To love or not to love, that is the question

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.

To love or not to love, that is the question Chapter 2: Confusion and odd happenings

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.

“Ginny? Is that you?” Hermione asked, sounding sleepy.

Ginny felt a stab of disappointment accompanied by a rush of relief at the other girl’s voice. It wasn’t Harry. But was that really what she had wanted? Maybe a nightly discussion would have… No. Ginny’s mind snapped back to reality and she realized the other girl was staring at her with a peculiar expression.

“I said,” Hermione enunciated clearly, “What are you doing here?”

She had obviously posed the question before and Ginny hadn’t reacted because she had been about to figure out whether she was happy at Hermione’s presence or whether she would have preferred somebody else’s appearance.

“I was… I mean, I couldn’t sleep properly, so I went to get me some food,” Ginny replied distractedly and then remembered her manners.

“D’you want some cherry cake, too?” she offered the plate to Hermione, forgetting that she, being the daughter of two dentists, wouldn’t even dare eat a piece of bread after brushing her teeth in the evening, much less an absolutely over-sugared (but nevertheless delicious) cherry cake. Right she was. Hermione cast a longing glance at the plate but turned away, murmuring something about getting herself some milk instead.

Ginny shrugged and flipped down onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table. If Hermione wanted to deprive herself of the real niceties of life, it was fine with her. There would be more cake left for Ginny.

Having filled a glass with milk, Hermione went over to the table with it and seated herself opposite of the other girl. Ginny surveyed her, wondering what on earth it was that made Hermione seem trustworthy for Harry. Was it because she was so clever?

“But I’m clever, too,” Ginny thought, “Only not in that omniscient way she is. And I think that being a know-it-all hardly leads to popularity among other people.”

What was it then? It couldn’t be her looks, either. Not that Hermione wasn’t good-looking, in fact (ever since her front teeth had become normal-sized miraculously), she could be quite pretty when she tried. But Harry wasn’t the type of guy to judge people after their outward appearance. Ginny sighed. It seemed that she would die not knowing the crucial difference between her and Hermione that mattered to Harry.

“Gin,” Hermione’s voice interrupted her thoughts, “Is everything all right with you? You keep staring off into space and looking as if something bothered you. Do you want to talk?”

Ginny let her gaze rest on the other girl’s face, which showed genuine concern. For a brief moment, she was tempted to tell Hermione what was troubling her, but then she resolved not to. There wasn’t anything Hermione could do and she didn’t want anybody knowing how much Harry’s indifference was bothering her. He would hardly change his behaviour, even if Hermione spoke to him on Ginny’s behalf. So why pour out her heart to somebody who already had to deal with the problems of the Boy Who Lived? Ginny smiled faintly and shook her head.

“I’m fine, thanks,” she muttered, “Good night, Hermione.”

Ginny rose from the chair and headed up the stairs for her room, feeling Hermione’s thoughtful gaze on her back who cupped her chin in her hands and said to herself, “ If you are fine, then I am Trevor the Toad. Hm. Perhaps I should talk to Ron about Ginny. She’s most decidedly not feeling well.”

Having arrived in her room, Ginny jumped onto her bed, lay down and began to stare at the ceiling again, imagining gloomily what she would do the next day.

“Okay, first I will be tired seeing that I probably won’t fall asleep anymore. Then I will have to look at the trio with their heads stuck together at breakfast, after breakfast, at lunch, in the afternoon, at dinner and after that, too…,” she said out loud and realized that there wasn’t much she could look forward to. In fact, there was absolutely nothing cheerful about the following day.

A moment, please, her alter-ego piped up.

“Oh no, not you again,” Ginny muttered desperately.

Her inner voice wasn’t exactly something that would cheer her up now. However, this time it was different.

Firstly, the voice announced firmly, you have holidays and that’s certainly a fact worth approving. Secondly, why don’t you just try to sleep longer in the morning? That would at least save you the trouble at breakfast and you wouldn’t be so tired.

“Yeah, but what then? Trio-watching the rest of the day,” Ginny thought dejectedly, refusing to see the positive aspects of life.

You know, there’s something called Floo Powder, which is very practical if you want to get away. It can actually put you through one fireplace to another. But it’s a very recent discovery, only about 500 years old, so the news of it might not have gotten through to you yet, said the voice with sarcasm so thick that you could have cut it with a knife.

Ginny rolled her eyes. Sod that bloody voice!

“And what are you suggesting? That I should visit my great-aunt Eugenia?” she asked angrily.

If that’s what you would enjoy, the voice replied resignedly and fell silent.

Ginny furrowed her brows thoughtfully. Actually, the idea with the Floo Powder wasn’t so bad. She had two or three Galleons left that she’d gotten from her parents because her school results had been very good. Yes, she would go to Diagon Alley and preferably spend the whole day there! It would be something else for a change. Smiling at that thought, Ginny finally went to sleep.

Rays of sunlight coming through her window woke her up in the late morning. Ginny yawned hugely and rubbed her eyes to get a clear view at the sky outside where the sun was already quite high. A quick glance at the clock informed her that it was five past ten.

“Fine,” Ginny thought while snuggling to the blankets sleepily, “Family breakfast is over now. I’ll get myself something light to eat and then I’ll go to Diagon Alley.”

She stood up with half-closed eyes to get herself dressed. On the way to her wardrobe, Ginny cast a glance at the man-sized mirror on the wall. Her reflection seemed a bit odd, but Ginny pushed the thought away. Firstly, she hadn’t been looking at it properly and secondly, with half-closed eyes, she tended to not seeing things clearly.

Ginny put on some jeans and a T-shirt (wizard kids normally wore the Muggle fashion when they weren’t at school) and went back to the mirror to comb her hair. Having arrived in front of it, she realized what had seemed so odd to her before.

The reflection in the mirror wasn’t hers at all!

At least, Ginny refused to believe it was, due to the simple fact that the person in the mirror had black and not red hair.

“Okay,” Ginny closed her eyes and said soothingly to herself, “ Calm down. You’re just imagining things. Now you’ll open your eyes and see your normal reflection.”

She looked at the mirror again and saw the black-haired girl staring back at her with her – Ginny’s – own brown eyes full of disbelief. That was impossible! Ginny grabbed a strand of her hair and pulled it in front of her eyes to examine its color.

Black. Definitely.

What on earth was going on with her? Ginny looked back into the mirror, feeling confused. She noticed that her eyebrows were black as well. Hm. The dark hair looked strange with her pale skin. Strange, but not that bad, Ginny had to admit. Only- how could it have happened? Suddenly, it dawned to her and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of that before. Somebody must’ve dyed her hair while she’d been sleeping! That sounded plausible. The who?-question was easily answered.

“There are only two people who would’ve done that,” Ginny thought grimly, “Fred and George. Well, I shall have a word with them.”

She went out and stormed into the twins’ room. It was deserted.

“Damn,” Ginny muttered and made her way down to the kitchen. But nobody was there, either. She spotted a piece of parchment on the kitchen table and took it. It was apparently addressed to her.

Dear Ginny, Molly Weasley had written, you were sleeping so sweetly, we didn’t want to wake you up. But don’t worry, you won’t be missing anything: We are all going to the Ministry headquarters with your Dad to show Harry and Hermione around. You already know what they’ll see. We shall be back in the afternoon. Have a nice day, my dear.

Love, Mum.

Ginny looked thoughtfully at the piece of parchment in her hand. So Fred and George had gone with them. Very clever. But they would have to deal with her in the evening, Ginny said to herself. Another thing occurred to her. Her parents weren’t at home and neither were her adult brothers. That meant she would have to go to Diagon Alley with dyed hair, because she wasn’t allowed to do magic and knowing Fred and George, the colour wouldn’t be one of those you could wash out easily.

“Oh, no,” Ginny groaned, “Just what I needed. People will be laughing their heads off at the sight of me.”

But then again-did that really matter to her? Ginny usually didn’t give a damn about other people’s opinions, save those of Harry and her brother Charlie, maybe. She went to get her money and the box of Floo Powder. Also, she quickly scribbled a note so that the others would know where she was in case they arrived sooner than her.

Having thrown a fistful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, Ginny stepped into it and said ‘Diagon Alley’. Several moments later, she stumbled out of the fireplace in the ‘Leaky Cauldron’. After a minute, she was standing in Diagon Alley, where the sun was shining pleasantly and everybody seemed very busy.

“All the better for me,” Ginny remarked silently, “Maybe there won’t be so many people who will actually recognize me in their hurry.”

As she passed Madame Malkin’s, Ginny stopped and eyed the dress robes in the window with interest. They were from the latest fashion, Domenica Scarlatti’s summer collection. Ginny was particularly taken with a robe at her right. It was narrowly cut and the skirt flared out only in the last third, which gave the robe an air of simple elegance that Ginny liked. Moreover, it had the color of dark champagne, which would certainly suit her well. The problem was the price, of course. Ginny knew that she couldn’t afford such a robe. She already had a dress robe anyway, a dark violet one that her mother had made herself. It was a nice enough robe, but it couldn’t compete with the beauty of this one.

