The True Story of Harry Potter

1. Can You Handle the Truth?

Can You Handle the Truth?

******

The December air was cold and harsh, numbing yet awakening. As Draco Malfoy walked briskly toward the lake, he couldn’t help but reflect on how the winter weather was similar to the juxtaposition of feelings stirring deep within him. This had become routine for him, to end the day of classes with a walk around the lake. As he approached the lake, he had that familiar awareness that he was being watched; a prickling sensation rose from the back of his neck.

In the early weeks of school, it was disconcerting. These were dangerous times, and to be out alone could leave a person vulnerable to unimaginable dangers. Draco knew this; he was no fool. His stalker, however, was. It didn’t take long to ascertain the identity of the predator. It merely took the lack of colorful foliage and the gray days of winter to reveal the flame red hair that was always nearby. After a few weeks into this cat and mouse game, he realized who was keeping a watchful eye on Draco Malfoy, and then it was he who had control. He would only let her see what he wanted her to see.

Today, though, he was in no mood for her. Enough already. Being followed about for nearly three months, with no end in sight, had finally taken its toll on his patience. He was patient when he had time for games. He was no longer playing games. At sixteen, his life had taken some drastic turns that required attention. A little hero-worshiping girl with a juvenile sense of humor was not worthy of one minute of his time. He would end this spy game, and he would end it today.

Draco turned toward the water's edge bordered by the Forbidden Forest, in the opposite direction from his normal path. Following the shoreline, it was only minutes until he was out of her vision. He ducked behind a massive evergreen, listening for her footfalls. In the gloom of the December sun, he could see no shadows. He watched the pebble-covered ground patiently, waiting for a sound or a small stone kicked from its resting spot. She was quiet, but not stealth-like. She moved deliberately, carefully, but lacking grace. He had a feline manner that out-matched her best efforts in this game. He was the cat, and he was about to pounce on the mouse. As Draco took one step from behind the tree, wand ready, he was caught off guard by the look of knowing on her face. She faced him with an upturned chin, an arched eyebrow and a message flashing in her eyes, challenging him all the while her wand was ready.

“Well, well, well. What do you know? The littlest Weasley truly is a sneaky, cunning weasel herself,” Draco snarled in reaction to the sight in front of him.

“Just what are you playing at, Malfoy?” Ginny inquired in a very irritated tone.

“You’re one to talk. I’m not the one following people around for months on end. You need to explain yourself,” he replied as coolly as possible, so she wouldn’t see the ire rising in him. Is she delusional? What could she possibly mean by asking him what he was playing at? These Gryffindor cretins are nutters, the whole lot of them.

“You!" she sputtered. "You are the one who has suddenly changed their behavior. We all know a Runespoor can’t change its stripes. So out with it, what are you playing at?” she demanded, with a pink tinge spreading over her face.

“You’re mental,” he spat as he tried to sidestep her and make a dramatic exit.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Unexpected, unbelievable, and unacceptable were the words that entered his brain as his body became rigid. She did not just do that! At least it wasn’t the hideous Bat Bogey Hex she had hit him with at their last confrontation. Still, he would give as good as he got. She was in for it now.

“Well, I see at least that much hasn’t changed about you. Here you are, outwitted by me, but with that smug look on your face and the glint in your eyes. I can tell you think that you have the upper hand. Really, Malfoy.”She sighed exasperatedly. “Look, if you think you can have a civil conversation with me, then I will release you. Don’t think I’ll leave you with your wand, though, and I’ll put a Leg-Locker Curse on you if you try to leave, or if you prefer there’s always my specialty, the Bat Bogey Hex. So it’s up to you.”

Ginny sternly looked Draco in the eye and authoritatively spoke. “I want to know why you have become a loner, stopped taunting my brother, Harry and Hermione, and why you’ve stopped your bullying. I think you’re up to something worse than what you’ve been doing the past five years. I won’t sit back and watch you do it. So, Malfoy, you’re going to tell me exactly what it is that you are up to.”

“Mmmrphhhh,” was all he could get out, but his thoughts were running rampant like a rushing waterfall.

Bullying? Loner? Taunting? What sort of demented lies was she regurgitating?

“Finite Incantatum,” she practically whispered as she withdrew his wand.

“Weasley, I don’t know what skewed version of reality you live in,”he began as he lifted himself off the ground, brushing the dirt from his cloak, “but you couldn’t be further from the truth. I am not a bully, I do not taunt, and I am not a loner. I simply have chosen some solitude this year. I can think for myself, and that is simply what I am doing. Can you?” he queried with an arched eyebrow.

“Of course I can. Just answer the questions, Malfoy, so we can be done with it. Oh, and truthfully, I want the truth.”

“Can you handle the truth, Weasley?”

“Yes! Yes, just get on with it, and start at the beginning.”

“Fine. It was 1980, and my parents were expecting a new little bundle of joy –"

“Bat Bogey, Malfoy. Get on with it,” a frustrated Ginny interrupted.

“Right. I don’t know how this big, bad, bully Draco Malfoy bit got started, but it’s all wrong. I'll help you out here and tell you the true story of what happened when I first met your favorite boy wonder. I was in Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, alone. My parents were taking care of more pressing matters, and I was preparing to leave home for the first time. I was both excited and nervous. I’d never lived away from Malfoy Manor. I’d never known anyone outside my family…if you could say I even know them.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow in question.

“I was raised by house-elves, Weasley; my only companion was a house-elf. Regardless, I was going off to school, and I was going to finally have friends. Not elves. Friends. I was being fitted for my school robes when an odd boy whose clothes were too big entered; his glasses were broken and his hair untidy. Still, my stomach gave a lurch; here was my first chance at making a friend since he, too, was getting school robes for Hogwarts. I had no idea he was Harry Potter; his fringe covered his scar.”

Draco leaned gingerly against a tree. He couldn’t believe he was going to give her the satisfaction of knowing his memories, that she was bullying him into delving back in the past.

“I began with a greeting and polite conversation, in the same manner I had seen my parents make at all their social engagements. I tried to engage him in Quidditch talk, but he wouldn’t respond to me, just a 'no" or 'hmm' here and there. I tried small talk on sorting and houses; again he wouldn’t respond.” He slyly paused, searching her face for a reaction.

Ginny kept a poker face, but the twitching of her fingers around his wand told him she was not unaffected. He was back in control; he smirked at the thought as he resumed the tale.

“Then Hagrid appeared outside of the window, and I’d never seen anyone so big and wild. I pointed him out in wonderment. Potter finally decided to talk to me then. He proceeded to tell me how chummy he was with the Hogwarts’ gamekeeper. He became quite conceited, informing me that they were doing his school shopping together. So I simply inquired about his parents. He very curtly told me they were dead. I had no idea, so you can imagine how awkward that was.”

Her brown eyes softened for just a moment and a look of sadness, maybe empathy, passed through them. Of whom, though, was she thinking? Probably Potter; he scowled at the thought.

Draco continued. “I felt bad, and I even offered up my sorrow. I asked if they were wizards and tried to politely turn the conversation back to Hogwarts. I tried to converse with him again in the sociable manner that my parents used whenever speaking to others about Hogwarts, but he wouldn’t give me the time of day. When I asked his name, he left without a word or acknowledgement to my question.”

He saw the conflict of emotions register on her face, but none was discernable. Now, now was the moment he’d been waiting for.

“I left Diagon Alley that day crushed. I confided everything in Dobby, our house-elf. Dobby told me that there would be other students at Hogwarts and I would certainly meet friends. But that day would always haunt me, Weasley, because that was the first time I put myself out there and I was cruelly rejected. Are you sure you want to hear the rest? Are you sure you can handle to truth about Potter?”

******

TBC

A/N- I must give a little credit for the title and a line borrowed from the children's story, The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs by Jon Scieszka. The line from that story is "I don't know how this whole Big Bad Wolf thing got started, but it's all wrong."  I hope you enjoy this tongue and cheek version of the events from JKR's brilliant books!

2. Paradigm Shift on the Hogwarts Express

“Oh please, Malfoy. Do you really think me naive enough to believe you had a sorry childhood, when we've all seen how spoiled and pampered you are?” Ginny remarked flippantly, as she plopped herself down on the ground, crossing her legs like a pretzel.

“Weasley, I never said that. This is why you have such a tainted understanding of reality. You need to listen.” Draco gingerly sat down on a patch of moss, hoping for some semblance of comfort. This looked like it was going to take a while.

“My parents are important people who have responsibilities. People of our status usually have house-elves look after their children. I rather enjoyed it. I do not have any siblings, which I also enjoyed, but that meant I played with house-elves. The closest thing I have to a sibling is my cousin, Nymphadora, who is older than I.”

Ginny's eyes went wide at the mention of Tonks. Did she know his cousin?

Draco elaborated. “I didn't see her much, but my parents talked of her often. It wasn't until sometime in my first year that I realized Mudblood wasn't a term of endearment for her. My parents didn't really approve of Nymphadora, but I wasn't privy to their feelings regarding her. Father was very protective of me; he never did pass on much information.” 

