Never Innocent

Never Innocent

By Red Guard

Disclaimer: I do not, did not and probably will not own Harry Potter or any of the characters appearing in or associated with it. J.K. Rowling owns the characters and most of events appearing in this work.

Chapter 1: “Who are you?”

-----IIIII-----

The words that she had written had faded away. They were replaced with a single five letter word.

Hello.

She stared at the book in wonderment. What she thought was an empty diary was actually something entirely different, something magical. She was no stranger to magic. Since the day she was born magic was part of her life. Her parents and brothers were great witches and wizards, and she was going to join their ranks.

But this was not just an ordinary enchanted item. After all, the book had replied. She pursed her lips. Maybe this was all that the book could do. Maybe it was not some incredibly rare item, but somebody's idea of a joke. A minor cantrip.

And then the word faded away into nothingness. Almost as if it was asking her to pen her reply. She grew hesitant. Father always told her never to play with magic that she knew nothing about. But, how could something that she found in her cauldron be unknown? One of her brother's probably slipped it in, probably as a first year gift of some sort. Yes, that was it. After all, it was not the first time Fred and George snuck things into her bags.

Who are you? She scribbled the short question on the empty page, and laid her quill down.

I am Tom. Who are you? Her heart leapt as the words slowly appeared.

Amazing. She smiled. Who would believe that she was making friends with a book? She took up her quill and dumped it into the pot of ink. As she began to write her reply, she idly reminded herself to thank her brother, whichever one it was, for giving her such an exciting gift.

Hi, Tom. I am Ginevra.

-----IIIII-----

She spun around, taking in her surroundings. It was Hogwarts. The walls, the stairs, the paintings, the rooms, everything looked so familiar. But, when she looked closer, something was wrong. She ran down the hallways and corridors, past throngs of students, but she did not recognize anyone. And no one so much as looked at her.

“Where am I? Where have you taken me?” Her call echoed down the maze of passageways, but no one heard. Almost no one.

“Can you not guess? This is Hogwarts, Ginevra.” A soft male voice replied.

Surprised, she whirled around, but saw no one. “Tom? Is that you? I can't see you.”

A light chuckle echoed through passages. “I know Ginevra. I don't have much of a body anymore. I am but a wandering spirit within this book that I call my home.”

“Are you a ghost, Tom?”

“Some would call me a ghost, yes. But I would prefer to be known as a wandering spirit.”

She reflected on the statement for a moment. “Why are you wandering?”

“I have a sacred duty to perform.” His voice took on an almost menacing tone. “I cannot and will not rest until it is complete.”

“Your duty?” She whispered.

“But, let's talk about that later.” The dark tone no longer resonated in his voice. Maybe her hearing had deceived her. “If I remembered correctly, you wanted me to show you where I lived all those years ago.”

“You were in Hogwarts?” She chirped enthusiastically.

“Yes, Ginevra.” She could almost feel him grin. “Hogwarts. All those years ago.”

-----IIIII-----

“So, your Father is a great wizard?”

“Yes, Tom.” Tom always seemed interested in her family, as well as everything else that she knew about the wizarding world. It was a pleasant change for her. An extremely pleasant change. Even her family, bless their hearts, never actually asked her about anything important. She didn't blame them. Everyone in her family was distinguished in their own right. Everyone except for her. But now, at least, someone had decided she was interesting enough.

“How about your mother?”

“She isn't as famous as Dad.”

“So she's not a witch?” Tom's voice sounded somewhat tense, but she shook her head and decided to ignore it.

“Of course she's a witch.” She replied. “Very capable too, just not as famous.”

“Ah, of course.” The strain in his voice faded away. “I remember that you said that you had brothers, care to tell me about them?”

“My brothers? Sure. Well, there's nothing much to tell really. Bill's been Head Boy, Charlie led Gryffindor to the Cup, Percy became a prefect, then Head Boy.” She was used to rattling off her brothers' achievements, but the feeling of inferiority always managed to sneak into her being. “Fred and George were never achievers; they just made everyone love them.” A thin smile crossed her lips.