“But why bother with dress robes? There won’t be a Yule Ball next school year anyway,” Ginny thought and walked on. Suddenly, she recalled the Yule Ball that had taken place in Hogwarts the previous year. Harry had asked her if she wanted to go with him in the end and she had had to turn him down because she’d already promised Neville to accompany him. If only she’d had more sense and had waited! If only… Ginny forced herself to think about something else. She’d made the experience that ‘if only’- sentences were entirely pointless.

Ginny continued walking down the street and after a while she found herself in front of the shop with Magical Sports Supplies. She looked eagerly at the broomstick in the window. It was still a Firebolt because so far, there hadn’t been made any better ones, but it looked wonderful all the same. Having six brothers had influenced Ginny. She loved Quidditch and, on contrary to Hermione, discussions about brooms, flying tricks and formations didn’t bore her at all. She wasn’t a bad Quidditch player either. In fact, whenever she played with Charlie, he was amazed by her skill and told her so. And coming from Charlie, that was really a compliment. Ginny examined the Firebolt through the window. It was so beautiful. That gleaming handle. Perfectly cut twigs… She noticed that somebody came standing next to her and looked at the broomstick as well, but she didn’t think about the person further because she was absorbed with the magnificent appearance of the Firebolt.

Draco was looking at the broomstick closely. He would have to persuade Father to buy him a Firebolt to match Potter’s, otherwise he would have no chance to get the Snitch first in the next school year. Well. That was going to be a piece of hard work. Lucius didn’t hesitate to buy his son everything he desired, but he also wanted to see results. For getting a Firebolt, he would have to actually beat Potter in a game.

He had stepped beside a girl that was looking at the Firebolt wistfully. Something about her had seemed familiar, yet he rather thought he hadn’t seen her before. Giving her no more than this brief thought, Draco fixed his gaze on the masterpiece of a broomstick in the window. After a while he took a side-glance at the girl, but her face was hidden by her hair, so he didn’t see her profile. But he could see the reflection of her face in the window. Those eyes! He knew them. He must’ve seen them somewhere before. Who was that girl? Draco was looking at her reflection openly, but the girl took no notice of him. He thought fast. Who had such a waterfall of black curls? The Patil girls had straight hair and their skin was darker, not so pale like this girl’s. It couldn’t be that Gryffindor Chaser, either, since Angelina Johnson was older than him and this girl seemed to be around his age, maybe slightly younger. He looked at her freckled face again.

Freckles!

Was that… no, it couldn’t be. Not with that hair. On the other hand… if she had dyed it? Possibly. Draco decided to find out. He bent over to the girl and asked curiously, “Weasley? Is that you?”

Ginny was torn out of her day-dreaming about the Firebolt by the most unpleasant sound she could imagine. The voice of Draco Malfoy. She turned to him and saw him staring at her so incredulously that she would have laughed at his expression if it hadn’t annoyed her so much.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she snapped, not caring about what he was doing in Diagon Alley on his own.

The look of disbelief on his face vanished and was replaced by his usual sneer.

“Well, I guess it is you. What have you done to your hair? Have you been ashamed that everywhere you would go, people would recognize you as a Weasley? Then you should have removed your freckles as well. And bought something decent to wear. Because that’s how you know a Weasley: red-haired, freckled and dressed in third-hand rags,” he remarked with a quirk of his left eyebrow that made Ginny positively shake with fury.

She couldn’t even express it with words how very much she hated Malfoy at that moment. All her frustration from the past few weeks seemed to concentrate on him.

“Take that back, Malfoy!” she hissed venomously.

He didn’t look particularly bothered at her fierce tone.

“Beg your pardon?” he asked coolly.

“Take that back or I’ll make you sorry!” she repeated hotly, wanting to lunge at him. He would be a convenient person to work off all her stowed anger on.

“What, are you going to hit me? I don’t advise it. Because if you do, I’ll get back at you,” he warned her in a soft but dangerous voice.

The first wave of rage that had swept over Ginny subsided. She regained her composure and raised an eyebrow.

“What, you gonna hit me? A girl?”

Draco looked bored.

“Do I look as if I would want to touch filth like you? Why make my hands dirty when a hex is much more cleaner and effective?” he said, smirking. Obviously, the Ban for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry didn’t extend itself to a Malfoy. How surprising.

Ginny decided not to lunge at him immediately.

“Oh, what are you afraid of, Malfoy? I’m just poor, that’s not contagious,” she pointed out.

Draco shrugged. “You never know. Moreover, you belong to a Muggle-loving family, which is as bad as being a mudblood. It’s dirty. Impure.”

Ginny’s eyes flashed.

“Fine,” she snarled, “That’s enough. Take that, you smug bastard.”

Having said that, she took a step towards him and kicked his shin, hard. With a pained exclamation, Draco staggered back and glared at her reproachfully. Ginny glared right back. She wasn’t going to take insults from Malfoy anymore. If he attempted to curse her, she would defend herself.

“Not above using primitive force, are we?” he said acidly, but there was a hint of pain in his tone.

Good, Ginny thought with savage satisfaction, Serves him right.

Draco’s voice cut through her thoughts.

“Well, I guess everybody uses what suits them best. One thing, however,” he continued witheringly, “Let me point out while I may be many things, I’m certainly not a bastard. However, I guess I’d expect too much for you to know the difference.”

Ginny suppressed her flaring temper.

“You know, Malfoy, when I’m really angry, I tend to lose my good aim. My foot might end in… other places than your shin,” she said conversationally.

Involuntarily, Draco took a step back, which made Ginny grin widely.

He mentally scolded himself, “What the hell are you doing? Backing up from Weasley? Do something she won’t forget so easily. Something embarrassing.”

Suddenly he got an idea. He knew a very nice spell that would make Weasley’s clothes transparent for a moment – only for the spell-caster – and he would see her underwear.

“Bet she won’t like that,” he thought and grinned as widely as Ginny had before, only more obnoxiously.

Ginny did notice the quick motion he made with his hand, but she was too slow to do anything. Before she could draw her wand, he had his pointed at her, but in an angle that the passing people couldn’t see it.

“Don’t move,” he commanded softly and then muttered some words she didn’t understand. For a moment she felt somehow…exposed, but the feeling passed quickly and Malfoy took a step back after surveying her closely.

“Was that all?” Ginny wondered silently, “I thought he was going to throw a hex at me.”

But Malfoy seemed to be very satisfied all the same.

“Nice knickers, Weasley,” he remarked in the same conversational tone she had used before, “I wouldn’t have thought that you’d wear something in such a shocking shade of turquoise. Ah well. De gustibus non est disputandum.”

And then – Ginny couldn’t believe her eyes – he swept her a mocking bow.

“I must say that I am looking forward to our next encounter. It was most interesting,” he added with a dirty smirk.

Ginny blushed deep red. How on earth did he know what she was wearing underneath her jeans? Was that because of the spell he’d muttered before? Probably. Trust Malfoy to come up with something like that. She wanted to slap him, to curse him and then leave him tied up somewhere in a cell where he would rot until Doomsday.

But Draco had already turned and had started to walk away. Moreover, she couldn’t very well hex him in a street full of people, could she?

The people!

Had they… had they seen what Malfoy had seen? Ginny looked around her anxiously, but nobody was staring or pointing at her and so she supposed that somehow, the spell made her underwear visible only to the caster. However, while she’d been thinking and recovering from the shock and humiliation, Draco had been able to make his getaway. He was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn,” Ginny swore silently, “But if he thinks that I won’t get back at him, then he’s gravely mistaken. Watch out Malfoy, you disgusting, leering git!”

Thanks for reviewing to sexytexy (actually, it was Tom in Ginny’s dream – she hasn’t been thinking much about Draco in Chapter 1 but I daresay this changed in this chapter *g*), Szaranea - of course there will be more chapters

;-), Sikora, burgosdamasco and BabyD.

To love or not to love, that is the question

Chapter 3: You don’t choose your family

“Damn,” Ginny swore silently, “But if he thinks that I won’t get back at him, then he’s gravely mistaken. Watch out Malfoy, you disgusting, leering git!”

After that mental outburst of emotion, Ginny decided to cool off, using the most pleasant way (save kicking Malfoy in his… shin, of course) – eating ice-cream at Florean Fortescue’s. She would be needing her energy when telling Fred and George how much exactly she liked her new hair colour. Ginny grinned despite herself, actually looking forward to tell her brothers her opinion in a very colourful way. This thought made her frown immediately.

“That’s not like me,” she said to herself with worry. “Usually, I don’t complain much when they play pranks on me. What’s going on?”

But since Ginny was a bright girl, she came quickly to a conclusion.

“Malfoy’s probably a bad influence on me,” she thought, grimacing. “Oh, did I say ‘probably’? He is a bad influence for sure.”

Trying not to think about Malfoy anymore (for this was far from being pleasant and Ginny hated such thoughts), she flopped down on a chair at a table at Fortescue’s and ordered cherry-flavoured ice-cream.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*

Draco was walking down the southern part of Diagon Alley with a smile on his face (which was rare) and a feeling of deep satisfaction (which was even rarer). He had spent one and a half month without making somebody miserable (his parents weren’t exactly options and according to Draco, house-elves didn’t count) and that encounter with Weasley had ended positively for him and had left her extremely uncomfortable. Draco had to congratulate himself. It seemed that he’d been able to turn this day into a good one. Only that at this point, he had no idea how very wrong he was with his assessment.