There was a look of longing on his face as he thought of his father in Azkaban. With an attempt to keep his voice even, Draco admitted his feelings. “I adored Father. He took me out once a week to Knockturn Alley, telling me what a privilege it was, since most parents wouldn't bring their children to such a fine, wondrous place. I felt proud knowing he trusted me enough to bring me there. Other children would touch things or ask questions, even wander off, but I showed my father he was right to trust me. He ran his business in the day, while business meetings kept him away most evenings. That weekly rendezvous was our time.” 

“Very endearing, Malfoy.” Ginny winced at the thought. “What about your mother? Certainly with all the sweets she sends you, she must have lavished attention on you.”

“Mother and I also had a weekly date. We visited Aphrodite's Abode each Thursday for our spa treatment.”

Ginny snorted at this. 

“Don't know what you're missing, do you, Weasley? Hmm? No, I didn't think you did. Yes, it was a day at the spa. What do you expect from a woman named Narcissa? Mother is very vain, but no one can deny she hasn't earned the right.”

Ginny had nothing to say to that. It was true; Narcissa Malfoy was beautiful indeed.

“She works very hard to be the vision of perfection that she is,” Draco persisted. “She labors extensively to make sure all the Malfoys are the epitome of excellence that you see. She has to shop sometimes as much as twelve hours a day, just to keep us in our finest. It's not an easy job Mother has. Her poor feet suffer greatly, and the house-elves can't give a proper foot massage with those long fingers.” 

“You mean your mother gets foot massages from the house-elves? Doesn't your father find it a bit dodgy that someone else is massaging her feet? That is, I mean…. Oh, never mind!” 

Draco raised an eyebrow in aggravation.

“As I was saying, Mother is relentless in her efforts, but she has found some helpful short cuts with owl-order. That's how she sends me the sweets to which you referred. It's convenient; she just puts in a repeating order which sends sweets once a week.” 

“So you had a fluffy hearts and flowers family life that comes with your name and status, blah, blah, blah. You said you didn't have friends, but that's not true. Crabbe and Goyle are your friends; you knew them before Hogwarts, didn't you?”

“It depends on how you define friendship, Weasley. Once in a while, Crabbe and Goyle came to the manor with their house-elves, but they never paid me any mind. They were always off eating in the kitchens. Once we got onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters, our fathers told us to stay together at school. We were essentially stuck with each other, as we do not defy our parents. The three of us boarded the Hogwarts Express together, and that's where I met your brother for the first time. Did he tell you about that?”

“Only that you were rude and a snob, the usual modum operandi for a Malfoy.”

Draco made a noise of disgust. “There you are, another twisted lie. The truth, Weasley, is that your brother was rude, and Potter was the snob. I was in my compartment with Crabbe and Goyle, reading Hogwarts, a History, when rumors of the great Harry Potter being on the train spread like Pixie Pox. Your twin brothers went about telling everyone Potter was on the Express. They introduced themselves to us and cited their slogan, `There are more of us than any other family, easily recognized, as all Weasleys have red hair and freckles.'”

He did an uncanny impression of Fred and George. It was easy to do, as those two were ever-present, loud and obnoxious pranksters who no one easily forgot.

“Of course, I already knew about the Weaslely family from my father; he knows everything there is to know about the pureblood families. The cloned duo departed our compartment as quickly as they had entered, leaving behind a detonated dungbomb,” he spat out as he wrinkled his nose at the memory. 

Ginny giggled at that little detail, which earned a glare from Draco. She quickly stifled the laughter and motioned with her hands for him to carry on with his tale.

Draco began again, annoyed at her disregard for the nauseating behavior of her brothers. “We quickly decided to exit and find the illustrious Harry Potter. Imagine my surprise when I got to that compartment and saw the boy from Madam Malkin's. I tried not to look too horrified. I summoned my dignity and asked if it was true, if he was Harry Potter. He gave a curt yes but wouldn't even grace me with eye contact. I introduced Crabbe, Goyle and then myself. That's when your brother laughed and made a joke out of my name.”

He paused to see her reaction. She seemed complacent, but her fingers regained that nervous twitch. Draco suddenly wondered if she could be as hot-blooded as her brother. 

“He seemed to think it was comical to humiliate me in front of everyone. So I pointed out I knew who he was and the obvious things that made him a Weasley, thanks to the Weasley double act. He seemed rather upset at that, but I was merely repeating what the other two had said about their own family. How could I know it would upset him? He became a bit irrational, so I decided it would be best to go. Once again I offered my friendship to Potter, seeing that his current choice might be a bit volatile.  I offered to help him out with who's who in the wizarding world as I held out my hand to him. He didn't shake my hand, Ginny.”

She didn't react to his use of her first name. He slipped it in there to gauge just where this was going. No reaction could be taken as a good sign, so he continued.

“He coldly told me what I could do with my offer. I became concerned for his well-being. If he didn't exercise some manners, someone was likely to hex him, or worse. I let him know that if he wasn't a bit politer what might happen, and I warned him the Weasleys would rub off on him. After all, he was beginning to act as unreasonable as your brother and the twosome with that dungbomb. You have to admit they don't give off a good first impression, that lot.” 

At this, she simply snorted, as if the truth was amusing rather than insulting.

“Both Potter and Weasley stood up, challenging us to a fight. I couldn't believe it. I voiced my disbelief. Then Potter told us to get out. I didn't want to leave things like that, so I said I didn't feel like leaving was a good idea, hoping to sort out this misunderstanding. Unfortunately, Potter had the largest stash of sweets this side of Gringotts, and Goyle could no longer resist. He reached for a Chocolate Frog and was attacked by Weasley's rat.”

Ginny started at the mention of the rat. Evidently she was afraid of rodents, he mused. 

“Anyone who knows Goyle knows what a hematophobic he is.  Crabbe and I had to get him out of there and healed before he fainted at the sight of his own blood. The situation with Potter and your brother was never resolved.”

In confirmation of winter's shorter days, the dreary sky was beginning to darken. They had been at the forest's edge for a couple hours. Ginny's forehead was wrinkled in thought, as she weighed the words Draco had spoken. Her big, amber eyes softened a bit as she lightly tapped her wand on her leg. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly while she regarded Draco, surveying him from head to toe.

“Like what you see?” He smirked.

“Sure, whatever." She dismissed him with a dramatic roll of the eyes. "You're clever, aren't you? You haven't answered my first questions, but you have given me food for thought. Your version seems to have some consistencies with the stories Ron and Harry have told me. I suppose there is a grain of truth in there somewhere."

She sighed. "It's getting late. My arse is frozen, and I want to eat dinner. How about we meet later, someplace warmer, and I'll give you back your wand when you give me my answers?”

“I'm supposed to trust you with my wand? You've followed me around long enough to know I'm no fool. Give me my wand,” he snarled.

“How else am I going to get my answers? I'm just as sick of following you as you are of having me around. I need answers, and you are going to stop giving me the runaround with your life story,” she said, her eyes ablaze with annoyance. “We'll go straight to the Great Hall, and then the library Invisibility Section. You won't have me out of your sight; there will be no need to worry about your wand,” she decisively concluded.

“Fine, but let me warn you, we have just begun. When I finish telling you what's really been going on, the world, as you know it, will change. Are you prepared for that?” Draco inquired as he hoisted himself up from the mossy patch and extended a gentlemanly hand to assist the littlest Weasley.

“Merlin's beard, but you're dramatic. Fine, fine. I'll have a different outlook on life, and you'll be the man of my dreams. And you call me delusional.”  Ginny rolled her eyes at him for a second time as she took the proffered hand, rising from her perch. They began the long walk back to the castle.

After a few moments, Draco paused, his eyes locked onto hers. He simply gave a curt nod and smirked. She blushed with the realization that he still held her hand in his.
 
******

A/N: Credit is obviously due to JKR for her delicious books and fantastic characters. The plot is totally unoriginal…who hasn't had a knock off done of their story from the foil's point of view? The foot massage idea is from Pulp Fiction, and we'll see more of it later. *smirk* What's mine? -The glue connecting the words, and the twisted angle of JKR's events.

Coming up in Chapter 3: Ginny reacts to Draco's handholding. A tongue presents itself. Draco recalls the first time he met Ginny, Neville's Remembrall, and Christmas of first year. Gourmet chocolates will be eaten, and Draco begins to retell his version of getting detention with Harry, Hermione and Neville.

3. Playing with Fire

Ginny yanked her hand from Draco’s grasp as if his touch had burned her. Her eyebrows knitted together; she gave an indignant sound and stomped off to the castle. Draco breathed a small laugh at how fiery she was. His long legs had no problem catching up to her before she made it to the entrance. Once they approached the massive oak doors, she coolly told him to keep an eye on her at dinner. To his annoyance, she instructed him to follow her when she left the Great Hall to meet in the Invisibility Section of the library.