“That's a large family.” She felt Tom's warm smile. “I hope you aren't going to continue on for the whole day.”

“It's not that large.” She gave a short laugh. “Actually, there's only Ron left.”

“The youngest?”

“I'm younger, but he is the youngest brother.” She paused, contemplating. “He acts incredibly cowardly sometimes, but if you ask me, standing up to You-Know-Who, even though he wasn't alone, is not something normal people can do.”

“You-Know-Who?” Apparently, this piqued Tom's interest. “Tell me more.” She was happy to oblige.

“Ron was with his two friends, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, when they stopped You-Know-Who from making off with the Philosopher's Stone.” She tried her best to recall what her brother had told her during his many boasting sessions.

“I have heard of the Philosopher's Stone. Is it not locked away in the vaults of Gringott's?”

“I'm not sure. Harry knows the most about it, but he doesn't talk about it with many people. Just Ron and Hermione.”

“And how about this You-Know-Who?” Tom seemed incredibly curious.

“You don't know about the Dark Lord?” Her voice trembled. A fear that was burned into her. A fear that was burned into everyone.

“The Dark Lord?” Tom echoed, a strange hint of hope resounded in his voice.

“Yes.” She shuddered as she spoke his name. “The Dark Lord Voldemort.”

“Voldemort.” Tom whispered in awe.

-----IIIII-----

She buried her head in her pillow. Luckily enough, her dormitory was empty. The other girls had all gone for lessons, lessons which she did not really care about at this moment, lessons which she had chosen to skip. She felt devastated. After finally plucking up enough courage to speak with Harry, he had brushed her off. He had flashed his charming smile, he spoke with his suave tone, but after two minutes worth of conversation, he went off with Hermione.

Hermione.

Intelligent. Beautiful. Wealthy.

Everything she was not.

She was insignificant, living in the shadow of her brothers, in the shadow of Hermione and in the shadow of Harry Potter. She would never live up to her family name.

No one cared.

No one bothered.

No one, except Tom. She leapt out of her bed and rummaged through her books. With a massive effort, she yanked the diary free.

“Tom!” She tore the book open in anguish. “Tom! Speak to me!”

-----IIIII-----

“Tom, do you ever wish that were something that you were not?”

“Are you still thinking about it, Ginevra?” His voice always managed to sooth her.

“It's hard to ignore.” She sighed. This strangle Hogwarts that Tom had shown her became a place for her to escape from the harsh realties of the Hogwarts that she lived her life in. “I am just another student. I won't become Head Girl. I won't become a prefect. I won't captain the Quidditch team. Harry can see that. Everyone can see that.”

“Stop it.” Tom urged her.

But she continued on, trudging through another of the nameless corridors in the school. “I will never equal any of my brothers.”

“Do not worry. When your blood is pure, your destiny is assured.”

She stopped and looked out of a massive window. The greenery of the lawns stretched out before her. The dew-covered grass glinted in the soft glow of the sun. “I don't think that blood has anything to do with destiny.”

“What?” Shock was evident in his voice.

“Everyone knows Hermione will be one of the greatest witches. But she is Muggle-born.”

“A Mudblood?” Tom's tone dripped disdain.

“Tom!” Ginny recoiled in horror. No one in her family tolerated such language, and she was not about to start. “Take that back at once!”

“Why?”

“Being a Muggle does not mean that you are useless. Being Muggle-born does not mean you have less opportunity. Being born in a world of magic does not mean that you are superior.” She recited the mantra that her father drummed into her.

“Who told you that?” His reply was swift and curt. It was more of a demand than a request.

“My father.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Yes, I do.” Her head bobbed vigorously.

“Why?”

“Why not? Do you have any proof?” She challenged.

“Proof?” Tom's tone lightened considerably. “You'll find out soon enough, Ginevra.”

“I don't understand.”

Tom's chuckle puzzled her even more. “Enough of this. If I remember correctly, you asked me about whether I wished for something.”

“Yes. Do you?” She breathed a small sigh of relief, glad to move on to a less sensitive topic.

“If I tell you, will you help me?”

“If I can, of course.”