Suddenly, a high voice coming from behind his back made him stop dead in his tracks.

Draco felt his shoulders tense and something akin to an iron lump place itself in his stomach.

No, please let it not be her, he thought desperately. Let it not be…

“Draco!” a woman exclaimed, sounding thrilled.

The boy’s shoulders sagged in resignation and he turned slowly around to face the speaker.

All he could see was red.

Draco brushed away some strands of the woman’s scarlet hair with an impatient move and squinted up to her face that was very tanned. Nevertheless, it showed the owner’s age which was around sixty.

“Hello, Auntie Mel,” Draco muttered, keeping his hands in his pockets and his eyes down.

But even with this impolite behaviour, he couldn’t avoid the unavoidable.

The woman swept him into a bear-hug which one wouldn’t consider her capable of, crushing half of his ribs in the process and exclaimed in delight, “This must be my luckiest day since Christmas! I’m so glad to see you! It has been too long since your last visit. Six months! Imagine!”

Yeah. Imagine, Draco thought sourly, trying to last through the lack of oxygen. Six blissful months. Half a year without danger of being choked to death. Possibly my best months ever.

But of course, he didn’t voice his disrespectful thoughts.

Melinda O’Brien wasn’t someone you would want on your wrong side. She was, in fact, Narcissa’s aunt with no children or husband and incredibly rich. Even Lucius admitted that she was wealthier than the Malfoys, which had been one of his reasons to marry Narcissa. Melinda had always had an extremely soft spot when it came to her only niece, which had extended itself to Draco as well. It was very likely that one of those two would inherit her fortune. Lucius and Narcissa were aware of that and so Melinda received very respectful and tolerant treatment from the Malfoys, even though she beat Dumbledore in extravagance and even though she was as un-Malfoyish as possible.

Her hair, having originally had a muddy shade of brown with grey streaks here and there, was dyed scarlet and went down to her knees. She preferred to wear it open and when there was wind, people around her couldn’t see anything than red hair everywhere. Both of her lower arms were covered with platinum bracelets because that was her favourite metal. You never saw her without less than four necklaces and ten various Make-up and Beauty Charms.

Not that they helped, anyway, Draco used to think about it.

Melinda had a foible for jewellery, but somehow, she detested rings. Draco suspected it was due to a disease that made her fingers swell, but he cautiously refrained from asking. After all, if that was really the reason, why didn’t she see a mediwizard?

But that wasn’t his problem. All he had to care about was being friendly and respectful so that he would inherit her fortune as soon as she was dead. That had been his father’s words and Draco had decided to obey because disobeying Lucius Malfoy wasn’t exactly for your benefit, mildly speaking. However, he found it difficult to treat a person with respect when he considered them being completely bonkers.

Which normal person would wear an amount of jewellery that’s heavier than themselves? Which normal person would buy a whole herd of ponies and let them become wild and run around their estate doing what they wanted? Which normal person would converse with plants and would spend hours studying the leaf lining of herbs with unpronounceable names? And which normal person would ever call Dumbledore ‘the greatest wizard that has ever walked upon Earth’ and sigh dreamily??

Lucius used to say that money justified everything, but in Draco’s opinion, Melinda O’Brien was the infamous example that confirmed this rule.

While she was hugging him enthusiastically and making his head spin with the heavy scent of her perfume, Draco wondered desperately if he was going to survive this and what she was going to do next. He got the answer straight away.

Melinda finally released him and, holding him on arm-length away, she peered intently into his face with her watery-blue eyes.

“You seem different, somehow,” she remarked after a moment of silence.

Draco only barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

Big deal. People in my age use to do that. It’s called growing up, he thought.

Melinda went on happily, putting an arm around Draco’s shoulders.

“You are fifteen now,” she announced (as if he didn’t know that himself). “That’s an important age!”

She winked at him. “When I was fifteen, I got engaged for the first time.”

This genuinely surprised him. What sort of incredible fool would even consider marrying her?

“We didn’t marry, though,” Mel continued, the cheerful spark in her eyes not subsiding, as if it didn’t bother her at all. “Fortunately. He was such a bore. My second engagement was when I was 17, but I didn’t marry that one, either. All in all, I must have been engaged around seven times. However, nobody married me in the end,” she concluded, sounding not the least bit sorry.

Draco raised his eyebrows. Wonder why, he thought ironically. What is she getting at, anyway?

As if she had been reading her grand-nephew’s mind, Melinda spoke up again.

“Enough of my unsuccessful love-life. There’s something I want you to have, Draco.”

She reached into a pocket of her robes, drew out something glittering – some sort of jewellery, to Draco’s great surprise and gave it to him. It was a fine chain with what looked like two silvery dragons facing each other, attached to it. Draco examined the pendant closely. The dragons were real masterpieces of craftsmanship. Every single detail of their scales and wings was visible and instead of an eye, each of them had a tiny gem – an emerald and a ruby. When Draco squinted at them, they seemed to move.

“Wow,” he muttered and stroked the delicate work with his thumb.

“So you like it?” his great-aunt asked eagerly.

Draco snapped out of his absorption.

“What? Oh yes, it’s wonderful. Thanks!” he replied somewhat distractedly.

He would’ve said that even if she had given him a horrendous pink heart-shaped pendant on a golden chain in order to please her, though, but this time, he meant it.

“I haven’t succeeded in finding a second chain that would fit, but I’ll send it to you as soon as I find one,” Melinda told him cheerfully, apparently happy that he liked the present.

Draco shot her a quizzical glance.

“A second chain?” he echoed.

Melinda nodded, as if that had been obvious. “Sure.” She pointed at the dragons. “There are two pendants.”

Draco gazed at the dragons’ heads and noticed a little ring on each of them.

“Why two?” he wondered loudly.

“Well…,” his great-aunt began, the twinkle in her eyes showing how much she was enjoying the situation. “It’s because I expect you to fall in love soon, you know, teenage hormones and such. So when you find a girl – or a boy, I’m not so old-fashioned – you can give them one of the pendants. Trust me, girls like that sort of things. I don’t know about boys, though…,” she trailed off thoughtfully.

Draco gasped with indignation. Why on earth did she mention boys concerning that matter? Did she think he was gay?

“Apart from this, I think she’s got a very wrong image about me. As if I would ever fall in love. It makes you weak, vulnerable and foolish. A Malfoy can be none of that,” he told himself, but refrained from saying it out loud. Instead, he contented himself by throwing his great-aunt a dark look.

Melinda, however, didn’t notice her grand-nephew’s displeasure, or if she did, she didn’t show it. Still having an arm around Draco’s shoulders, she continued walking with him down the southern part of Diagon Alley, rambling about a party she had organized for the Society of Venus Flytrap- and Other Carnivorous Plants-Lovers. After a minute, Draco’s behaviour had switched to standard Auntie-Mel-Mode, that is, nodding once per minute plus saying things like ‘Uh-uh’, ‘Really?’, ‘How interesting!’ and ‘You don’t say so?’. The trick was to make it sound believable, but after 15 years, Draco was an expert.

Finally, after two hours of keeping up a steady stream of chatter that was getting on Draco’s nerves, Melinda rushed off to Zarah Wilkinson’s Beauty Centre for Witches, leaving a very exhausted, but equally relieved Draco behind. He drew a hand through his hair tiredly and made his way home, muttering not-so-flattering comments on his great-aunt’s account.

*/*/*/*/*/*

Having had her favourite ice-cream, Ginny was in considerably better mood than before, but her determination to tell off the twins hadn’t faded one bit.

She used the Floo Network to get back home. The moment she stumbled out of the fireplace in the kitchen, she realized how fast the time must have flown by because her mother, Fred, George, Ron, Harry and Hermione were sitting at the kitchen table having dinner.

They had all looked up and everyone save the twins was now regarding her with surprise due to her hair-colour. Ignoring the curious glances they were giving her, Ginny strode over to the table and fixed Fred and George with the coldest stare she could muster.

“Well,” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “What do you have to say for your defence?”

The twins stirred uncomfortably, not quite knowing what to say. Ginny was usually a good sport when they played pranks on her. Not this time, though.

“She doesn’t really look like herself,” Fred thought, avoiding her piercing stare, “The black hair makes her look different somehow, not exactly older, but harder…colder.”

George had pretty much the same thoughts, which wasn’t surprising. He was used to his little sister expressing anger by crying or yelling at the top of her voice. Such a controlled behaviour of hers seemed alien to him.

“Look, Ginny,” Fred searched for a possible argument to get back on his sister’s good side. “George and I meant well. We thought that you might like looking a bit different once,” he said, attempting to smile sunnily in order to persuade her that it had been an innocent little joke and that she shouldn’t take it so seriously.

Ginny didn’t share his opinion at all.