The Great Hall was filled with voices and laughter. Nearly everyone was already eating; the long tables were besieged with meats, dishes of vegetables, bread, sauces, pies and flagons of pumpkin juice.  Draco found his customary spot among the Slytherins, while Ginny continued to walk the greater distance to the Gryffindor table. He piled food onto his plate, paying little attention to the actual meal. He kept his eyes on Ginny the entire time, just as she said to do. With every fork-full of food, his eyes never wavered from her vivid, red head.

Ginny made eye contact occasionally, but then her eyes would dart away. Pink tinged her freckled cheeks; apparently she was blushing, the cause unbeknownst to him. Perhaps it was the conversation around her causing such a reaction. After several eye-connections and breakaways, she looked him dead on, almost challengingly. Now what is she playing at?  Her eyes widened, and she stared without blinking. She was going to try and stare him down. Right. Game on. He matched her stare and added a smirk for good measure. Take that.

She quirked an eyebrow with a look which upped the ante; her lips parted as her little, pink tongue stretched out with such force and velocity there was no misunderstanding its meaning. He became somewhat flustered at her unexpected behavior. She had stuck her tongue out at him!  She retracted the offending body part, gave a smirk of her own, knowing the effect she had had, and promptly exited the Great Hall.

Draco suavely rose from his seat while musing over the feisty nature of the little Weasley vixen. He remembered all too well the first time he had met her and she showed her vivacity. They had been at Flourish and Blotts when Potter had once again demanded all the attention, even that of the pretty little Weasley. Draco remembered feeling quite impressed at her boldness, so it was no surprise she was a Gryffindor.

Leaving the Great Hall alone was no longer a problem. Draco had made it abundantly clear to all his housemates that if he desired company, he would let them know. No one dared to question him, the Prince of Slytherin. As he climbed the four flights of stairs leading to the library, he thought back to those first days at Hogwarts. Being Sorted into Slytherin wasn’t even a question in his mind; his entire family had been Slytherins, so he would be, too. The Sorting Hat had barely touched his head when he assertively told it he would be in Slytherin. The hat shouted Slytherin immediately, and Draco knew his father and mother would be pleased.

When Draco had climbed the final stretch of stairs, he turned toward the library. He pushed through the double doors that lead to the book entombed room.  Quickly surveying the place, he found it empty with no evidence of Madam Pince.  He walked through the aisles of books until he came upon the Invisibility Section. In the far back alcove sat two high-back chairs, one currently occupied. Ginny was holding his wand in an outstretched hand; it dangled between her forefinger and thumb like a carrot in front of a horse, beckoning him to come get it.

He sauntered over to where she waited and sneered at her. He wouldn’t rise to the bait, so instead he sat down with a bored look on his face and began to inspect his most recent manicure.

“That was quite rude, you know,” Ginny began.

“What, sticking your tongue out?” he replied dryly.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “No, your unnerving stare. I could hardly eat while you pinned your eyes on me the entire time. For being ‘well-bred,’ that was rather ill-mannered, don’t you realize?”

“You’re going to lecture me on manners?” he scoffed as he stretched his long legs, crossing one over the other at the ankles. “You’re the one who stole my wand.”

“I didn’t steal it!” she quietly cried in indignation. “I merely removed it from you for self-defense. You’ll get it back. Besides, from what I hear, you’re the one who steals things; Neville Longbottom’s Remembrall ring any bells?” 

Draco glared at her. Is that what the Gryffindors say?  How preposterous. He had enough money to buy a million of those stupid, little toys.

“Who, pray tell, has been spreading that vicious lie?” he spat.

“Er…well, its common knowledge in Gryffindor. After all, it happened in front of all the Gryffindor first years, right?”

“Longbottom had got the ridiculous thing in the morning post. As I passed by the Gryffindor table, I stopped to look at it. He immediately called to a teacher, prattling about how I had taken the pathetic gift from him. Absurd!”  He added under his breath, “Longbottom obviously never learned to share.”

Ginny eyed Draco with a mixture of amusement and confusion. “I’m talking about the first flying lesson all of you had. Everyone credits you with stealing the Remembrall and throwing it so far that Harry had to dive for it. The legend of how Gryffindor got our best Seeker since my brother, Charlie.”

Now that was the limit!  Draco was outraged at the distorted details of the past, which made him out to be something he wasn’t…well, not back then, anyway. It was astonishing how much the truth could be twisted and how willing the little lemmings of Gryffindor were to believe Potter’s sordid tale.

“For your information, Weasley, that is not how it happened. Longbottom fell off his broom, and it was a sight to see. His face was indescribable as he ascended without any control.”  He gave a little chuckle.

Ginny looked at him in disgust.

“Really, Weasley, you can’t tell me you’ve never laughed at someone else’s expense. It was unintentional, I assure you, but his face was hilarious. Regardless, once he left for the hospital wing, I found his Remembrall. Again, I merely wanted a good look at the thing, but Potter wouldn’t hear of it. I took off on my broom, thinking he couldn’t do anything about it and then I’d have my turn at the stupid toy.”

Ginny settled back in her chair and brought up her legs to tuck them underneath her. She placed Draco’s wand on the high-back’s arm and leaned to the opposite side, placing her hands and her own wand in her lap.

Draco continued, still agitated, “Of course, Potter had to mount a broom and harass me over the Remembrall. I had got my fill of the plaything, so I told him to catch it. It just so happened at the same moment I went to toss the toy to Potter, my allergies started acting up, and I sneezed. That involuntary action caused the Remembrall to launch out of my hand and high into the air.”

“That’s rather convenient, don’t you think?” Ginny interrupted skeptically.

“No, actually, I don’t find it convenient at all. I have a reaction to mallowsweet when it goes to seed in the fall. It leaves me with terrible sneezing attacks and horrible headaches. I have been developing a curative potion but it isn’t perfected, yet. There are potions I can take to reduce the reactions, but having allergies is certainly not convenient,” he drawled.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize….” Ginny trailed off, apparently afraid to put her other foot in her mouth.

“Yes, I suppose you didn’t. No matter. Now you understand; thanks to me, Potter was made the youngest Seeker in a century. I was never shown any gratitude for that, but now I see why: the truth was replaced with a cunning legend to put him on a higher hero pedestal. To think I actually felt bad for him when he had no place to go that Christmas,” Draco grated out.

In need of something to sooth his ego, Draco fished out a small, gold bag from his robes. There was a black, inverted triangle covering most of the bag’s front with an elegant white script, which read Hawaiian Vintage Chocolate. As he gently opened the bag, an aroma of coffee and chocolate filled the air. He put one, long finger in the bag and hooked out a small, round sweet, which he aristocratically delivered to his mouth. He closed his eyes and leaned back as the chocolate melted creamily on his tongue and the flavor was absorbed by each taste bud. Comfort in the world’s best chocolate was just what the medi-witch ordered.

When he opened his eyes, Ginny had sat up in her chair and was regarding Draco with curious eyes.

“Chocolate, Weasley, most likely the best in the world. It ought to be, at one Galleon for three-quarters of a pound.“

Ginny gasped at the outrageous cost. “The whole lot on the Hogwarts Express food cart doesn’t even cost that much!”

“No, I don’t suppose it does. As you see, I have no need to steal anything.”  Draco emphasized the point by giving the small bag a little shake and eating another sweet.

“Evidently not. I imagine that’s why you resorted to trickery, false duels and fist fights with my brother,” she snapped as she leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest.

Draco sat up with her accusation and stared at her in disbelief. “Trickery and false duels,” he parroted. “If you are referring to the duel I challenged Potter to in our first year, it was an attempt to get him alone and sort out all these misunderstandings. If it hadn’t been for Filch and his blasted cat, I would have made it to the trophy room.  As it was, I barely escaped detention.”

Draco took out another chocolate, wishing it were something more potent.

Ginny’s attention was on the bag then diverted to the candy as Draco placed it in his mouth. “I thought you did get detention with Harry, Hermione and Neville.”  Licking her lips, she asked, “Are you going to eat that entire bag?”

“That detention was another matter entirely,” he said. “The bag is awfully small, so yes, I probably will. Why, did you want some?” he tantalized, holding the bag just outside her reach.

“Well, if you’re offering.”  She launched forward and grabbed the sack from his hand. “Yes, I think I will, thank you,” she answered, pulling out one of the small, round delicacies, popping the chocolate in her mouth. “That detention was the time you screamed like a banshee and ran from the Forbidden Forest, leaving Harry to fight You-Know-Who alone, was it not?”

“What!?” Draco spat out in outrage, a little too loudly as it drew the attention of the now present Madam Pince.

The librarian lunged out from the aisles of books and bellowed, “NO CHOCOLATE IN THE LIBRARY!  Out – OUT!”  Her face twisted with fury.  She wrenched out her wand, flicking her wrist; books flew off the shelves, threatening to thump the teens over their heads.

“Damn! Not again!” Ginny muttered as she quickly darted for the library exit, chocolate in hand. Draco grabbed his wand from the arm of the chair while several books nearly whacked his blond coiffure before he hastily made his escape.