“I wish I were not a spirit.”

Mystified by the request, she shook her head sadly. “I don't think I can help you with that.”

“Yes, you can Ginevra. Yes, you can.”

-----IIIII-----

Nighttime was nerve-wracking in Hogwarts. The darkness was overwhelming, shadows loomed large, and the occasional wail of the ghosts that walked the corridors. Walking alone among the dozens of terror never appealed to her, but at this moment, that was the least of her worries. Fear drove her on, but it was not fear of the blackness of night, it was the fear that sprung from overwhelming guilt.

Her eyes darted from left to right as she deftly tip-toed her way to one of the classrooms. Once she made her way inside, she placed her hands on the door and closed it softly. She hoped that no one would hear her conversation and the chances of her being heard here in the dead of night were a lot more remote than in the dormitory full of sleeping girls.

She knew she was not thinking straight, but she did not really care. Guilt gnawed at her, and she had to deal with it. If not, she would be driven mad.

She reached into her pouch, and retrieved the diary of Tom Riddle. The blasted book that had accompanied her till now did not merely house a wandering spirit any more. It became something much more dangerous. Thanks to her.

Flinging the book onto the floor, she said, “Tom. I need to speak to you.”

The book magically flipped opened and out of thin air, the apparition of a stunningly handsome man appeared. His gleaming eyes brimmed with knowledge and his gentle smile exuded charm. But she didn't care. Not anymore.

“What is it Ginevra?”

“You know perfectly well what it is, Tom.” She stared accusingly at Tom's manifestation.

“I don't understand.” His puzzled expression infuriated her.

“You do.” She would have slapped his smug face if it would have done anything. “How could you do that to them? How could you hurt people who did nothing wrong in their life?”

“Nothing wrong?” Tom smirked. “They do not deserve to study magic, and yet they are. That is a crime that should be punishable by death.”

She was aghast. “How can you say that?”

“How can you not agree with me?” Tom strode forward, his face filled with rage. “The Mudbloods have tarnished our bloodlines. They have stolen our rightful place in the world. They have taken our gift of magic and used it as if it were theirs. Only we whose blood is pure should have a right to use this gift.”

“Magic belongs to everyone!” She heard herself screech in response.

“Just like that old fool Dumbledore.” He spat. “Muggle-lovers are even worse than Mudbloods. They have renounced their blood, and spat on their history.”

“Muggles haven't done anything wrong to anyone!”

“Just what your Father told you, and you believed every single word.” She saw the fires burning in his eyes. “As if spawning those damned Mudbloods weren't enough…”

“Stop it!” She slapped her hands over her ears.

“You don't want to hear it, but it's true.” Tom began to walk around her as he spoke with malice. “Hermione? That girl that you feel so overpowered by? She's a Mudblood isn't she? Harry Potter? That boy you seem so enamored with, yet refuses to even look at you? He's born to a Mudblood isn't he? Your parents? The ones that want you are so desperate to please? They love those Muggles don't they?”

“Stop it!” She sunk to the floor, her head buried in her hands.

“If that is not enough proof for you, just wait a few years.” He crouched next to her and whispered. “You'll understand. You'll try to be kind, but they will step all over you. You will feel distraught. You will feel alone. Then you will remember my words.”

“Stop it!” She lurched forward and managed to place her hands on the diary.

“There is only one thing that these people understand, and that is…”

“Stop it!” With a mighty scream, she slammed the diary shut, and watched as Tom's ghost began to slowly disappear.

“Power…” He whispered as he faded into the night air.

Her vision was blurry, her breathing was haggard and her brow was dripping sweat. Panic began to enfold her. She had to get rid of the diary.

She had to get rid of it now.

-----IIIII-----

Her life was falling apart.

Just when she thought that she was finally free after disposing of the diary, she realized that Harry somehow came into possession of it. She was in a panic. She had to get it from Harry before he found out about anything. Otherwise, it would be all over for her. Her family would disown her, Hogwarts would expel her, and no one would ever talk to her again.