“Oh, and so you just thought ‘Let’s dye Ginny’s hair black, shall we? Maybe she will like it, and even if she doesn’t, it won’t matter. She will put up with it anyway because she’s too nice – no, too weak to complain about us.’?!” she spat out, well aware that it wasn’t entirely true, but certain that it would startle her brothers. It would make them feel uncomfortable and while Ginny knew she was being unfair, she didn’t care. The fact that it was not right didn’t stop her. Neither did that Fred’s and George’s stunned faces at her exclamation. What they had done hadn’t been that bad, had it? But Ginny apparently thought otherwise. After all, she had been treated like this by Malfoy and, being only human, Ginny only gave on what she had received.

She began to pace in the kitchen in a mock-thoughtful manner.

“If I get that correctly, you assume I want something when it’s coincidentally identical with the effect of some sort of your horrible joke products. Like the time you thought I always wanted to fly without a broomstick and so you fed me a Canary Cream, for example. Well, I will tell you a secret. I have never wanted to fly without a broomstick. And I have certainly never wanted my hair to be a different colour than RED!” she clarified, looking first into George’s and then into Fred’s face, hard.

They winced at her stare and immediately had to ask themselves in irritation why on earth their little sister made them feel as if they had done something horribly wrong. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, especially because it was caused by someone they considered too kind, gentle and innocent to make anyone feel uncomfortable.

“Listen, Gin,” George began, a hint of impatience in his voice, but his sister cut him off.

“No, YOU will listen, George,” she said in a quiet tone, barely more than a whisper. “I have been target for your useless, stupid jokes long enough. If you can’t overcome your immaturity, at least don’t let it out on me because I am sick and tired of it. I will not tolerate any such behaviour in the future. I am your sister and you will treat me with the respect you owe me. And if not,” Ginny’s eyes became another degree colder, but her voice remained even, “then the word ‘sorry’ won’t even begin to describe what you will be.”

With that, she turned around and went calmly up to her room, leaving the others in a shocked silence.

After she was out of sight, Ron cleared his throat and looked at the twins, genuinely puzzled.

“What was that about?” he asked. “She couldn’t have flown off the handle just because you dyed her hair?!”

Fred grimaced. “As you had the pleasure to see and hear, she apparently could. But I don’t understand it, either.”

He threw his mother a helpless glance. Molly had been looking pensive during the whole encounter and now she spoke up, showing maternal insight.

“Of course she wasn’t angry just because of the hair. It’s about principles. And as a matter of fact, I agree with Ginny about this one, although I wouldn’t have expressed it they way she did,” Molly said, a look of faint amusement crossing her face.

She had obviously known that her daughter’s harsh words had been only a show to turn the twins’ attention to what she didn’t want them to do anymore. Otherwise, they probably wouldn’t have listened.

Molly regarded Fred and George sternly. “Quit playing so many pranks on her. She’s your little sister and you should protect her and not make her feel miserable,” she announced and the twins nodded mutely.

Fortunately, Ginny didn’t hear what her mother had said because it would have upset her even more. Molly had certainly meant well, but even her maternal instinct had failed to realize that Ginny didn’t want protection and friendly condescension from her brothers, but respect and tolerance.

One of the main reasons why Ginny had always liked Charlie best was that he treated her like an equal. He didn’t regard her as inferior just because she was younger and a girl.

“Of course,” Ginny told herself, now lying on her bed in her room, “Bill, Percy, Ron and the twins probably don’t mean to patronize me, but I guess they can’t – or don’t want to stop listening to their macho-mind that tells them that, for I am the youngest one and a girl, I can’t do what they do and that I’ll never be on their level, concerning no matter what.”

She sighed, fiddling with a strand of her hair and then realized that it was still black. For a moment, she was tempted to let it stay like this for her classmates to see in two weeks, but then she resolved not to. Black didn’t go so well with her skin as her usual hair-colour did.

After a while, Ginny went down again to ask her mother to turn her hair back to its normal colour, which Molly did. However, she couldn’t help telling her daughter how changed she had seemed when she had told her brothers off. Not only in her appearance, but also in her behaviour.

“I had to wonder where my sweet little Ginny had stayed when I heard you talking like a completely different person,” she said gently and smiled at her daughter. Ginny gave her a faint smile in return, choosing to ignore the question behind her mother’s words as to what had happened to render her in such an unusually bad mood.

Having her normal hair-colour back, Ginny decided to begin with her holiday homework since September 1^st wasn’t so far away. She focused on her Potions assignment because, on the contrary to most of her brothers, she truly liked that subject. Sometimes she even had the impression that Snape didn’t treat her as unfairly as he treated other Gryffindors, but that could also be her over-active imagination, as she used to tell herself.

Having finished Potions homework, which had been surprisingly easy, she moved on to Astronomy. She didn’t look forward to it because she had never liked star-gazing, and star-charts resembled to her what Magical Runes would resemble to a Muggle. Ginny could read runes fairly well because it interested her, but that didn’t help her with Astronomy. On the other hand, Prof. Sinistra had been quite nice with this particular assignment. Ginny had a piece of a map of the night sky and she had to find out which star signs were depicted on it. For this, she could consult her schoolbooks.

After a while, Ginny strongly suspected that the map showed the summer sky over the northern hemisphere. She had been able to detect Cassiopeia and Ursa Major and her book averred that she should also see Leo, Polaris (even if this wasn’t a star sign) and…

Ginny froze.

…Draco.

Groaning, she banged her head on her table. Why on earth did Malfoy had to show up everywhere? He was haunting her. Moreover, something about his slimy appearance and his trademark sneer (she kept wondering whether he actually had it patented, they way he wore it) was highly disturbing – mildly speaking.

“It’s not fair,” Ginny grumbled. “I want to enjoy myself and go to Diagon Alley – and who do I see there? Malfoy, of course. I want to behave myself and do my homework and what does nearly jump into my face? Draco. Our dear Mr. Death Eater junior. What a shame that a prat like him bears the name of such a wonderful animal. My condolences to all the dragons in the world.”

Sighing heavily, she finished the Astronomy assignment with disgust. It took her longer than she had expected because the image of Draco Malfoy had settled itself in her brain and kept distracting her.

It was annoying.

“If he was at least handsome,” Ginny thought with exasperation after two hours of involuntarily picturing her arch-enemy. “But this disgusting, colourless sort of hair! It looks so oily, flattened against his skull with those tons of – dunno what he uses – grease, maybe. Eew.”

Ginny had always preferred dark hair and she found it endearing when it was sticking into all directions like Harry’s did. Moreover, she liked dark eyes and thought that Draco’s grey ones were extremely unappealing if not ugly.

“I will tell him that next time I see him. Maybe then he will stop strutting around as if Hogwarts belonged to him and perhaps he will even realize that he isn’t so irresistible as he thinks,” Ginny mused. “Might be good for him. After all, he’s got such a big head that I’m surprised it hadn’t already burst. There wouldn’t even be a great mess if it did because Malfoy happens to belong to the special sort of brainless people everyone is so fond of.”

She grinned evilly.

However, Ginny wasn’t being entirely fair. Despite all his flaws, Draco was intelligent. Like Ginny, he excelled at Potions (which wasn’t due to Snape, but to his own skill - well, mostly) and naturally, he had a vast knowledge of hexes, jinxes, curses and Defence against the Dark Arts thanks to his upbringing. The ability of speaking Latin went without saying. Ginny didn’t know these things, but even if she had done so, her opinion that he was a hateful, useless git wouldn’t have faltered.

*/*/*/*/*/*

In the following two weeks, Ginny tried to enjoy the rest of her holidays (and Malfoy-free days) as much as possible and noticed with positive surprise that things had changed subtly since the fateful day of telling off the twins. Not only they were showing more respect, but so did Harry. He actually talked to her! Okay, Ginny had to admit it had been neutral themes like Quidditch, however, it made her happy nonetheless. She suspected that Hermione had spoken to him on Ginny’s behalf, but she didn’t care if the results were like this. Due to the change in her personal hero’s behaviour, Ginny spent the remaining days of her vacation well and therefore her mood sank rapidly as she woke up in the morning of September 1^st. The weather didn’t contribute to improving her mood, either. It was cold, cloudy and it looked as if it was about to rain.

Pulling the sheets over her head, Ginny curled up in the warmth of her bed, and cursed the beginning of the school-year because she would inevitably see Malfoy again. Her spirits lightened up considerably when Molly came to wake her up, announcing that they would be all Portkeyed to Hogwarts due to a Ministry order, seeing that a ride on the Hogwarts Express could be possibly dangerous for Harry.

Ginny smiled. That meant no Malfoy until the Feast in the evening. Splendid! He had always used the fact that there were no teachers on the train to annoy Harry, Ron and Hermione or Ginny, for that matter. This time, they would be spared.

Since travelling via Portkey was very quick, they had time until 6 p.m. when they would be transported to Hogwarts. The twins stayed in their room, plotting new ways to annoy the teachers in the coming school-year and Ron set himself the sheer impossible task of teaching Hermione to play chess properly. That left Harry and Ginny behind.

Harry watched his two friends playing or better arguing about chess, grinning. Ginny observed him dreamily and was startled when he turned to her and flashed a smile.