Once outside the library, they each leaned against the cool, stone wall in the corridor, using it for support. Ginny panted then held out the small, gold bag. “Here’s your chocolate,” she giggled.

Draco sniggered and flippantly replied, “Keep it. I have plenty more.”

Ginny nodded as she noticed his wand in his hand. “Er, thanks. I have to get back. You’ve got your wand, right?  I guess we’re done, then.”  She pushed off the wall and began to walk away, only to be stopped by a firm grasp of long, perfectly manicured fingers around her wrist. Her eyes traveled down to where his hand seized her arm and then up to his eyes in question.

“We’re not done yet. We need to finish this, but not tonight. Meet me here tomorrow,” he demanded, releasing his grip from the surprisingly electric contact.

She swallowed hard and then drew her shoulders back in defiance. “No need to take that tone with me. I don’t take orders, Malfoy. If there’s anything more you’d like to discuss, then you need to ask nicely if you want the pleasure of my company.” 

She couldn’t be serious. She’s a Weasley, for Circe’s sake. Did she think he would lower himself to asking her for anything? She should be begging for the pleasure of his company

“Weasley, for that bag of chocolates, the least you can do is hear me out. I assure you, my account of detention in the Forbidden Forest is worth your time. You were the one who said she wanted the truth. Or would you rather go around deluded like the rest of the Potter worshipers?” he said in a voice smooth as silk.

“I suppose that’ll have to do for asking nicely,” she said, more to herself. “Fine, I’ll meet you, but not here. Meet me on the seventh floor by the enormous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy being clubbed by trolls. Do you know the one?”

Draco grimaced in disgust. “Yes, I know it; it’s completely moth-eaten. There’s no place to meet there.”

“There is a room, but only if you know how to get into it. Meet me after dinner again; only don’t stare at me through the whole meal. It’s really disturbing.” She wrinkled her nose as she waved a hand airily at him. “See you then.”

Draco nodded and watched her walk away, noticing the enticing sway of her hips. He shook his head, trying to clear it of what thoughts might come next. What was he doing? He knew he was playing with fire, but would he be warmed by the light or burned by the flames?

4. Bedroom Bonding

A mildly amused Draco walked back to the Slytherin sixth year boys' dormitory. He realized he hadn't felt so lighthearted in months, despite learning all the ridiculous lies the Gryffindors had carved out of history in homage to Potter. Not that he cared what any Gryffindors thought or said. He couldn't help but deem it very Slytherin of Potter to skew the truth of events the way he had. At least one Gryffindor, a very pretty one at that would know the truth, he mused.

Upon entering the cold, dank dungeon's sleeping quarters, it was obvious that his dorm mates were up to something, as all four of them plus Pansy Parkinson were huddled around one of the beds, speaking in hushed tones. When shocked eyes fell upon Draco, they instantaneously became quiet.

“Obviously, I'm interrupting something. Do carry on; I won't be any bother,” he drawled.

Standing up from the bed, Blaise Zabini took the role of leader for the detached group, saying in an anxious voice, “Look, Draco, it's not like that. We weren't scheming or anything. We just, well, we noticed….” He looked down at his shuffling feet as his voice trailed away.

Pansy authoritatively rescued the withering Slytherin. “What Blaise is trying to say here is, er… how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” said Draco stiffly.

“Oh, don't lie, Draco,” she said impatiently. “You've been hiding from everyone since school began. Vincent and Greg say you won't even let them accompany you anymore.”

“They do, do they?” said Draco, glaring and Crabbe and Goyle. Greg stared down at his hands, but Vincent seemed quite unabashed.

“Well, it's true!” Vincent said. “And you won't even look at any of us!”

“It's you lot who won't look at me!” Draco said angrily.

“Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other,” suggested Pansy, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“Very funny,” snapped Draco, turning away.

“Oh, stop feeling all misunderstood,” Pansy said sharply. “Look, we all know about your father -”

“Yeah?” growled Draco, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling lightly outside. “All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it….”

“We wanted to talk to you, Draco,” Vincent said, “but as you've been hiding since we've returned to school -”

“I didn't want anyone to talk to me,” Draco said, feeling more and more nettled.

“Well, that's a bit stupid of you,” said Vincent angrily, “seeing as both Nott and I have fathers locked up in Azkaban, too; we know what it feels like to have jailbirds for dads and being the gossip of every common room here.”

Draco remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he spun around and said, “I forgot.”

“Lucky you,” Vincent and Ted said in unison.

“My a-apologies,” Draco said, having a difficult time uttering the words. “So what is the meaning of all this?” He gestured to the group before him, his eyes piercing Pansy's.

“We were getting concerned, Draco. We're your friends, regardless of your father's name, status, or whereabouts,” Pansy said with affection.

His heart leapt at her words. It was what he had seen in that strange mirror while hiding from Filch that night he he'd gone out for the sole purpose of making peace with Potter. It had shown Draco, in its reflection, with a group of friends who shared his life from childhood through adult years, people who supported him, encouraged him, and cared for him. It was here, now, in this room - everything, that is, except the beautiful redhead who had stood next to him, holding his hand and looking at him with adoring eyes.

“Enough of this Hufflepuff lovey-dovey crap.” Greg's cracked voice interrupted Draco's thoughts.

“Here, here,” chimed in several others.

Vincent got to his feet and handed a piece of parchment to Draco. “Oh, thought you ought to know Snape stopped by with the new Quidditch practice schedule. He said McGonagall had booked the pitch for the ickle Griffies every weeknight until the hols; of course, he had to book us every afternoon then. Here you are, Captain,” he said casually, changing the topic of conversation.

Draco took the timetable and mulled over it for a moment. If the Gryffindors would have their training session after dinner, his meeting with Ginny was off. They would just have to find a way to meet later, as there was no way in hell he was going to let her get off that easy with his chocolates and not hear him out. She was going to listen to what he had to say about the Forbidden Forest and clear up all her misconceptions, one way or another.

******

The next day, Draco barely remembered the euphoria he felt as he lay in bed the previous night. Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall. The four house tables were laden with porridge, eggs, bacon, toast and pitchers filled with pumpkin juice. Taking his seat next to Pansy, he filled his plate with eggs and toast while searching the room for Ginny. He needed to find her in order to rearrange their meeting. Gazing over to the Gryffindor table, he merely saw the three pests that could certainly ruin his appetite. Where was she? Didn't she see the Gryffindor practice schedule? She couldn't be uninformed, as she was one of their Chasers, their best Chaser, as a matter of fact. In frustration, Draco jabbed his food with his fork as if it were a half-dead doxy.

“Draco! What is the matter?” Pansy sighed, eyeing his odd behavior.

“Nothing. I just need to talk to someone I can't find,” he said with a slight stiffness that told her not to ask details.

“Well, you don't need to act like a child. Honestly! Whatever it is, it can't be that bad.”

“You don't know the half of it,” he said.

Pouring a cup of tea, she impatiently said, “Then enlighten me, or behave properly so we don't have to be subject to your moods.”

“Do you know what the Gryffindors think of me? What they say? You would never believe it!” he spat, dropping his fork on the plate.

“Oh, is that all? Of course I know their stupid stories. But it works to your advantage, keeps them all under your thumb.”

“Well, maybe I don't want them all under my thumb. Maybe I'd like something more than that, more than power!” he quietly snapped.

“What, then? A friend? I doubt it, at least not with Pothead or the Mudblood, and I know you hate the Weasel. Really, Draco, I think you're being a bit dramatic,” she answered, patting his hand in a patronizing manner.

“What do you know?” he pouted.

Pansy's brows knitted together as she assiduously studied his face. Her eyes shone with a knowing look as a smug grin spread across her face. “I see. What's her name, Draco?”

Two pink spots appeared on his cheeks as he rose from his spot. “Never you mind,” he gritted, walking away from a giggling Pansy. He passed the Gryffindors without incident and continued on to his first class of the day.

Classes were boring as usual, as Draco sulked the entire day, avoiding Pansy and her snickering inquisitions. He skipped lunch to keep from being under the scrutiny she was certain to induce. He would not give her the satisfaction of knowing the truth; there was nothing to know, after all.

As if Pansy and her jesting weren't annoying enough, Snape had booked the pitch for the Slytherin Quidditch practice each afternoon, making Draco's daily walk around the lake impossible. There wasn't enough time to do both before dinner, so Draco had to concede his leisurely activity for the duties he accepted with the captaincy. Merlin knew their team needed all the grooming they could get after losing several players last year. This point was proven by the dismal practice he had just overseen.

Just when he thought the day couldn't get any longer, fate proved him wrong again. As he opened the double doors to the Great Hall for dinner, he ran into Ginny on her way out, followed distantly by her prat brother and Potter. She paused in front of Draco, glancing hastily over her shoulder and then capturing his eyes she whispered, “I can't meet you tonight.”

“Why not?” Draco hissed.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. “I only meant I couldn't meet after dinner, but I can after Quidditch practice. There's no need to be rude,” she said coolly. “Seven o'clock work for you?”

