made in the morning.
She was lucky. There was still more than a third left (which was quite surprising as usually, such a cake didn't last more than three hours) and Ginny took a piece.
Mmh, how wonderful, she thought, eating the cake slowly and enjoying its taste.
Cherries had always been her favorite fruits. She was just about to get herself some milk out of the big box that was covered with Freezing Charms ( a wizard equivalent to a refridgerator) when the sound of footsteps reached her ears. Somebody was coming down the stairs into the kitchen. Ginny turned around and fixed the end of the stairs. Who could that be, at half past three in the morning? Somebody who has trouble sleeping through the whole night and has just discovered that he or she's hungry? her alter-ego mused and caused Ginny to roll her eyes in exasperation. Was everybody cursed with that little voice in the back of their minds or was it only her cruel fate to endure that?
She focused her attention on the stairs again. They were creaking loudly now which meant that the person was coming rapidly closer. Ginny held her breath. Part of her hoped wildly that it was Harry while another part of her sincerely wished the opposite because she didn't know if she could bear his indifference as calmly as usual at that time of night.
After a few minutes, a vague shape appeared. Ginny hadn't made light before and now she didn't recognize who was hidden in the shadows. But suddenly, the person spoke.
***
He was lying on a bench in the garden, enjoying the sunrays of the late afternoon and trying to ignore the faint tickling in his nose. However, he remained unsuccessful. All of a sudden, Draco sneezed so violently that he felt his head spinning. Frowning, he sat up and wondered, "What the…?"
He couldn't even finish the sentence and sneezed again, even harder than before.
And again.
And again.
Trembling slightly, he stayed still for a moment, waiting for it to continue, but it seemed as if the sneezing had stopped. Draco put his head into his hands and groaned. He felt dizzy and his eyes were watering. What on earth was going on?
The quick succession of sneezes had rendered him a little weak. Draco rose slowly from the bench. He found that it might be better to go into the Manor and get hold of a handkerchief before it started again. Still confused, he wondered whether he was getting a cold or something. However, this option seemed quite impossible seeing that it was August and so warm that he wouldn't have been able to catch a cold if he tried.
Suddenly, it dawned on him. August. The tickling in his nose. He had forgotten to take his Anti-allergy Potion that morning! His body reminded him painfully of that fact by overreacting completely at the contact with the pollen grains of dozens of plants he was allergic to. Draco swore silently, cursing his allergy as he had done an uncountable amount of times before. Now he would have to sniff, sneeze and endure the burning pain in his eyes for the next three hours. It wouldn't even help if he used the AA-Potion now because it took a while until it began to have an effect.
Since Draco had an allergy to various sorts of pollen grains, he had to use the Potion every day (its effect lasted only for 24 hours) from March to October. He had to take care of it especially when he was at home because Lucius Malfoy hated it when his son showed a weakness and in his eyes, an allergy was a weakness.
"As if I could control it. It's innate and incurable," Draco thought sourly.
But it was no use. A Malfoy just didn't have allergies. (Well, save those to Muggles and 'inferior people'.) It was almost as bad as being impotent. Or a Squib.
Draco went over to the Manor and entered it through the patio door. He winced as he set his bare feet on the marble floor inside. It was as cold as ice. The marble on the patio had been warm from the sun that had been shining the whole afternoon but the Manor, being built of stone, was cold even in the hottest summer, not that it ever got that hot, mind you.
On the way to his bedchamber, Draco noticed a faint movement in a room at his right. He paused, narrowing his eyes. What was that?
He peered cautiously into the room and the first thing he saw was the grand black piano that had always been standing there, as far as Draco could remember. But that wasn't what had caught his attention. His gaze wandered over to the person who was sitting on a stool at the piano and opening the lid for the keys.
It was Narcissa Malfoy.
Draco's heart sank.
No, please not now… not today! he thought half-desperately. First that outburst of allergic reaction and now this! What have I done to be so punished?