“Not much to do for us here, is there?” he remarked with a twinkle in his incredibly green eyes. “Let’s go outside.”

If he had said ‘Let’s go drown ourselves in the next river.’, Ginny wouldn’t have objected. She loved Harry’s smile. It was so sweet and gentle. What a contrast to Malfoy’s usual horrible sneer! Ginny scolded herself mentally while following Harry outside. To think about Harry and Malfoy within the same minute - how could she! The image of Malfoy destroyed the wonderful, shiny picture of Harry and made it look twisted and impure.

“Impure,” Ginny thought, slightly shocked. “Now I’m even using his vocabulary. Trust Malfoy to corrupt people even in his absence.”

Fortunately, Harry had the opposite effect on her. Ever since he had saved her in the Chamber of Secrets, she felt secure and protected around him, even though her rational alter-ego kept telling her that if somebody really wanted to harm her, Harry wouldn’t be able to stop them. Ginny didn’t care. She felt safe with Harry, period.

Harry enjoyed Ginny’s presence because usually, her radiant cheerfulness kept his dark thoughts away. His feelings about the upcoming school-year were split. He still regarded Hogwarts as his true home, but it would painfully remind him of all the events that had taken place there two months ago. That night, he had woken up covered with sweat, his heart pounding wildly because he had dreamed about Cedric’s death again. It might get worse at Hogwarts. Harry had resolved to get himself a potion for dreamless sleep if it did because those nightmares were making a mental wreck out of him.

The presence of Ron and Hermione, but also that of Ginny who seemed so changed, so self-confident now, was a kind of anti-pole to all this darkness. The silent understanding and support of his two friends helped him a lot and he had to admit that Ginny’s uncovered admiration stroked his ego although he didn’t consider himself worthy of it or of anyone else’s admiration, for that matter.

*/*/*/*/*/*/*/*

When Draco found out that Weasley, Potter, Granger and Weasley weren’t on the Hogwarts Express, he felt an odd stab of disappointment. Of course, that was only because he was deprived of bullying his favourite targets, he convinced himself. Accordingly, he found the hours on the train extremely dull and came to Hogwarts in quite a bad mood. The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione arrived, on the contrary to Draco, as cheerful as you could be at the start of a new school-year.

A/N: Thanks for reviewing to Jade~_~, Array, megh and burgosdamasco.

To love or not to love, that is the question

Chapter 4: Roses, dungbombs and devious plotting

Already sitting in the Great Hall, Draco looked up when the six Gryffindors came in. They were among the last students to arrive. He saw four heads with flaming red hair and concluded that Ginny’s hair-colour was back to normal again.

“Well, that’s much better. Black looked weird on her,” he thought absently and immediately frowned. Why was he pleased when Weasley’s outer appearance improved? Fortunately, no-one at the Slytherin Table could read his thoughts. They would deeply disapprove, Draco was sure. Another thing he was certain of was that he didn’t like the amount of time that his brain seemed to concentrate on that Weasley girl. He should be thinking about something else. Like getting to know Potter’s secrets as his father had told him to do. But wait a moment... Draco gave the group of Gryffindors a considering look. Maybe Ginny Weasley was exactly the way to get what he wanted. She might not know so much about Potter like her brother and Granger did, but she surely could find out things when manipulated to do so, couldn’t she? Her part in the whole ‘Heir of Slytherin’-business in his second year had proven that she could be influenced when you knew how. Draco’s eyes lightened up at the prospect of his father’s praise if he was able to design such a brilliant scheme and make it work.

Yes, it was definitely worth a try.

Not to mention that it might have… possible side benefits.

8==8O8==8

Ginny’s first glance when she entered the Great Hall went to the ceiling which never ceased to amaze her. Her second glance went - much to her irritation - to the Slytherin Table. There he was sitting, Mr. Death Eater junior with his hair flattened against his head and his ugly cronies at both sides.

“What a surprise,” Ginny thought wryly and was just about to turn away and go over to the Gryffindor Table when suddenly, Draco caught her eye. She saw him cocking an eyebrow and then a big, obnoxious grin spreading over his face. He winked at her and Ginny, recalling vividly their last encounter, turned away with disgust, her cheeks gone pink with shame at the memory.

“I hate him! How dare he, winking at me like that, with this dirty smirk! Oh, just you wait Malfoy, you are going to curse the day you’ve met me,” Ginny thought fiercely. She would get back at Malfoy for all the insults he had ever thrown at her family, Harry and Hermione. This year, he wouldn’t get away so easily.

Ginny’s roommates greeted her excitedly when she sat down on the table. She smiled broadly at the sight of them. Her friends were important to her. They accepted her like she was and they noticed she was there in the first place.

They were four. And very different.

People usually noticed Miranda Davenport first. Full of life and cheerfulness as she normally was, it wasn’t surprising that her friends had started to call her ‘Merry’. Since her father was a Muggle and her mother a witch, Merry had had the best of both worlds. This girl with light-brown hair and eyes that were almost black was so full of energy that she found lessons too long and boring. Although Merry was intelligent and had great talent in Transfiguration, she didn’t have neither patience nor will to study for the other subjects and her grades showed it. However, Merry’s vast knowledge about both magical and Muggle world had been a great help to another of Ginny’s dorm-mates, Regina Castiglione. Regina, whose grandfather had immigrated to UK from Italy with his family, was Muggle-born and Merry had explained everything about the magical world to her without posing endlessly questions about the Muggle one, as purebloods would probably have done. Regina wasn’t as outgoing as Merry, in fact, she was a little shy. However, she could stand up for things she considered important and she certainly didn’t lack the famous Gryffindor bravery. Despite that her family originated in Italy, Regina didn’t look the least bit Mediterranean with her honey-coloured hair and green- blue eyes. But her Roman ancestry showed in other things. She understood Latin perfectly and like the old Roman divinators, the ‘haruspices’, she was good at Divination and had a potential for a true Seer (confirmed by more reliable sources than Prof. Trelawney).The other two girls were pure-blooded. One of them was Doria Wilkinson whose aunt Zarah owned the Beauty Centre for Witches. Doria’s brown hair and greenish-brown eyes might let her seem like a harmless, normal girl. However, that was deceptive. Her roommates liked to refer to her as ‘the Queen’. Being often imperious, controlled and very determined, she really had leading qualities. It was Doria who displayed steely nerves whenever they got into tricky situations. No surprise that she was also among the best students in her year, her favourite subjects being Potions and Arithmancy. While the others liked the thought that they could always rely on Doria, they were far less enthusiastic about her when she was in her cynical mood. Like to many people of high intelligence, using sarcasm and cynicism wasn’t alien to her. Fortunately, her friends weren’t targets very often. The only one of them who could match Doria in a ‘sarcasm rally’ was, oddly enough, Regina who normally rather acted as the pacifying element in their little circle.

The fourth of Ginny’s friends was Leticia de Valladares. She came from an ancient Spanish wizarding family. With her curls of black hair that went down to her waist and her charcoal eyes, she looked exactly like a fiery Spanish girl, but her character was quite the contrary: Bookworm Leticia was the shyest one in the little circle, dreamy and reserved. She adored Astronomy and - History of Magic which frequently caused the other people to gape at her incredulously. Like Regina, she was good at Latin. She didn’t like Defence against the Dark Arts because it had to do with facing dark, unpleasant things and Leticia, having been raised like a princess, didn’t like facing unpleasantness. Ginny had always wondered why the Sorting Hat had put her into Gryffindor, but maybe senorita de Valladares had Gryffindor qualities that hadn’t come to the surface yet.

At that moment, Merry was speaking, as usual. She was talking animatedly about her stay in France during the holidays and about the Frenchmen’s funny eating habits.

“They are cheese-fanatics. Of course, I could live with that,” she explained. “But when they tried to feed me snails and oysters, I fled.”

Her roommates grinned and Doria asked with interest, “Is it true that you have to eat oysters alive?”

Miranda opened her mouth to answer, but Ginny was quicker.

“Sure,” she replied, grinning. “If you are dead, you’re not hungry anymore.”

Merry, Regina and Leticia snorted with mirth, Doria just stared at Ginny with surprise. Usually, she wasn’t the one to make the others laugh. That was Miranda’s realm. But Doria’s next glance at Ginny was approving.

“Maybe she will finally start being a little more extroverted,” she thought.

Ginny wasn’t really shy - only sometimes, when Harry Potter was around. She didn’t seem to care what most people thought about her, either. In their first year, she barely mixed with her dorm-mates at all, due to Riddle’s diary which the others, however, didn’t know about. Their relationship became considerably warmer during their second year, but Doria had noticed that Ginny still kept up a certain distance. She didn’t seem to trust anyone at all which was illogical for Doria who knew that Ginny had been raised by a loving, close-knit family. She couldn’t know, though, that Ginny’s automatic mistrust in everything and everybody was a result of the bad experience she had had in her first year.

“But everyone needs people they can trust,” Doria mused, watching Ginny as she was laughing at one of Merry’s jokes. “Ginny will have us when she finally decides to confide in somebody.”