“No one ever thinks clearly when they panic.” Father always told her. She realized that he was right, because sneaking into the boys' dormitory to steal something from Harry was the perfect example of not thinking clearly. But now, there was no turning back. The more time that Harry spent with the book, the more time he had to find out about what she did. She stared at all the empty beds. The boys would be coming back soon, and she had to be out with the book before then.

She pursed her lips and made a beeline for Harry's bed.

-----IIIII-----

“I knew that you would see my way.” Tom looked at her, his sickly sweet smile drawn ear to ear.

“No!” She protested loudly. “I will not do it anymore!”

“You aren't here for that?” He raised his eyebrow. “You stole the book from Potter, fled all the way to the top of the West Tower and into the Owlery, just for chitchat?”

“I'm going to get rid of you! Permanently, this time!”

“By doing what? Throwing the book into the toilet like the last time?” Tom smirked. “I don't know whether I should tell you this, but thanks to you, I don't really need the book anymore.”

“What?” She felt gutted. What was he talking about? What had she done? “Why?”

“Because of you my dear. All your help has got me this far, and I won't forget it.” He approached her, grinning maliciously. “You wanted to get rid of that Mudblood Granger didn't you?”

“No!” She recoiled in horror, and felt herself fall to the floor, staring up at Tom's apparition.

“Ah, being the good girl again, aren't we?” Tom towered over her. “But I know you much better than that. You've done one good deed for me, and I'll do one for you. I'm not sure that you will be around long enough to enjoy it, but I don't care either way. I will always take the time to kill another Mudblood. So says, Tom Marvolo Riddle.” He paused, and then smiled wickedly. “Or should I say, Lord Voldemort.”

“Lord Voldemort?” Her eyes widened in horror.

And then, the world went black.

-----IIIII-----

Author's Notes: I've talked to a friend about this plot, and was since he's a Harry Potter nut and not that bad a writer (certainly better than myself), I asked him to write him. But alas, I forgot what a lazy bum he was, and so I got challenged to write it. Imagine that, someone else challenging me to write up a story that I had thought of. But, a challenge is a challenge, and this certain plot is interesting enough for me to carry through.

I have no detailed experience with Harry Potter, certainly not enough to begin writing a comprehensible story from start to finish, but I'm pretty sure I'll manage. Though if any of you find horrendously glaring inconsistencies, feel free to shoot an email my way, and I'll see what I can do to correct the travesty.

And for the story, it's going to be a Ginny/Draco with a bit of Harry/Hermione, and Ron having romance with a special character. One that belongs to Rowling, trust me. And no, its no McGonagall. I'm not that sick.

And so as you can see, I'm going along the tried and tested path of Ginny being force fed with Voldemort's ramblings. Actually there more I think about it, the more I realize that the Ginny/Draco path is so well-trodden, there are few unique ways in which they would get paired up. I'm sure an ultra talented author could think of one, but I'm definitely not one of them. But don't worry, the story will be as original as it comes once it begins moving along.

So eh, sit back, read, and hopefully enjoy this trip.

No pre-readers were hurt in the making of this chapter. Of course, if you want to be a pre-reader, give me an email, and we'll discuss it.

Anyways, please remember to email me at [red UNDERSCORE aurum AT yahoo DOT com] for any suggestions, critiques, reviews and the like. Please don't flame me, I have a fragile ego.

See you next chapter. Chapter Two: “Where's the honor in that?”

-->

Never Innocent

By Red Guard

Disclaimer: I do not, did not and probably will not own Harry Potter or any of the characters appearing in or associated with it. J.K. Rowling owns the characters and most of events appearing in this work.

Chapter 2: “Where's the honor in that?”

-----IIIII-----

The Manor was more of a house than a home to him. But at least it was a grand mansion. Furthermore, he would come to own one day. That gave him some shred of comfort during these decidedly uncomfortable times.

“Draco?” An unmistakable voice pierced his thoughts. “Losing focus, are we?”

“No, Father.” He met his father's cold gaze with his own. “How can I not pay attention to my own father?”

“How indeed…” Lucius Malfoy's eyes narrowed. “I have received correspondence from Snape, your Potions Professor, and the news is quite alarming.”