“Don't be late,” he said.

“Don't be early,” she cheeked.

“What's the problem here, Gin? Is the Ferret bothering you?” Ron's voice bellowed from behind Ginny.

“No, there's no problem. Come on; you don't want to be late, Captain,” she answered, pulling Ron's elbow.

“Yes, you need all the practice you can get, Weasley,” Draco drawled

Leading her irritated, garbling brother away by the elbow, Ginny's amber eyes pierced Draco's, glaring at him with an exasperated expression. He stuck his tongue out at her, inwardly grinning to himself at the shocked expression on her face, completely unaware of a set of green eyes taking in the flirtation.

“I don't know what you're playing at Malfoy, but I don't have time for it. Just stay away from Ginny Weasley,” Potter snarled as he exited the dining area.

Leave it to Potter to stick his spec-faced nose where it wasn't wanted. Draco had no intention of listening to anything Potter said, much less following his directives. This just sealed the wax on the parchment that Potter was an egotistical, fame-chasing git. If Scarhead hadn't run out of the Great Hall like a scared, little rat just then, Draco might have hexed him back to Madam Pomfrey's care. As it was, he had to eat another meal aggravated by Gryffindors and probably interrogated by Pansy.

Sitting down at his place, flanked by Pansy, Greg, Yorkshire pudding, lamb chops and roast potatoes, Draco filled his plate inattentively, dropping bits of food all around the table. His mind was elsewhere, as Pansy too quickly pointed out.

“Ginny Weasley has you in this state, Draco? A Weasley?” she said disgustedly, gesturing to the mess surrounding the dishes.

“I don't know what you're talking about, Pansy,” he rebuffed, busying himself with his dinner.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine. Don't think half the school didn't see that sickening display of puppy eyes, though,” she said sharply, leaving him to eat his dinner in semi-peace, as Greg's eating noises next to him were reminiscent of thestrals.

******

Draco climbed the stairs to the seventh-floor, considering what Pansy had said, and wondered if there was any truth to the statement. He did not give puppy eyes! Could half the school really have witnessed what he did do? He was just giving back as good as he got. So what if they noticed? He was a Malfoy, and he could do what he pleased, even if it was rude and immature, or highly suggestive. Besides, she started it, for Circe's sake.

Walking down the corridor, he smirked as he passed the vase he'd hidden behind last year when he caught Potter breaking school rules. He arrived in front of the moth-eaten tapestry five minutes before seven. There weren't any doors or rooms conducive to conversation that he could see. She must be delusional. This wasn't the first time she had her facts mixed up. Probably one of the hazards of being a Wesley, he mused. Smirking, he wondered if there were benefits to being a Weasley; that was something he would need to explore.

“I told you not to be early, and here you are. Early. Apparently quite smitten with yourself, too,” Ginny quipped from behind him.

Draco wheeled around to see her standing within reach, flashing a brilliant smile, panting like she had just run the last section of steps. Her eyes glittered like brown diamonds, and her face was flushed; her hair was dark auburn, glistening and dripping wet. A small drop of water trickled off her brow and down her cheekbone, stopping at the crook of her smile.

“You're…wet,” Draco plainly stated, his fingers itching to touch the droplet.

“Er—well, yeah, I had to rush after practice, so I showered but didn't take time to dry my hair,” she said as her hands grabbed at her locks, pulling them and wringing out any excess water.

Raising his wand, Draco preformed a drying charm his mother always used, transforming the tresses into a smooth coiffure. Betraying his thoughts, one long, manicured finger traced the trail of water down her cheek, smoothing it from the corner of her mouth across her perfectly bowed lips as she closed her eyes.

“Um, let's go inside, then. Shall we?” she said with a little shiver and walked back and forth in the corridor several times until a door suddenly appeared just opposite of where Draco stood.

“What is this place?” he asked her, intrigued.

“It's the Room of Requirement, available only if you need it,” she said complacently, opening the door and beckoning Draco inside with a jerk of her head.

Once inside, they found an oblong, oak table, two Queen Anne leather chairs the color of burnt sienna, and a roaring fire illuminating the room with light and heat from a large hearth beyond the sitting area.

“It isn't much, is it?” Draco commented insolently.

“Well, it only becomes what you need it to be. We don't really need anything else,” Ginny huffed. “Sit and let's get this over with.”

Draco took his time walking the room, giving the appearance he was scrutinizing every inch rather than let her think she could order him around. She immediately sat down in one of the chairs with the grace of a hippogriff, propping both feet on the table, crossed at the ankles, and her hands neatly folded in her lap.

“I don't have all night you know,” she said impatiently.

“What do you want to know?” he said coyly and walked behind the empty chair, drawing his hand across the top. Stopping to lay one forearm across the uppermost part of the chair he leaned his chin into a hand propped up on his elbow.

“You were going to tell me about your detention,” she said, looking annoyed.

“Ah, yes, that's right. Do you know what landed us in detention?” he asked, genuinely curious. She shook her head no as she watched him carefully, her eyes searching his, but for what he didn't know.

“That oaf, Hagrid - oh, don't look at me like that. You know he is a danger to everyone, especially himself,” Draco defended himself against her angry glare. “Well, he had a dragon's egg, and I watched it hatch from outside his window.”

“What are you, some sort of voyeur?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at him.

“No! I overheard Potter, Granger and your brother talking about Hagrid hatching the egg. He came to get the threesome after our Herbology class, and I followed them. I have a thing for dragons. It's who I am, you know,” he sneered.

“I get it, Draco, dragon. You don't need to be so dramatic. It's rather girly,” she teased.

That was the second time today a female called him dramatic, and now she was attacking his masculinity! How much was he supposed to put up with in one day?

“I assure you, Ginny.” He purred out her name, pulling his chair next to hers, causing her legs to drop as he languidly seated himself, leaning forward, his eyes inches from hers. “I am not girly.”

Her eyes widened, and that delicious, pink tongue moistened her lips as she bit her bottom lip. Looking down and shifting uncomfortably, Ginny swallowed and murmured, “No. No, you most certainly aren't.”

******

Dialogue in the Slytherin sixth year dormitory is a parody on J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix conversation between Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, Chapter Twenty-Three.

Chapter five will be written by Monday and then off to the Beta…so sorry I can't get it to you sooner. :o) Please review and let me know what you think and what you want to see Draco explain away.

5. Fireside Fancies

Draco evaluated the girl sitting in the chair before him. She had just agreed that he was indeed a man, a very sexy and attractive man according to her body language. If he just moved a little closer, maybe an inch or two, he would be within striking distance. Then he could touch the softness of her skin again, run his fingers through her coppery tresses, pull her closer and press his lips against hers, finally tasting her.

What was he thinking? She was a Weasley, for Circe's sake - a very attractive one at that - but Malfoys did not fantasize about Weasleys, gorgeous or otherwise. Shaking his head to rid his brain of the ridiculous images, Draco took charge of the conversation again.

“Much to the dismay of your friends, I did not scream like a girl in the Forbidden Forest,” he whispered, succumbing to temptation and curling one fiery lock of hair around his finger, rubbing it gingerly with his thumb. With a smirk, he gave a little tug then let go and reclined into the back of the chair, delighted in the silky feel of her hair.

Ginny continued to bite her lip and squirm uncomfortably in her leather seat. Her hand moved to smooth down the locks he had just held, and she began twisting a section in imitation of his actions. She looked at him through her lashes with hesitant, big, brown eyes. Was she nervous, or perhaps she didn't trust herself? He knew that his charm, magic notwithstanding, was getting to her; he could feel it.

“We were sent in there for detention, you do realize? It was hardly appropriate and most unacceptable; first years should not be in the Forbidden Forest, or anyone else for that matter.” He wrinkled his brow, disgusted by the mere thought.

Her coy behavior abated; Ginny sat upright, smoothed her robes and cleared her throat before asserting herself. “Why did you get detention in the first place?” she asked with determined indifference.

“I was out of bed after curfew. I had found out that Potter and his little entourage were getting rid of that dragon at midnight, so I tried to have another look at it, a closer look,” Draco divulged.

“How did you find out about that? They never tell anyone what they are up to,” she asked in awe.

“When your brother was laid up in the hospital wing, suffering from a dragon bite, I visited him and asked if I could see it,” Draco said, amusement dancing in his eyes at the memory of the Weasel's swollen hand. “He refused, of course, but he couldn't really hide an injury like that.”

Draco stretched his long legs, causing them to brush lightly against hers. He quirked an eyebrow at the startling sensations that rose in his body from touching her.

“He wanted me to leave, so he threw one of his books at me and told Madam Pomfrey I had come in to borrow it. She rushed me out of the hospital wing, just like he wanted. But in the book was a letter about the dragon. I found out that the three of them were taking the dragon to the tallest tower at midnight to be rid of it, and I wanted a last glance at the creature. Most unfortunately for me, that never happened as I was caught by McGonagall.”