8==8O8==8

After the Feast, everyone retired to their respective dormitories. The fourth-year Gryffindor girls stretched out on their four-poster beds with relieved sighs.

“Let’s fall into the arms of Morpheus,” Leticia murmured with a satisfied smile on her lips.

Her roommates rolled their eyes out of habit. Leticia was known for expressing simple things the complicated way. The girls changed into their pyjamas and soon they were all – even Ginny – peacefully asleep.

The next day was a Saturday, which meant that they could sleep as long as they wanted to. In Ginny’s dorm, everyone save her was already up at nine o’clock. She, however, slept on tightly, not noticing her dorm-mates who had drawn back her curtains to wake her up and who were now looking puzzled at the sight of the owl on her blanket. It had brought a vividly pink rose with a slip of parchment attached to it. Suddenly, the owl hooted softly and flew away out of the window which had been traditionally left open in the night. The animal hadn’t even demanded the usual Knut. Maybe it had been paid beforehand.

Curious as she was, Merry wanted to take the parchment and read it, but Regina grabbed her wrist firmly and said in stern tones that always reminded her friends of McGonagall, “No. It’s for Ginny to read first. Then she can tell us what’s written on it if she chooses to do so.”

Regina was, too, aware of the fact that Ginny’s trust in other people was feeble and that she valued privacy above everything. She, Reggie, was not going to intrude there nor would she let others do it.

Fortunately, Ginny had woken up at the sound of her name. She yawned and regarded her friends with eyes troubled from sleep.

“Wazzup?” she murmured, trying to get their faces into focus.

She succeeded and immediately started to wonder why they were all standing around her bed, looking at her curiously.

Leticia pointed at Ginny’s blanket. “An owl has stopped by and left this for you,” she explained.

Ginny gazed at the pink rose with surprise, wondering who it was from. She had never in her life gotten a flower from anyone, well, if you didn’t count the time Fred and George had given her a rose that pinched you in your nose when you tried to smell it. Recalling that incident, Ginny cautiously picked up the flower and examined it. It looked like an ordinary rose, although Ginny wasn’t sure if there really grew flowers in such a violent shade of pink or if the sender had coloured it magically.

“Well?” Merry asked with uncovered excitement. “Who do you reckon it’s from? What’s written on the parchment?”

The parchment! That was a good idea.

Intrigued, Ginny picked it up and proceeded to read it, holding it in such an angle that the others couldn’t get a glimpse at the words. It read, “It might not be shocking turquoise, but judging by your unique taste, I’m sure you will appreciate the colour anyway.”

That was all. No signature. Not that it was necessary. Ginny knew immediately who had sent it. She looked at the flower with disgust. How dare he! Ginny felt her cheeks go red as she recalled the incident in Diagon Alley, now for the second time in 24 hours. It had been so humiliating!

“Idiot,” she hissed and crumpled up the parchment in her left hand.

Due to her reaction, the other girls’ curiosity had grown even more and they were now looking at her with raised eyebrows, expecting an explanation.

Ginny pondered whether or not to tell them about Malfoy. It wasn’t their business, after all. On the other hand… if she wanted to get back at him, then she would be needing help. And who would be more convenient for this than her friends who disliked the silver-haired slimy git as much as she did? Ginny took a deep breath and described her last encounter with Malfoy.

Her friends’ reaction at the end of her narration pleased her.

“That greasy little pervert!” Doria exclaimed indignantly.

“How dare he!” Merry joined her, eyes flashing.

The expressions on Regina’s and Leticia’s faces confirmed that they had pretty much the same opinion on that topic.

“Good,” Ginny thought and told her friends about her plan to take revenge on Malfoy, which the girls got enthusiastic about instantly.

“Yeah,” Merry shouted with joy. “Let’s go kicking Malfoy’s ass!”

Ginny grinned broadly. “Not that I don’t appreciate this idea, but I suppose that other ways of taking revenge would be more convenient here,” she said while getting up and changing into her clothes.

“Yeah,” Reggie agreed. “Don’t forget this is a Slytherin we’re dealing with. Therefore, we must employ wit and cunning and design some devious scheme.”

Leticia winked at her. “Ah, the Slytherin Expert is speaking.”

But Reggie bore the title ‘Slytherin Expert’ with full right. Her brother Giancarlo who was two years older than her and, curiously enough, magical as well despite their Muggle ancestors, was a Slytherin. He had prevented the usual prejudices to pop up in his sister’s mind. In fact, all the Gryffindor fourth-year girls had a far better opinion on Slytherins than their fellow Gryffindors, thanks to Giancarlo and his friends. They didn’t think much of the traditional Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry (except when it came to Quidditch) and made the girls understand that most Slytherins were human beings like everyone else, just often misunderstood in their ambitions and confronted with prejudices. The Slytherin sixth-years were usually on good terms with the Gryffindor fourth-years. And it didn’t hurt that Giancarlo and his friends were quite good-looking, either…

Basically, Ginny, Merry, Leticia and Doria had learned not to judge a whole House after a few individuals and even though most of the Gryffindors were suspicious about their friendship with Slytherins, some of them envied the girls for being on such good terms with certain members of the Snake House.

Now, their knowledge of the Slytherin way of thinking would certainly help them to plan how to make Draco’s life hell. As Reggie announced, they could even ask Giancarlo for advice because he didn’t like Malfoy either and luckily for the girls, he didn’t consider House loyalty more important than friendship or blood ties. But first, Merry, Ginny, Doria, Leticia and Reggie decided to have a ‘brainstorming’ in order to come up with some good ideas.

8==8O8==8

Draco was quite aware that the rose and the note wouldn’t exactly improve his relationship – if you could call it that – with Ginny, but the idea hadn’t left him alone and so he had resolved to send them to her. He amused himself with imagining her reaction at his note the whole day and spent it in an unusually good mood. However, if he had known about the new Anti-Malfoy-club (no, they didn’t really call themselves that, although they weren’t far off), he wouldn’t have been so cheerful. True, the girls were Gryffindors, but the fact that their House wasn’t known for its cunning didn’t mean that they couldn’t do some evil planning when it was required.

8==8O8==8

The next morning, Draco woke up at the sound of an owl’s hooting and saw that a present awaited him on the farther end of his blanket. After giving the owl a Knut, he leaned over to the small, oval package and touched it, forgetting all the Slytherin cautiousness for a moment due to his still sleep-affected state.

Big mistake.

The thing exploded and sent brown stuff spraying everywhere. Draco nearly fainted from the following stench. He gasped in horror. It was unbearable!

And there were no windows in the dungeons.

Unable to clear his mind and think of a spell that would cause the stench to fade, Draco furiously grabbed the note that had been attached to the present and, oddly enough, had stayed untouched by the explosion.

It read, “It might not be Timotheus Troll’s Aftershave, but judging by your outstanding taste I’m sure you will appreciate the aroma anyway.”

No signature. He clenched his fists. Clearly, she was making fun of him. But that had been her mistake. Nobody made fun of Draco Malfoy and remained unscathed.

“Just you wait, Weasley,” he thought, gritting his teeth. “Just you wait.”

Draco didn’t care that he had originally wanted to get on Weasley’s good side. If there was one thing he hated more than somebody messing around with his clothes and hair, then it was bad smell. And this horrendous stench equalled a declaration of war.

However, before Draco could start his devious plotting, he had to face the anger of his roommates who had been torn out of their sleep in such a gruesome way.

“MALFOY! What the hell have you been doing?!” demanded a furious Blaise Zabini, eyeing brown bits with suspicion and wrinkling his nose at the smell.

“Somebody has sent me a Dungbomb, in case you haven’t guessed,” Draco explained, coughing.

To Blaise’s ears, he sounded quite whiny.

“Ooh, some evil person has sent a Dungbomb to ickle Drakie-wakie?” he said with mock concern and immediately went back to his former angry self. “And you are just idly sitting around? DO something, for Salazar’s sake!”

It was uncharacteristic for Blaise to show fury so visibly and at any other time, Draco would have made sure his roommate would have regretted his outburst. But since he couldn’t stand the smell either, he turned to Crabbe and Goyle who were now awake as well.

“Go to the common room, get ten Bonaers and place them around here. Preferably blue ones. I have the impression that they work better than the others,” he commanded.

His cronies grumbled, but obeyed.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “D’you really think that ten will suffice?” he asked doubtfully.

Draco shot him a withering glance.

“If not, then you will raise your lazy ass from your bed and get more,” he snapped and left the dorm for the common room.

The air there was as fresh as after a rainfall. That was possible only with the help of Bonaers. And the Bonaers? Well, those were there only because of Draco. The whole House had to admit that. It was one of the few times he’d earned respect from others by himself and through his own achievements.

One of the things Draco had immediately begun to dislike at Hogwarts in his first year had been the dungeon air. It had been damp, heavy and held the inevitable scent of mustiness and mould. The smell had been everywhere. He hadn’t been able to sleep properly and he had hated being in the common room. The other Slytherins hadn’t liked the dungeon air, either, but the older ones had claimed that they would get used to it as they had done. However, Draco had suspected they had been too lazy to do anything against it. Several of the few Slytherin Muggle-borns had suggested to buy some air-conditioners, but most of the other Slytherins had countered that they would feel uneasy with such humming Muggle stuff around them.