What in the world did Snape say this time? Draco gritted his teeth. The Slytherin Housemaster was never pleasant, but he didn't cross students of his own house on a regular basis. Especially not a student that was named Draco Malfoy. “I agree, Father. The mere mention of that alarms me.” He said nonchalantly.

“Excellent.” His father droned on. “It always heartens me when I realize that I didn't raise an imbecile.”

“That sentiment is surely shared by all.” He replied icily.

“Don't get snippy with me, young man. Remember, I am still your father.”

How could he forget something that he was constantly reminded about? “Of course not, Father.”

“Good. Now, about Snape's comments of your conduct in school.” His father's tone steadily chilled. “I am disappointed that you are performing below my expectations.”

“I am one of Hogwarts' best, and I certainly outclass all the others in my House.” Draco matched his father's tone. “I certainly believe that I have exceeded whatever expectations that you placed on me.”

“And you are proud of that?” His father's pale face took on a dangerous shade of red. “Any three-year old can outclass and outperform the idiots that you call your housemates! In fact, if the Goyles or the Crabbes weren't purebloods, I would have them sent to St. Mungo's for their stupidity! How dare you compare yourself to such fools?”

Draco would have protested if he did not agree with everything his father just said. In fact, he would have probably protested anyway, but his father's utterly livid expression made him think otherwise. He decided that it would be prudent to keep silent for a while.

“Nothing to say?” His father reached out and grabbed his collar and yanked him close. “Have I taught you nothing? Do you know that our family is one of the purest wizarding families? Do you know that if you place the Malfoy name on anything, its value goes up tenfold? Do you know that you are the only heir I have? Do you know that all you do reflects upon our great name?”

“Yes, Father.” Draco decided to placate the man that was vigorously shaking him. Whenever it came to `their great name', his father was especially rabid. “Many times, Father.”

“Then why do you continue to shame it? The only bloody thing that you have to do in school is to study! You don't have to worry about your food. You don't have to worry about your clothing. You don't have to worry about anything! And yet, you seem to do your best to undermine the dignity that our ancestors built with their blood!”

“What do you think I do in Hogwarts, Father? Eat, sleep ad infinitum?” All Malfoys valued their pride, and right now, Draco's was being tossed about like a Quaffle.

“Why, of course I do. How else would you explain the fact that a Mudblood is able to outdo you in everything?”

“A Mudblood?” A sickening sense of realization began to dawn upon him. “Granger.”

“Good to know that you have a spot of my intelligence in you.” His father let go, and with a short yelp, he fell to the floor. “Your blood is pure. On top of that, you are a Malfoy. I will not allow you to taint your family by letting a lousy Mudblood walk all over you.”

“Yes, Father.” He managed as he picked himself up.

“Look at me.” His father commanded. “Look at me.”

This was not a time to be disobedient. Draco set his face, and stared into his father's blazing eyes.

“My respect and the respect of the world have to be earned. Right now, you are doing nothing to warrant a shred of it. You have the Malfoy pride, I can see it. What would you do if you knew that the whole world was laughing at you? What would you do if you knew that everyone knows that you achieved nothing? What would you do if you commanded no respect from anyone?”

The words struck home. He knew that his position in the school was gained mainly by the name he shared with his father. But there was a distinct danger that his father was ready to disown him, and sire another son. What then? He had to wait. He had to build his own reputation. He had to make the name Malfoy his own. But before then, he couldn't afford to cross his father. “I understand, Father.”

“Good.” A smirk crossed his father's face. “Make me proud. It will do you much good.”

-----IIIII-----

She was shaking from fear. She was trying to hide it but she was pretty sure that she was failing spectacularly. Being in the Headmaster's office always unnerved her. But when that was coupled with knowledge of the heinous crimes that she had committed and the fact that Dumbledore was sitting behind his grand desk, boring holes through her with his steady gaze, Ginny was barely able to keep herself from passing out.

“Do you remember anything, Ginevra?” The Headmaster spoke solemly.

“Al… almost all of it, Head… master.” She sputtered.