Ginny hastily added, “And you told her about Harry and Hermione, so they could be your scapegoats.” She glared at him while she crossed her arms over her chest, daring him to deny it.

“I had nothing to do with entrapping them. McGonagall had dealt with me by time they exposed themselves. I heard Filch caught them. As for Longbottom, well, he got himself caught. All four of us were given detention with Hagrid.” He sneered, obviously annoyed by the half-giant. “He was the one who caused all the trouble to begin with. Then the oaf took us into the Forbidden Forrest, pairing me with Longbottom of all people.”

Ginny suppressed a giggle as she tried to glower at him. “You have had a history with Neville, haven't you? You underestimate him,” she said knowingly.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Longbottom has a habit of clumsiness. I was practicing wand movements with spells back in first year, and he walked right into the path of a Leg-Locker Curse. To be paired with him was like asking to be bitten by a werewolf. The only consolation was we had the protection of that boarhound, Fang.”

At this declaration, Ginny snorted. “You do know that Fang is a coward, don't you?”

“Yes, but I think he was braver than Longbottom. Maybe they could make Fang a Gryffindor; after all, Longbottom qualifies.”

Ginny stared at him furiously, her mouth pinched in a firm line, her cheeks pinkening.

Holding his hand up to ward off the legendary Weasley temper he had already been subjected to, Draco quickly added, “Merlin, Weaslette, that was a joke. Where is your sense of humor? Just like when I sneaked behind Longbottom to give him a little scare in the Forbidden Forest. You should have seen it. He squealed like a pig and shot sparks out of his wand without even checking to see what it was. Come on, Weaslette, can't you see the wit in that?”

“You know, you may be more like Fred and George than you would like to think,” she shot back, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“I hardly think you can compare us. I am a Malfoy,” he sparred.

“Yes, that's true. Malfoys scream in big, bad, scary forests. Fred and George have never screamed, to my recollection.”

“I did not scream!” he insisted. Was she still on about that? He could feel his own cheeks warming with exasperation. He planted both feet on the floor, leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, regarding her with resolution. “You still don't know what happened, do you? I was with Potter when we saw a dark, cloaked figure sucking the blood from a unicorn.”

Ginny's smile from their previous banter ceased. Her body shivered at his words. Draco wondered what was the cause of her tremble. Did she know that kind of feeling, the feeling that came from meeting evil? Noticing her wide, inquisitive eyes, he stopped his pondering to continue revealing his memories of the Forbidden Forest.

“We didn't know what it was, but you could feel the evil in the air; it was as thick as the silver blood all over the tree roots and leaf-covered ground. That cloaked thing was slithering around the unicorn, blood dripping off its face - if it had one. That was all I needed to see to know we were in danger, real danger. I ran for my life, and so did Fang.”

She inched forward, both intrigued and horrified by his story. “But, but you left Harry there, alone,” she murmured mournfully.

“He was frozen in fear. I had to stop and yell at him to move. The idiot acted like he didn't even hear my words. I kept saying, `Come on! Get out of here!' Then that thing began moving toward Potter, and he just fell down,” Draco said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I couldn't do anything but bolt out of there to find Hagrid. I did send up sparks with my wand, and when I finally found Hagrid, I told him about Potter. He instructed me to take Longbottom back to the castle while he and Hermione went looking for Harry. The rest, as they say, is history.”

“You helped Harry? I mean, you got help for him?” Ginny quietly asked, a curtain of red and gold falling on either side of her face.

“I'm not that heartless; is that what you think of me? Of course I went for help,” he said, gently pushing her stray locks behind one ear, his hand lingering just a moment longer than needed.

“I never said you were heartless, Draco,” she sighed exasperatedly, slouching into her chair away from his touch and pausing a moment while she cocked her head to the side. Her mahogany eyes were studying the Slytherin with interest. “We are on a first name basis, now, right?”

Draco gave a sharp nod as he shifted his weight and leaned back in his chair. His silver eyes never left her scrutinizing stare. He did not want to break eye contact; that would be a sign of weakness.

“Well, Draco, I'll admit your side of the story makes sense, but don't forget - I've seen a lot of stunts you've pulled and your viciousness. You've been cruel to a lot of people for no reason other than bigotry as far as I can tell,” Ginny sadly said.

“Would you care to be more specific, Weaslette?” Draco sneered.

“Hagrid, whose only crime is loving exotic magical creatures, doesn't deserve to be treated like dirt by you just because he is half giant. What happened to you your third year was your fault for insulting the Hippogriff; even the Slytherins know that,” she pointed out, regret lacing her words.

“You're mistaken if you think you know everything there is to know about my relationship with Hagrid, among others. You assume too much, Ginny. Do you remember the first time we met at Flourish and Blotts?” he asked haughtily.

“Of course, how could I forget? I-I mean you were so nasty to us,” she hastily explained as her cheeks reddened, and she suddenly appeared to be uncomfortable.

“Well, you know by that time Potter and I weren't exactly best mates, and that included all of his groupies,” Draco scoffed.

“I would hardly say we were his groupies. We were just friends shopping for our schoolbooks together,” Ginny tersely interrupted.

“Really? You were a chum of Potter then? And now?” Draco snidely asked.

“Well - er, I suppose not,” she grumbled. “Fine. You were right. That day I was a groupie, a silly little girl with a silly little crush on the Boy Who Lived. I've grown up a lot since then, and I've given up childish whims and fancies.”

“You certainly have grown up, Ginny,” Draco said approvingly as his eyes glided over the young witch. He smiled inwardly at just how mature she had become and how every pureblooded wizard could appreciate that. “So you no longer fancy the messy-haired pillock?”

“Never you mind who I fancy, Draco Malfoy. Get on with your story about Hagrid.”

“Well, that day I overheard Hagrid tell your father that my entire family is rotten to the core and a bunch of other derogatory nonsense. I find it ironic, Ginny, that you lot don't mind someone saying nasty things about my family, behind our backs, no less, but when I speak my mind with enough integrity to say it to his face, I get labeled the evil one,” Draco spat.

“Fair point, Draco. Why don't we make a friendly pact? You don't pigeonhole me with my brother's friends, and I won't group you in with Dark Lords, Death Eaters, and evil,” she said, the corners of her mouth curling.

“I'll agree to that. Care to seal the deal with a handshake?” Draco asked cheekily as he stood and extended his hand.

“Agreed,” she giggled, moving out of her chair and putting her much smaller hand in his.

Draco took hold of the soft, dainty hand and brought it to his lips, breathing in the scent of lavender with a hint of vanilla. He gently brushed his lips across the back of her delicate, freckle-dusted skin, smiling when he felt the smallest of shivers trickling down her arm. He raised his eyes to hers, continuing the contact of his lips and her hand, causing her to adorably blush crimson again.

6. Clearing the Heir

A/N: Just to clarify a few things, in case anyone is wondering: 1) The premise of this story is to tell another point of view of the events at Hogwarts, so it follows canon, but it is not canon; 2) If you think Draco is always telling the truth, email me; I have some swampland in Florida to sell you. *wink* 3) Harry will not be with Ginny so don't worry all will be explained in later chapters.

******

“Are you always an incorrigible flirt?” Ginny asked as she subtly pulled her hand, trying to loosen it from his grip.

“Only with the most beautiful purebloods,” Draco grinned while he refused to let her loose.

She scowled at his choice of words and tugged harder until he relented and finally released her from his grip. He inwardly groaned, knowing this was obviously going to be an issue between them. He could help her with that another time; it wasn't her fault she hadn't been brought up to appreciate the wizarding elite. At the present moment, she needed to be placated.

“What? You are a pureblood, Ginny,” he asserted, flashing his best debonair look.

“Yes, I am. That's beside the point. You just reminded me of all the times you've called a good friend of mine a Mudblood.” She turned toward the door, speaking softly before she grabbed the handle. “You almost had me fooled, Draco.”

“Wait!” he called, barricading the door with his body. “I told you; my favorite cousin has a Muggle-born father. It isn't like I really have anything against Muggle-borns.” His mind reeled in search of an explanation, any explanation that would suffice. There had to be a way to make her understand without holding it against him.

“You have a funny way of showing it, Malfoy,” she hissed.

“Look, what you don't know is that—er, well, I started this whole Mudblood business to ruffle the feathers of Potter and Weasel second year. It snowballed and created an image in Slytherin that I rather liked. When your bother and Potter tried to incriminate me as the heir of Slytherin by posing as Crabbe and Goyle, I just never let it go." He surveyed her suddenly widening eyes for any indication she would stay, even if it was just to hear him out. "You do know about that underhanded trick, don't you?”

She let out a small sigh and let go the doorknob. “I can't believe I'm doing this.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at him suspiciously. “Go ahead and tell this little tale, although I've never heard about it from Ron or Harry. You better tread carefully.”

Draco emitted a small huff and mirrored Ginny's pose. She had become cold and tense, as if he had said she was the one responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets. What was her problem? Pothead and Weasel didn't tell her about their Polyjuice prank? Maybe that's what was irritating her, being left out of their tight knit group again.