Narcissa really enjoyed playing the piano. The problem was that … well, that she couldn't actually play it. But usually, she hammered onto the poor instrument with great enthusiasm and so succeeded only in showing the musical skill she apparently hadn't . Now, she started to 'work off her emotions' on the piano, as she called her manhandling of the instrument. Draco wasn't sure whether she knew what she was talking about because so far, he hadn't known any emotion that would do even so much as to consider to settle itself in Narcissa's heart.
If you made an ice statue and put my mother beside it, you wouldn't know any difference, Draco thought cynically. Well, maybe later when the statue started to melt, he added as an afterthought. But in the coldness of Mother's presence, it probably wouldn't melt anyway.
Draco refrained from putting his hands over his ears at the sound of the piano because he didn't want to look childish. Instead, he continued to head for his bedroom, thinking gloomily that he should count himself lucky that Narcissa didn't play the violin. Or a trumpet, for Salazar's sake.
Sighing, he entered his chamber and backed away instantly, his eyes widening in horror. The door of his closet was ajar and, which was worse, the closet itself was completely devoid of its contents. There were piles of clothes scattered around the room and some pieces were even zooming around in the air. In the midst of that chaos were three house-elves who had been chatting and laughing happily until the moment they'd seen Draco, which had prompted them to gaze at him with a horror equal to his.
Draco regained his speech first and barked, " What the hell is going on?"
The three house-elves squirmed under his harsh words and his furious stare.
"Master Draco, sir," one of them began shakily, " We was just sorting your clothes, sir, and cleaning them. We was thinking…"
Draco cut him short, feeling thoroughly fed up. First the allergy, then Narcissa's artful or better awful piano play and now this! They had fooled around with his clothes! To Draco, that was about as unforgivable as messing around with his hair. How dare they?!
"Out!" he raged, "At once! And if I ever see you fooling around with my precious…" - he plucked a pair of boxer shorts out of the air - "… underwear, then I shall give you clothes!"
The poor house-elves were trembling at the prospect of being thrown out of the Malfoys' service. With three 'plopp', they vanished, wearing extremely terrified expressions on their pointy faces.
Draco was left standing in his room in the midst of the chaos of his garments. He clenched his fists and mentally reprimanded himself for giving into his emotions and reacting so childishly. A withering, menacing speech à la Lucius Malfoy would have scared them more. Ah well. He'd needed somebody to work off his frustration on. Draco looked around in his room and the familiar feeling of depression swept over him. He hated the Manor with its cold stone walls and chambers where the light seemed to refuse to come in. Whenever possible, Draco spent the time he was at home outside in the garden. But now he'd better not go out because then he wouldn't stop sneezing until the following week. Draco slumped down on his bed and stretched out, wishing that he lived in a castle like Hogwarts and not in this ice palace.
The piles of clothes that the house-elves hadn't removed caught his attention. He glanced at them with irritation. Was he supposed to put them back by himself? Certainly not. He couldn't be expected to do low-level work like that.
"I'll have the house-elves put the clothes back and if it takes them more than ten minutes, I'll have a word with Father about it," he thought grimly.
But his angry feeling changed to thoughtfulness as his gaze swept over the huge piles of garments in every color imaginable that covered almost every inch of the floor. Did he really have so many clothes? Had he worn every piece of them at least once? Draco wasn't sure. There were a lot of things he didn't recognize. For example that frilly white thing at the base of his bed. That couldn't possibly belong to him! He tore his thoughts firmly from that topic because they were pointless. Instead, he stretched out on his bed and began to stare at the ceiling.
Ten minutes passed.
"Grindelwald's rotting bones, is this boring!" Draco said out loud. He sat up so fast that his head spun. The walls of his room seemed to rush at him and he felt his breath coming short. The hallucination passed quickly, but it left a sick sort of feeling behind. Draco immediately resolved not to stay at home the next day. He needed to think of something. He needed to get out of the Manor… Diagon Alley! Yes, he would make a trip to London. With a contented smile, Draco stretched out on his bed again and started to think of what he would threaten the house-elves with if they didn't obey his whims.
Well, what do you think? It's a hard life… This is just the beginning and therefore not so interesting, please bear with me… it will get more interesting when D meets G which will be in the next chapter.