“I did not wish for you to grow up so quickly.” Dumbledore sighed heavily. “But what's done is done. The only thing that we can do now is to take lessons from the ordeal.”

“I'm really sorry!” Ginny blurted out. “I didn't mean to do it! All of it was his doing! He… he made me do…”

The aged wizard smiled. “No one is blaming you for anything, Ginny.”

“But… but…” She came close to a panic. “I got everyone in trouble… people almost died… because of me…”

“Nothing happened, Ginny.”

“What?”

“No one died. Harry vanquished Tom Riddle's memory. The diary was destroyed. The basilisk was slain. The Chamber of Secrets has been sealed off, and since we know where it is, these events will never happen again.” Dumbledore smiled softly. “All in all, I would say that everything turned out rather nicely.”

She squirmed in her seat. She heard his unspoken words. It wasn't much of a secret. Hermione Granger had once again saved the day by discovering what the creature was, Harry Potter had defeated the monster which would have made swift work of a dozen Aurors and as usual, her brother had managed to find enough of the famed Weasley courage to brave the Chamber of Secrets.

The most eminent students of the school had once again given the wizarding world more reason to cheer their name. And despite her incredible sense of guilt, she felt more than a fair bit of jealousy.

“Ginny?” Dumbledore's kindly voice pierced the green haze of envy that was beginning to cloud her senses. “Are you alright?”

“I don't know, Headmaster. But I suppose I will be.”

His eyes twinkled slightly. “Do you have anything else that you wish to tell me?”

“I suppose that I am not to tell anyone who Tom really is.” She whispered softly, averting her eyes from the Dumbledore's gaze.

His soft sigh echoed throughout the chambers. “So, he told you everything.”

She nodded slightly. “You're going to tell me that whatever he said was wrong.” She stated, knowing what was sure to come.

“No, Ginevra.”

“What?”

“Tom Riddle was brilliant. He was first in his year, a wizard that we see once in half a century.” Dumbledore began. “Lauded by all as the greatest thing to happen to the wizarding world, everyone had high hopes for him when he graduated. Almost no one knows what happened to him later, and I'm sure that few would actually want to hear the truth.”

“He was insane.” She whispered, remembering the last few conversations that she and Tom had. Conversations that almost ended up with him ranting and raving while she cowered in whatever corner she could find.

“That is one interpretation.” His eyes took on a faraway look as he tried to recall events that had occurred so many years ago. “But we must remember who Tom Riddle was. He had a difficult childhood. No family was there to support him in his time of great need. In Hogwarts, he had many admirers, but no confidants. When he graduated and left the school, he left alone. Without anyone to rely on, without anyone to love him, and without anyone to share in his life, he sank further into …” Dumbledore looked straight at Ginny. “I guess I would need to say no more.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

He broke the dour mood with a large smile. “But worry not. Even though you have experienced much, the warmth of your family and the support of your friends will see you through any troubles that you experience.”

She gave him a small smile in return.

A small and empty smile.

Even the great Dumbledore knew nothing about a family that did not see her until she achieved the impossible.

Even the great Headmaster of Hogwarts knew nothing about the haunting inferiority that she felt in the company of her famed friends.

Like Tom Riddle, she was alone.

-----IIIII-----

Malfoy's don't feel guilt. He didn't feel guilt. And he certainly didn't feel guilt because of what his father did. But even though Draco had no qualms about blasting Potter into the next world, there was something inherently distasteful about what his father had done to someone so innocent.

“Father?” He caught his father preparing to leave the Manor. Looking at his dark garb, Draco assumed that he was probably going to meet the other Death Eaters. Not that he really cared.

“Yes, Draco?” Lucius Malfoy paused in his stride, irritation in his voice. “Make this quick. I need to procure another servant for the Manor. That damned Potter stole the last one.”

“I heard the rumors.” He paused slightly, trying to collect his thoughts. “Did you have anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets?”

“Me? The heir of Slytherin?” His father laughed heartily. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Actually, I do.” Draco decided to press the issue. “You had a hand in this.”

“All I did was in the service of the Dark Lord.”