That truly desperate situation had made Draco take equally desperate measures.

He had decided to do something that would not only serve him, but what would be good for the entire House, refusing to believe that there wasn’t anything magical that equalled air-conditioners. And he had been right. After three weeks of library research, Draco had found the solution – Bonaers. Those were little, round fluffy creatures with beady black eyes and fur in every colour you could imagine. They had six feet which they could walk on walls and ceilings with. Bonaers apparently ate filth (a Muggle scientist would have said that they ate the microscopic beings within) and they improved the air quality in the room they were in. Draco had been able to find a shop where you could order them. He had suspected that those animals had been magically manipulated by wizards to clean the air because he couldn’t imagine that this would be a natural ability. But be that as it may, soon there had been around thirty furballs in the Slytherin common room. The Slytherins had been mistrustful at first, but the results showed after three hours and they had been truly magnificent. The air had been wonderful. Even the seventh-years had come to Draco the little firstie and spoken their approval, he remembered now fondly, sitting in his favourite armchair near the fireplace and watching a turquoise Bonaer eating up an old cobweb.

Draco grinned. “Maybe I should send that Bonaer to Weasley,” he thought. “But then again, let’s not be too nice. We’re at war, after all.”

8==8O8==8

To love or not to love, that is the question

Chapter 5: Battle Preparations

Disclaimer: The Draco jokes belong to Sarah and Saskia Preissner.

***

After half an hour, Draco considered it safe to go back into his dorm to change into his normal clothes because he wanted to go to breakfast. Most of his fellow Slytherins had already gone to the Great Hall. Arriving in his dorm, he was pleased to notice that the air was fresh again.

Thank Salazar for the Bonaers, he thought while changing.

Despite all the mess created by the dungbomb, Draco was in quite a good mood when he entered the Great Hall. However, this changed quickly as he realized that almost the whole school was there, staring at him. And as if that wasn’t enough, most of them were sniggering or laughing openly and some even pointed their fingers at him, grinning broadly.

What the hell was going on?

“Hey, Malfoy!” Giancarlo Castiglione, a Slytherin sixth-year whom Draco had never quite got along with, called out. “Have you read the Announcements already?”

Draco turned his gaze to the Great Blackboard in a corner of the Great Hall which displayed announcements that were important to the Hogwarts students. Usually, it showed things like dates of Hogsmeade visits or Quidditch games.

Not that day, though.

Next to the traditional ‘Lost and Found’ – corner there was written in big, golden letters, “JOKE OF THE DAY (AUTHENTIC): At his first attempt to fly on a broomstick, little Draco Malfoy shouts gleefully, ‘Hey, Pa, the people look already like Flobberworms from up here! How high am I flying?’

‘Three feet, these are Flobberworms,’ Malfoy sr. replies.”

Draco narrowed his eyes in irritation. Clenching his fists, he pondered how to react. His first idea had been whirling around and yelling at the top of his voice, “Who wrote that? It’s a fucking lie!”

But that was probably what everyone expected as they were already laughing at him. He was not going to give them further reasons to ridicule him. Slightly flushed, but otherwise composed, Draco turned around and eyed the other students coolly.

“Whoever wrote this is obviously not able to acquire basic information about the target of their so-called authentic joke. I would certainly never call my father ‘Pa’, for starters,” he said and then sneered himself. “Looks like typical Gryffindor work.”

He contemplated briefly whether to return to the Slytherin common room straight away or to stay and have breakfast. Finally, he concluded that a retreat would make him look like a coward and so he went firmly over to the Slytherin Table and took place. However, he was too proud to admit to himself that his hunger might have been the deciding factor and not his bravery. Ah well.

The Gryffindor fourth-year girls were a little disappointed. Okay, the people had laughed at the joke, but they would have done even more so if Malfoy had reacted like a furious little boy, yelling through the whole Hall. What a pity he hadn’t.

“Why does he have such a damn good self-composure?” Doria asked rhetorically, visibly annoyed.

“You keep forgetting who he is, no – what he is,” Ginny replied serenely. After all, their joke did have success. Only not such a big one they had imagined. “Slytherins do have better self-composure than other people, don’t they, Reggie?”

“Well, yeah,” her friend admitted.

Ginny went on in the same level tone. “And Malfoy seems to have matured. I bet that in the past, he would have reacted just like we thought he would. But this action hasn’t been a total loss. Now we know that we’ll be needing something bigger to make him lose control over his temper.”

Merry raised an eyebrow. “Temper? What temper? This is the Ice Prince we are talking about.”

“ ‘Ice Prince’?” Doria gave her friend a suspicious glance. Clearly, she considered that term to be too mild for someone they used to call ‘slimy git’.

“Hey, that wasn’t my idea,” Merry started defending herself. She pointed accusingly at Ginny. “She called him that yesterday.”

Ginny merely shrugged. She didn’t understand what her friends were fussing about. “Why not?” she asked.

“Because that’s simply too nice for that Death Eater in waiting, that’s why,” Doria replied sharply. “Honestly, girl – ‘Why not?’ How can you ask something like that?”

Ginny was fed up. She hated being talked to so superiorly.

“Oh, it’s pretty simple, really,” she responded with heavy sarcasm. “I just raise my voice a little at the end of a sentence to make the sentence sound inquiring.”

The others merely looked at her and then began to occupy themselves silently with their food, showing that they disagreed with her attitude.

Ginny sighed. “What I was trying to say, is that we shouldn’t let our feelings participate in this. If you hate a person, you give them power over yourselves. Indifference is much safer. Prevents you from doing stupid things,” she told her friends patiently.

She had had time to think over her original attitude and had resolved not to waste any emotion on Malfoy. He wasn’t worth it.

Merry grinned, at ease again. “Honestly, anyone would think you were the one with a brother in Slytherin,” she announced.

Ginny chuckled. “Don’t let Ron hear that. He’d be revolted,” she warned and her dorm-mates laughed at that image. Ron Weasley - a Slytherin! That would be like Snape being Head of Gryffindor.

Back in her good mood, Miranda called out loudly, so that the whole Gryffindor Table could hear her, “Now, guys, does anyone know how to make Draco Malfoy’s brain as big as a pea?”

Grinning, the Gryffindors turned their faces to her in anticipation.

“You pump it up!” Merry shouted and was awarded with laughing and cheers. “And what happens if he swallows a fly?” she posed another question to her house-mates.

“Then he’ll have more brains in his stomach than in his head,” Ginny answered in a clear, but derisive voice.

The Gryffindors cheered even more and Ron exchanged surprised glances with Harry and Hermione at Ginny’s reply that had been rather unusual for her. The Ginny he was used to wouldn’t have said anything in front of such a crowd, much less something witty.

***

Draco was sipping his pumpkin juice while watching the laughing Gryffindors with narrowed eyes. There were many people who were likely to play such a prank on him, but he was positively sure that this had been Ginny Weasley’s job. She and her friends were now entertaining the whole Table – no doubt with further jokes about him. Whatever. They might have won a battle, but they had virtually no long-term lasting hope to win the war. This was his realm. After all, making other people miserable was something he was good at, Draco thought, though not without a hint of bitterness.

***

Draco spent the whole Sunday in the common room, brooding over a good plan to get back at Weasley and co. for the humiliation they had served him for breakfast. His bad mood was increasing because he was apparently having a creativity block. Absolutely no ideas. Well, maybe he should start with Rule no. 1 in being successful in a war: Get to know your enemy. He had come to realize that he knew almost nothing about Ginny Weasley, and even less than that about her room-mates. But who could he ask – and more importantly – who would actually give him a satisfying answer to such a question?

Observation by himself was almost impossible – they were a year younger than him, so the only times he could get near them would be at meals.

And not even there because a Slytherin raises suspicion when he or she comes nearer than ten feet to the Gryffindor Table, he thought sourly.

Therefore, his hands were bound. Draco wouldn’t give up, though. He would let others do what he couldn’t, as always, he thought, sweeping his gaze over the people in the common room.

“I need a fourth year who will be loyal to me… somebody who will do everything I say… and who won’t start pitying Weasley,” he mused and rested his eyes on a girl’s head bent over some star-charts. Laura Baddock. Yes, that was the ideal choice. She was intelligent enough, pretty (which meant he wouldn’t have to look away when he talked to her, like it was with most of the fifth-year girls) and she fancied him. Ergo, she would do what he wanted, especially if it was against Gryffindors. Laura had adopted all the usual prejudices as soon as she had entered Slytherin House.

Draco walked slowly over to the black-haired girl and stopped at her side. Laura was enthralled with that star-chart of hers and didn’t notice him until he cleared his throat. The girl jumped, thrown out of her concentration. She looked up and her cheeks coloured slightly at the sight of the boy she had fallen for two years ago.

Draco flashed a smile. “Hi, Laura.”

“Er, hi Draco,” she replied a little timidly, wondering why he suddenly bothered to talk to her. He had never noticed her before.