“You didn't hear about the time Potter and your brother took Polyjuice Potion?” He smirked.

“No, I have no idea what you're on about. I'm not so sure this isn't some cock and bull story of yours. If you—”

He cut her off mid threat, shaking his head at her in a condescending way. “They did, Ginny. They became Crabbe and Goyle, so they could ask me about the Chamber of Secrets. I knew almost immediately because Crabbe would never have known the name of your other brother, Peter was it?”

“Peter? I don't have a brother named Peter. You must mean Percy.” She clicked her tongue in disgust and rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, those two Polyjuice-potioned gits showed up just outside the Slytherin dormitories, and so did Percy. When Crabbe, of all people, corrected me on his name, I knew something was amiss.” He gave a smug smile, watching her features begin to relax a little.

“Go on,” she snapped.

“Well, I started by poking fun at Percy, and they didn't react. Crabbe and Goyle would have at least added a few insults. They weren't acting themselves at all. Then it dawned on me that only a Weasley or close acquaintance would know the name of that particular prefect,” he explained. “I had an article from the Daily Prophet about your dad's inquiry at the Ministry of Magic, and I knew it would be the perfect bait to see if I was in the presence of two imposters.”

Ginny's posture had softened, and she traded in her defensive stance for an impatient appearance. With one hand on her hip and the other dangling at her leg while her fingers drummed sporadically on her thigh, she tapped the toe of one foot, looking very annoyed. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.

Clearing his throat, he began again. “They really didn't do anything to incriminate themselves, so I pressed it further by saying something derogatory about Weasleys being purebloods. It didn't go over very well with Crabbe. He looked furious. I knew it was probably the Weasel and logically deduced that Goyle must be Potter, so I said a few things about Dumbledore being sacked to test my theory. Add in making fun of their friends and they took the bait, hook, line and sinker.” Draco paused for a moment, knowing he wasn't coming out of this smelling like roses.

“What? Am I supposed to be impressed with your intellect, your reasoning skills?” she tersely asked.

“You know you are,” he teased with an air of certainty. “I can see it your eyes.”

“Merlin, you're impossible, and you know it!” she huffed, shaking her head as the corners of her lips twitched. She stepped to his side and pivoted until her back was against the wall alongside the door. “So you fed them exactly what they wanted to hear?”

“No, they wanted to know who the heir of Slytherin was. I had no idea and told them as much.” He hesitated revealing the rest of the four-year old conversation, knowing he had said a lot of vicious things, but it was just to get Potter and Weasley to break. “I needed to make them give up the act. I continued to make worse statements, saying things about Granger being the next victim and dying, a raid on our manor and Dark Arts things, but they didn't crack. It wasn't until Crabbe's hair began to turn red that I was certain.”

He heard Ginny swallow, and he looked to his right to see her body trembling, her face tense and her eyes shut tight. This was worse than he thought. He could feel the sweat on his brow as the room suddenly seemed hot. He pushed his sleeves up and ran one hand through his platinum hair. He didn't know what to do; he didn't expect she'd get this distressed over it.

“You don't believe me?” he asked.

“No, I mean, yes—I don't know. It's not important.”

“Then what…why are you upset?”

“The Chamber of Secrets…the heir of Slytherin…” she gasped, obviously trying to stifle her emotions.

“It wasn't me, Ginny.”

“I know it wasn't, Draco. I know,” she whispered as a tear slid from beneath her lashes.

“Then what's the matter? Why are you…” Draco suddenly remembered she had been the last one taken into the Chamber. He silently cursed himself. What was he thinking? Why didn't he remember? He had been so caught up in trying to save his arse he forgot about her.

She opened her eyes and fiercely swiped away the tears. “You don't kn-know, do you?”

“Yeah, you were in the Chamber of Secrets. For a moment, I forgot,” he murmured.

“Lucky you. It seems everyone forgot it but me,” she said, more to herself. “But that's not what I meant, Draco. You don't know who opened it, do you?”

Didn't he just say that? Wasn't she listening? Girls and tears, he would never understand them. “No, I don't,” he said slowly and clearly to make sure she understood him.

She turned toward him, grabbed his hand and put it up to her heart. Normally, he would have enjoyed having his hand exactly where it was, but he could feel how fast her heart was beating, as though she had just finished Quidditch practice, and he knew this wasn't meant to be flirtatious. “You feel this, what it does to me? The memories, or lack of memories, send me into a near panic attack because it was—me, possessed by You-Know-Who.”

Her voice was so quiet and shaky he had to strain to hear her. It took a moment before what she said sunk in. Did he hear her correctly? It didn't make any sense. How could it have been her? How could she have been possessed?

“But—how?” he breathed.

“An enchanted diary, from your father that day at Flourish and Blotts,” she choked down another sob and pushed away from the wall. “I can't do this. I need to go.”

“No, don't go,” he said quietly. He leapt away from the door and pulled her to his chest. “Shhhh. Don't talk. Just forget about it. Let it go.”

He held her close, with one arm circled around her waist, the other lazily running up and down her back. He laid his head on hers and continued to whisper nonsense, anything to comfort her, to keep her there. She couldn't leave, not like this. His arm tightened around her. They fit perfectly like this, complementing one another. Her softness nestled in with his hardness. Her warmth melted his coolness. She just needed to see it. If she would stay, he would make sure she knew it.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his robes, before pulling away without looking into his eyes. He was reluctant to let her go, his hands still holding her waist. She grabbed both his hands in hers, removing them from her body but holding them in hers, softly at first, then firmly. Her eyes suddenly flicked up at him and back down as she let out a soft gasp.

“Draco, you have a scar here. What—what is that from?” she said nervously, letting loose one of his hands to draw an outline of the scar with her fingertip.

“That? That's from the hippogriff attacking me my third year.” He shivered under her touch. She was touching him. The blood pounded in his ears, and he felt heat rise in his stomach. He swallowed as images of everything he wanted to do with her rushed through his mind.

“Oh, does it hurt?” she asked as she continued to gently create patterns on his skin, leaving a trail of fire from her touch. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding.

“No, it's fine. I could have it removed if I wanted it, but I kind of liked having a scar.” His voice was now lower, quieter.

“Do you, now?” She smirked; her cognac eyes danced with merriment once again.

“I'll ignore that inference, Ginny,” he said, not wanting to ruin the moment. His free hand moved up to her chin, and he followed her smirk with the pad of his thumb. Her eyelids fluttered closed. He knew she felt it, too. The chemistry between them was too strong to be ignored. Being this close was torture, and there was only one way to fix it.

He gently pressed his lips to hers, and she let out a small whimper before grabbing hold of his shoulders and sliding her hands up his neck. He took that as an invitation to continue, and his hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. He opened her lips with his, touching the tip of his tongue to her lower lip, then further, exploring more. She tasted like chocolate, Hawaiian Vintage Chocolates. He loved the way she tasted and how their tongues silkily glided together.

Her fingers found his hair and flexed frantically as her kissing became more aggressive. She made small noises that undid him. He didn't think he could ever get enough of this, of her. He had just begun to wonder how long they could stay here and do this, reveling in the warmth radiating in his body when she suddenly broke off the kiss.

“What am I doing? Draco? Why me…?” she asked apprehensively as she moved out of his embrace.

Finding it difficult to breathe, much less think, he had no idea what she was talking about. It had been brilliant; the kiss was incredible. What was she thinking? “What?” he asked in confusion.

“No, no, no, no, no.” She shook her head, disbelieving. “It's to get back at Ron, isn't it? I'm just one more weapon to use against Ron. How could I be so stupid?” she cried. Ginny threw open the door and fled from the room before he processed what she had said.

Draco followed her out the door and saw her round a corner, disappearing down one corridor. He shot after her, knowing the entrance to Gryffindor Tower was around here somewhere. He had to catch her before she went in, explain, and make her understand. He ran the length of the corridor until he was at the intersection where she had turned. He saw Ginny wrapped in Potter's arms. His eyes caught hold of Scarhead's, and a look of triumph flickered through the green-eyed bespectacled git's face as he pulled Ginny inside a portrait hole.

7. Letters from Home

~*~

The next morning Draco silently ate his breakfast as he watched the doors leading into the Great Hall. He replayed the previous night's events in his head, trying to discern where things had gone wrong. He was certain he had gained her trust, that she'd wanted to kiss him. What exactly was it that sent her into the arms of the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Annoy-Draco-Malfoy? He scowled as he ate his eggs, his eyes still fixed on the door. He finally caught a glimpse of the telltale red hair bouncing around her in crimson waves as she was escorted through the entrance, side by side with the scar headed git.

Potter entered the Great Hall with the Weaslette, opening the door for her and then following her through, quickly draping his arm around her shoulders. He directed a look of triumph straight at Draco. He didn't hold Draco's eyes, missing his best efforts at an icy glare, but instead turned his attention to the trophy female adorning his arm. Her body seemed rigid, but from where Draco was sitting, he couldn't be certain. If his instincts were correct, she was distancing herself from the boy wonder, which allowed Draco to feel a momentary victory.