“Father, why did you attempt to gamble with the life of someone so young?”

“She was a Weasley!” His father glared at him. “A Muggle-lover! Spawn of blood traitors! None of them, no matter how young, should be given any quarter! Have I thought you nothing?”

“I despise the Wealeys even more than you do.” He drawled slowly. “I detest the way they associate themselves with the Muggle-born and Muggles. I abhor the way they act superior to those who have sacrificed to keep the bloodlines pure. But...”

His father's eyes began to narrow. “But?”

“She barely started her schooling.”

“So?” His father countered. “You're not much older than her, and neither is that bloody Potter. Do not try to advise me on this matter, and until you have achieved something that I consider impressive, you will not do anything of this sort again. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Father.” Draco watched as his father whirled around, and stomped out of the Manor. He stood in the hallway, acutely aware of the fact that his father had compared him with Harry Potter. In two years, Potter and his gaggle of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers had achieved more than others thrice their age. He swore that in time, his name will echo throughout the wizarding world.

But what his father had done was distasteful.

Being known as someone who harmed the innocent.

Being known as someone who threw away children's lives.

Being known as someone who could and would do anything.

“Where's the honor in that?” He whispered to no one in particular.

-----IIIII-----

At least no one knew about what had happened. Ginny could barely concentrate on the cauldron before her. Everything was a blur to her. What potion was she supposed to be making again?

She looked around at her fellow Gryffindor first-year students. They were all paying rapt attention to the concoction before them. Dumbledore was correct, as usual. Very few knew about her part in the Chamber of Secrets. She knew her parents had been informed, and the letter than they owled her was soothing enough, albeit being what her parents would usually say when they were worried about her.

She grabbed a portion of some powder in front of her and flung it into the cauldron. While she was glad that no unnecessary attention would be heaped onto her, it stung her that Harry had barely talked to her. Her brother kept her under his concerned eye for quite a while, but Harry and Hermione seemed to try their best to ignore her. After asking her about her ordeal and giving her empty phrases of concern, they largely keep away.

Harry was more concerned about Hermione being petrified than her being possessed by the Dark Lord, and her big brother wasn't doing anything about it. In spite, she picked up another batch of powder and flung it into the cauldron.

“Miss Weasley!”

She snapped out of the haze of bitterness, and saw Professor Snape glaring at her.

“Miss Weasley. I don't recall ever recall saying that bicorn horn should be added to boil cure potion.” He thrust his face forward, his greasy hair sticking to his cheeks. “Neither do I recall telling anyone that the potion should be flavored with moonstone powder.”

So that was what she had been throwing into the cauldron.

“I could be wrong, but it seems to me that you are incapable of brewing even the simplest of potions.” His harsh words stung. “Do you need lessons on how to pay attention, Miss Weasley? Or are you just daft?”

“I…” She paused, thinking of some excuse. “I've been distracted.” She finally managed.

“Distracted?” He bellowed. “Miss Weasley! This is Potions. If, due to your less than desirable mental state, you decided to throw Erumpent fluid into the mixture, do you know what would have happened?”

“That's for the Exploding Fluid.” She whispered.

“Yes!” He castigated. “You and all of your friends would be seeing Madame Pomfrey for the better part of a year! See me after this class, don't touch anything if your attention span is still deficient.”

She nodded and kept her hands far away from her cauldron, and any of the ingredients that littered her table.

-----IIIII-----

“Miss Weasley.” Snape addressed her after the last student had shuffled out of the room. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Did he know? “Nothing, Professor.”

“I have a class in several minutes.” He snapped. “Don't make this longer than it should be.”

He didn't know, and she wasn't about to tell him anything. “It's my fault. Please don't dock points from the house.”

A frustrated sigh echoed throughout the empty classroom. “Go, you're free to leave.”

“What?” She yelped, utterly stunned by the strange turn of events.

“Miss Weasley, although you seem to dearly wish otherwise, I am no idiot. I am the Housemaster of Slytherin. The same Slytherin that Tom Riddle was once in.”