However, that wasn’t entirely true. Draco had noticed the looks she had been giving him and he had found it quite amusing. As he had had no interest in Laura herself, he had proceeded to ignore her. But now, things were different.

Draco lowered his voice so that only Laura could hear him. “Listen, beautiful, I need your assistance in a very important matter,” he whispered conspiratorially, deliberately using the flattering term. “You are the only one who can help me.”

Laura’s brown eyes lightened up as he had expected they would. That was easy, Draco thought, pleased with himself. He was positively certain that he couldn’t have found a better spy.

“I assume you have some classes together with the Gryffindors, don’t you?” he asked.

Laura nodded. “Yes, Transfiguration and History of Magic.”

“Very good. I would like to entrust you an important task,” Draco continued, looking deep into Laura’s eyes and turning his charm on.

The girl was helpless. Abandoning all her Slytherin pride and mistrust, she gestured him to elaborate. Her eyes were shining with delight that Draco had chosen her to confide in.

“You know,” he explained quietly, “I need information about Virginia Weasley and her friends. The ‘Why?’ is not your business. However, I think you would be the ideal person to give me such. You know, some useful facts like their weaknesses, what they like and don’t like and so on. Do you feel up to it?”

Laura nodded again, firmly. “Of course. That won’t be difficult. They always discuss various things in History of Magic, I’ll just sit behind them and listen.”

Draco didn’t look all that enthusiastic at her words. “Yeah, but make sure they also talk about things I want to know,” he reminded her, shooting her a meaningful glance.

“Certainly, Draco,” Laura replied quickly, not wanting to displease him. “Trust me.”

Another one of his irresistible smiles. Laura stifled a dreamy sigh.

“Where is your pride, woman!” she scolded herself silently and tried to remember that he might have a fascinating smile, but also a rather scrawny body and an attitude that was better left unmentioned. He was also extremely impatient, a fact that got demonstrated by his next words.

“I hope you will have the information as soon as possible,” Draco interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t like waiting.”

He looked as if he was about to leave.

No, wait! Laura thought, wanting to be in his vicinity. Draco Malfoy might be an emaciated bastard, but he was handsome in his way and his deodorant was so…alluring.

“Er, I can give you their names as a first,” she told him quickly, pushing those thoughts away with effort. “ You probably don’t know them, do you?”

No, he didn’t. Draco hadn’t considered their names very important, but you never knew. He motioned her to proceed.

“Okay. There’s Virginia Weasley whom you already know, then Leticia de Valladares, the Spanish girl and Doria Wilkinson, that’s the one who acts as if she was better than everyone else – they call her ‘the Queen’ sometimes. Then you have Miranda Davenport – she’s quite hyperactive – and Regina Castiglione, Giancarlo’s sister.

Draco frowned at her last words. Castiglione wouldn’t be pleased if he did something to his sister. Ah well. His focus would be primarily on Weasley anyway. The others were rather unimportant.

He gave Laura a brief nod and went away to resume his usual seat next to the fireplace. Now he would have to wait a few days until he would have some more information. The he was going to take action. Draco grinned to himself, beginning to like that feeling of having something new and exciting to focus on. Even Potter wasn’t so important now. If his father wanted to know his weaknesses, the he should bloody find out by himself. Draco had more pressing matters at hand. Not to mention that they were more enjoyable.

8>O<8

Meanwhile, Ginny and her friends were in their dorm, discussing the Malfoy matter yet again.

“Quidditch practise will begin next week,” Doria mused. “What if we tried to do something to his broomstick?”

“Yeah,” Merry added, contemplating the idea for a moment. “A Rocking Hex, or a permanent Impediment Jinx or something else that would make it uncontrollable…”

Suddenly, Ginny got the vision of Malfoy’s broomstick stopping in mid-air during a game while he was diving for the Snitch. Another image came, featuring the boy being shaken off by his broom for no apparent reason. Both scenes ended with Malfoy lying motionless on the Quidditch pitch, presumably with a broken neck. And to her surprise, Ginny found the thought rather disturbing. In fact, those images were giving her a distinct ill feeling.

Shaking her head, she consoled herself silently that it didn’t mean she was starting to turn soft on Malfoy. It merely showed that she was a normal human being who didn’t wish other people’s death. However, the others seemed to do exactly that.

Ginny cleared her throat. “Um, maybe sabotaging Malfoy’s broom isn’t such a good idea,” she objected somewhat hesitantly.

Leticia arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You’ll forgive me for saying that, Ginny dear, but for somebody who wanted to take revenge on Blondie Boy so badly, you seem to display a shocking amount of consideration of his welfare,” she pointed out.

Ginny bristled at her hidden accusation, trying to push the voice out of her mind which kept saying that the fact that Leticia’s words had made Ginny feel so indignant implied that the other girl might be right.

“I have personally sent the dungbomb to him,” Ginny defended herself.

“The dungbomb which you hadn’t let us manipulate so that its effect would last for three days,” Merry retorted.

Ignoring her input, Ginny continued. “And I have participated in the jokes you were telling in the Great Hall.”

“Yeah, ONE joke and he didn’t even hear it,” Doria shot back, crossing her arms in front of her.

Ginny opened her mouth to object and then called herself to a halt. What was she doing, justifying her ideas to people who were only supposed to assist her with the plan? She was the leading person here, after all. Although Ginny had to admit that she hadn’t acted like one so far.

“Gotta get a grip,” she told herself and then faced her friends, her stormy expression showing her annoyance at their overtaking in the Anti-Malfoy plan.

“Instead of competing in making up the most hare-brained scheme of all and throwing around silly, good-for-nothing ideas like confetti, why don’t you just think for a minute?” she hissed. “ What do you think would happen if we sabotaged Malfoy’s broomstick and he would have an accident due to that? They would investigate further for sure. And do you want to stake your Hogwarts career on our skill of destroying all traces? Because I don’t,” Ginny continued eyeing her room-mates, hard.

Merry, Regina, Leticia and even Doria squirmed slightly under her gaze. She was right. Their respect for Ginny was increasing involuntarily.

“Well, what do you suggest we do, then?” Merry asked placatingly, hoping to calm Ginny down.

Success.

Now that she was sure of her leadership, the red-haired girl relaxed and smiled lightly.

“Wouldn’t it be better if he couldn’t play because of an injury he has caused by himself?” she asked innocently and saw that her dorm-mates were pleased with her way of thinking.

She herself, however, wasn’t. Some part of her, the kind and compassionate Ginny she had been neglecting for the past few days, was protesting vehemently against what she was planning to do.

“But he is a hateful git who enjoys nothing more than making everyone else miserable,” Ginny told herself with faint exasperation at her failure to be indifferent towards Malfoy.

Maybe he’s got a reason, her alter-ego argued.

Somehow, her inner voice always seemed to have a different opinion on things than Ginny believed she had.

“There is no good reason to bully others,” she replied indignantly, but silently.

I didn’t say it was a good one, the voice reminded her somewhat hurt and shut up.

Ginny’s friends hadn’t noticed her brief inner dialogue and had begun to search for possible accidents where Malfoy would get injured but where the suspicion wouldn’t fall on them.

Hearing some of their ideas, Ginny shivered involuntarily. They really seemed to hate Malfoy. But why? As far as she could recall, he had never done anything to them, well, if you didn’t count his indirect insulting of Merry and Reggie when he used the term ‘Mudblood’ and generally being an insufferable git.

However, the question is not why they hate him, but why you hate him, Ginny’s alter-ego piped up again, apparently determined not to be silenced this time.

“I don’t hate him. I just dislike him.” Ginny answered mutinously.

Whatever. Question is, why?

Ginny rolled her eyes. “I would have thought that this should have been obvious.”

Yeah, well, not everyone is so clever like you, Merlin. Care to elaborate?

“Because he’s been insulting Harry, my family, my friends… and me,” Ginny concluded.

Interesting how you’ve sorted out your priorities, the voice commented dryly.

Ginny felt her cheeks go pink and retreated to the privacy of her bed so that her friends wouldn’t notice that she was arguing with an unseen companion. Not that they would have done so, anyway. They were too occupied with planning Malfoy’s future accidents.

Ginny sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to tell me what I should do instead of mocking me?” she asked her alter-ego.

But that’s what I’m trying to do right now. You just don’t want to listen.

“I’m all ears,” Ginny replied wryly.

Alright. As your better half, I’ll tell you the right thing to do. You mustn’t take revenge on Draco Malfoy for others, the voice began, sounding authoritative.

“Why not?”

Don’t interrupt me. Because Harry and your friends are well able to defend themselves and your family will have more honour in their lowest times than the Malfoys in their highest high.

Understood?

Ginny nodded mutely.

And as for yourself…I’m just saying that you have to fight the battles as they come. But don’t do it for anyone else. Okay?

Again, Ginny just nodded, the voice’s sudden friendliness startling her.

Now – green light to your plotting. And it had better be good. You have started a war with a very adept person. Be careful.

“Don’t worry,” Ginny thought back and grinned cheerfully.

For once, her inner voice had the same opinion as her on a topic. If that wasn’t a good sign…

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