He watched them sit down, Potter's arm dangling by his side, not touching Ginny in the slightest. She seated herself so she was facing the Slytherin table. Draco watched her, waiting until she would feel the weight of his stare, and then he'd begin to make amends. Continuing to eat, he contemplated the best course of action. Things had gone perfectly up until that kiss—perhaps too perfectly; perhaps that was the reason behind the current situation. Hadn't his father always said if things went too easily then something was amiss?

Before he had time to ponder how uncomplicated it had all been, her cognac eyes flickered to his for the briefest moment. What was she playing at this time, he wondered. Again her eyes glanced over his, but the third time they locked onto his, exuding defiance. He produced a half-smile, hoping it appeared to be placating, willing his eyes to look inquiringly apologetic. She bit down on her lower lip—in what would be seductive if it weren't for the current situation—considering him and his unasked question, which if he was being honest, he had no idea what he was asking. He just needed her to give him another chance.

The owl post came while they were having their nonverbal conversation. In his peripheral vision, Draco noticed the large wings flapping overhead as his family's eagle owl. He broke eye contact with Ginny as the owl swooped over head and dropped an envelope, which he immediately recognized as his mother's stationary, onto the table in front of him. He picked up the thin letter and turned it over, looking at the emerald-green wax Malfoy crest which sealed it securely closed.

He debated opening the letter right then, but decided it would be best to read it in private; the news wasn't likely to be good. He was no longer disillusioned by his parents and their associations. This letter, with his mother's large, swirling script on the front, could only mean one thing. Narcissa Malfoy didn't write letters—she had house elves for that; the one exception was when the contents were pertaining to her involvement with Lord Voldemort.

Draco stood up abruptly, and left the dining area, exiting through the large wooden doors. He knew Ginny had seen him receive the letter, but he was certain he could leave without her knowing who it was from. She hadn't been that observant of him; a fact proven when he thwarted her attempts to follow him. He departed without a word, or a glance in her direction; she was no longer his top priority. His attention was directed on one thing, the contents of the letter.

“Draco!”

He stopped at the sound of her voice. She was following him again. He didn't have time for he wretched games. He pivoted on one foot to face her, narrowing his eyes. “What do you want, Weasley?” he sneered.

Her face scrunched in confusion; hurt flickered in her eyes. “Is everything all right? You looked…”

He scowled when he saw her pathetic look of concern. She was oblivious to his life, to the reality of death, torture, dark lords and evil. She needed to stay away, keep to her dozens of brothers, comfortable family and trite home with her simple life.

“My life is no concern of yours. Go back to your hero boy, blood traitor,” he replied icily and stalked away toward the stairs leading down to the Slytherin common room.

Once in the dungeons, Draco found an empty corridor lit by a single torch. Stepping into the flickering dim light, he flipped the letter over, and ran one finely manicured fingernail over the raised paraffin. It wouldn't be wise to let anyone see him with it, but it would be imprudent to leave it unread. He slipped a finger under the seal, ready to break it when footfall sounded on the flagstones in the passageway he had just walked through. Hastily, he put the letter in a pocket of his school robes, tucking it in securely to be certain he did not lose it.

“Mr. Malfoy, I trust you are not lingering in the corridors preparing to do unfavorable activities?” Professor Snape glided around him to look Draco in the eyes, causing him to wonder if Snape could read his thoughts.

“No, sir, I've simply finished my breakfast and am now waiting for class to begin.”

Snape stared at him with open disbelief, but let it slide. Being his favorite student allowed Draco some benefits. “Very well, since you are available I will allow you to assist me in preparation for my first lesson of the day. After all, you will be going in that direction and you did intend on being present?”

Draco nodded then followed Snape. As much as it annoyed him to delay reading the parchment stuffed in his pocket, it would be sagacious to following the potions master's directive. If he assisted Snape, he may be able to escape class early and read the letter.

Unfortunately, Snape was ferociously difficult on the sixth years in Potions. There were no breaks, no coddling, and everyone worked past the bell. The entire day's worth of lessons had been a repeat of Potions in Draco's opinion. Everything moved in slow motion; the professors droned on and the classes ran long. When his last class ended, Draco had nearly forgotten about the letter until he reached his room and emptied his pockets.

Only Vincent, apparently engrossed in a book about curse breaking, was in the sixth year dormitory. Draco moved to his bed, and then discretely took the letter out of his pocket. He quickly ripped through the seal, cursing himself for leaving it this long. If it was anything of a timely concern, his mother would not be pleased with a tardy reply. His eyes scanned the parchment as he unfolded the letter. Three tidy lines, written with loopy script, sealed his fate once and for all.

Draco,

The time has come, darling: you will take your rightful place as the Malfoy heir in name, family, and standing. Be prepared to come home this Winter Solstice to be welcomed in the circle of the Elite. I'll send for you the evening of.

~In His Devotion,

Mother

Draco crumbled the parchment and tightly held it in his fisted hand. He knew it was inevitable once he reached legal age, but he managed not to think about it most of the time. Winter Solstice was in only forty-eight hours. He breathed out a frustrated groan and fell back into the comforting mattress of his bed.

“Get a letter from home, Draco?” Vincent's voice, littered with trepidation, filled the room. Draco turned on his side and looked at his dormmate.

“How did you know?”

Vincent cleared his throat and pulled a piece of parchment out of his book. “I got one of my own.”

Draco gave a curt nod. “Anyone else get one?”

“I think Ted,” Vincent said with a shrug of his shoulders. “He definitely got an owl, and then read the letter right there at table. He looked a bit green before he left. I haven't seen him—”

He was cut off by the loud bang of the door as it swung open and hit the wall. Ted ambled in and gave each of them a disgusted smirk. “You two hear from your mums by chance?”

Draco and Vincent looked at each other then Ted and nodded in answer. Ted continued, his voice laced with disdain, “Me too. So, you ready to become minions, replace our daddies?”

Neither boy answered Ted. It was eerily silent. Draco had nothing to say. He wasn't going to risk his neck and say what he thought. If either one of these blokes became a Death Eater, then they would just as soon use him to further their own agenda as any other masked jester of the Dark Lord's court would.

“Come on, then,” Ted spoke as if someone had answered, “I've got something for us. Been down at Hogsmeade, on the sly, and picked up some Fire whiskey. It's stashed under the Quidditch stands. We might as well enjoy our last couple of nights of freedom.”

Vincent lifted himself from his bed and joined Ted at the door. “I think that's the best news I've heard yet today. Let's go Draco.”

What did he have to lose? He might as well join them, to try and have some fun before they became puppets to do evil's bidding. Their paths had been laid ahead of them from birth; none of them had a choice. He could choose this, control this. So many things he had no control over, but the next two days were definitely his to do with as he wished.

Pushing himself off the bed, Draco joined his friends and they crept silently through the passageways of Hogwarts. Once outside, the three Slytherins made their way to the Quidditch pitch and silent began to partake in the drugging effects of alcohol.

Several hours passed before they drained the contents of Ted's stash. They could hear the Slytherin Quidditch practice go on without their captain and their best beater overhead as they drank. The Gryffindors began their practice as Draco drank the last of his whiskey. He was in a haze, but he felt numb. He didn't care about his mother's letter, the thought of his father in prison made him laugh, and Voldemort wasn't scary to say, at least he didn't think it was. “Vullermor,” he slurred.

“Wha?” Vincent mumbled.

“Jus sayin' Vullermor. Iss not hard to say s'all. Vullermor,” Draco explained.

Ted laughed and extended a hand to Vincent pulling him up from the ground. “Come on you two lightweights. We need to get back before anyone sees us. The Gryffs seem to have gone in their locker room.”

Draco batted his hand away, “I kin do it myssef.” He swayed and stumbled behind his two friends when the sliver of red caught his eye. Of course, she was following him again.

Leaving his two friends, he stomped toward her, well to her left and then back to her right. In any case, he was going to let her have it. “Weassssllll!” he bellowed.

“Draco?” She approached him with a scowl on her face and sniffed the air. “Draco, have you been drinking?”

“I tol you to stop fol- follin me.”

“Shhhh! Draco, McGonagall is just over there, talking to Ron. You're a bloody mess. You'd better get back to your dorm.”

“No.”

“No? Didn't you hear me? McGonagall will have your neck, you daft pillock.”

“I'm not goin anywhere until I sssspeak to you.”

She looked over her shoulder at an approaching McGonagall. “Bloody hell. I'm an idiot for saving your skin, Malfoy. You owe me, big. Let's go.”

******

A/N: Sorry for the Delay in updating, but I'm in the middle of moving.

To answer a couple of questions, Crabbe and Goyle are semi-intelligent in my stories because this is NOT Harry's point of view and Hogwarts is the finest school of witch craft and wizardry, meaning no dolt is going to be invited to attend. In addition, this is a Draco and Ginny story, do not fear, but I cannot say what is up with Harry and Ginny. You'll find out later…