Incredible. Snape was showing some sort of compassion. “But, what should I tell the others? They're going to ask me why…”

“By the Gods, Weasley, do I need to do everything?” He seethed. “You correctly named what Erumpent fluid was used for. I know of only one other student in Hogwarts who can do that. Use that. Now, be gone.”

She should have just left it at that. She received praise from someone that rarely gave praise. She escaped punishment that she justly deserved. But she had to know.

“Who is the other student?” She said quietly.

He raised his eyebrow. “Why, your lovely Gryffindor friend. Granger.”

-----IIIII-----

It wasn't that hard to find her. Her flowing red mane always made her stand out in the crowd. On top of that, he noted with some interest that she always walked alone. No Potter. No Granger. And none of her Muggle-loving brothers. He shrugged. He was not here to pity her apparent lack of companions. Nor did he particularly care.

She was striding towards him now. Her shoulders drooped, and her gaze cast downwards, she walked past him, not even noticing that he was there. “Weasley.” He grunted.

She stopped, looked up, and turned, slight surprise crossing her face. “Malfoy. What the hell do you want?”

“Is that how you return a greeting?” He took another step closer.

“Yes, as long as it's you I'm greeting.” She set her jaw and glared at him.

“Feisty, aren't we?” He looked into her brown eyes. “Don't worry. I'm not going to bother commenting on your family.”

“A change of heart?” She returned icily. “What happened? You finally retrieved your heart from cold storage?”

He continued staring into her eyes, wanting her to flinch. But she didn't. He was impressed. Slightly. “I'm here because of my father.”

“Running errands for your old man?” She hissed through her teeth. “Couldn't find a new House Elf?”

There was something with her eyes. They seemed so alive, so burning with vitality. Someone who walked with a droop shouldn't have a gaze so intense. “My father told me what happened.”

“You're taunting me aren't you?” The life in her eyes faded somewhat. “Fine. Just keep it to yourself.”

“You're wrong.” He said, his voice softening slightly. “I'm here to offer my apologies. What my father did was inexcusable.”

“What?” She gaped, utterly stunned by what he said.

“Lucius Malfoy will never say this, so let Draco Malfoy do it.” He steadied himself. Offering apologies was never his forte but, just this once, he knew that he had to do it. If he could salvage the name that his father had tried to wreck, setting his pride aside for a minute would be worth it. “I apologize for what he put you through.”

“This is a joke, Malfoy. You're mocking me.” She recovered from her shock pretty quickly. Her eyes narrowed in anger. “Do you think saying sorry solves everything?”

“No, but that's all you're going to get from me.” He smirked. “I'm off, Weasley. Don't bother thanking me.”

With that, he whirled around and walked off, leaving the little Weasley girl in his wake. He could have done more. He could have given her some galleons, given her some encouraging words, maybe even take her out to Hogsmeade for a day. But he was Draco Malfoy, and he had a reputation to keep up.

He did what he wanted to do, and now he was going to forget about all this business.

But the look of her eyes, that would stay with him for a long time.

-----IIIII-----

Author's Notes: On looking over this, I probably made Ginny a little bitterer that I wanted to originally, but I feel that it was pulled off alright. Remember, this is her perception on everything. Harry and Hermione may have been incredibly concerned, but largely left her to herself because of her bad mood. She would have misinterpreted everything due to her circumstances. Which is entirely understandable.

Draco, on the other hand, I made slightly more complex. Hopefully not too complex, but I wanted him to come across as someone who ain't that nice a person, but has some moral fiber in him. If he sees something wrong (and if it's wrong to him, then its really bad), then he would go our and right it, in a Draco-ish sort of way. He's not a nice person, but he ain't an ass.

Next chapter would have the fic skipping ahead to end of the next book, Prisoner of Azkaban. Maybe I'll throw a Harry perspective, to give some boost to the H/Hr angle. Your thoughts on that?

Anyways, please remember to email me at [red UNDERSCORE aurum AT yahoo DOT com] for any suggestions, critiques, reviews and the like. Please don't flame me, I have a fragile ego.

See you next chapter. Chapter Three: “My supposed friends”

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