A/N- Thanks to Eugenia for the beta! Also, thanks to my friends, Lisa and Paulina, for their enthusiasm and suggestions regarding this fic.
Remember, any and all quotes from novels I have in here are not mine. I do not claim them to be mine. They are cited, and are not used for the purpose of making money.
Theories on How Danger Finds Us - Chapter 6
"'Do you know how long a year takes when it's going away?' Dunbar repeated to Clevinger. 'This
long.' He snapped his fingers." (Catch-22, Heller, pg. 39)
That's what my first week felt like at the Lufkin School. Every day whizzed by me in a rush, coagulating to form one gigantic blur; just a flurry of papers, reading assignments and incredibly interesting meals with the Slytherins.
The Slytherins. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, they were becoming my second family, easing the transition into university life. During that first week, I had no time to slow down. Everything was non-stop and, for once, I agreed with Dunbar from Catch-22: "'Maybe a long life does have to be filled with many unpleasant conditions if it's to seem long. But in that event, who wants one?' 'I do,' Dunbar told him. 'Why?' Clevinger asked. 'What else is there?'" (Catch-22, Heller, pg. 39) And really, what else is there in life? All throughout we long to speed up time, if only to get to the next day, to be that one day older. But do we actually want that? When there are so many who are taken away from this world so early on in life, do we still treasure the blink of time? Although I may hate it at the time, I grow to treasure each infinitesimal moment, safe with the knowledge that I'm building a long life.
Now right now, you may be crying out for what exactly happened during the rest of my first week. 'Why stop the narration after Gareth's first encounter with the Slytherins?' and all that. Truthfully, though, there really isn't much to tell. But, because I am feeling particularly charitable as of this moment, I shall give you a brief synopsis of the events that transpired.
After the Slytherins left Gareth and myself to our own devices, our lunch was pretty boring. It was filled with awkward silences and general non-sarcastic conversation. I sighed in frustration at the end of our meal, rather unsatisfied with how stilted the conversation became.
We chatted about inconsequential things - the weather, our alma maters and our families.
It was strange because when I asked Gareth about his family, he shut up, giving monosyllabic responses to any questions I asked.
By the end of it my eyebrows were furrowed in confusion; Gareth's family had secrets and I made a mental note to do some on the side research. What could possibly be so awful that a person wouldn't want to talk about their own family? I mean, sure; I may get upset at my family's actions from time to time, but I'm always more than happy to tell others stories of their shenanigans. Gareth's unwillingness seemed a bit murky, if you ask me.
Not long after that, Pansy stopped by our table asking me what my next class was. Here's the great thing about university life: I only has one more class that day, English Composition. I didn't have my literature class until the next morning.
It's a beautiful thing.
And, as I said before, the rest of the school week passed by in a blur. It was filled with stress, work, Slytherins, and I believe I mentioned it already, but some more stress.
Which is why, pleading artistic license, I am skipping to my first weekend at the Lufkin School.
If you recall the first day of classes, Pansy had made it perfectly clear as to what I was to be doing that first weekend: shopping with her. And I don't mean a simple trip to Madame Malkin's for a pair of nice robes or two. When Pansy says "shopping", the term morphs into a country-hopping adventure. "Shopping" turned out to be trips to Paris, Milan, and New York, accompanied by Draco and Blaise to get a "male's opinion". I cried bullshit at this juncture, but Pansy simply waved me off with a laugh, insisting that I would grow to treasure their respective opinions.
I snorted, earning a glare from Pansy and no reaction from the boys. Like always, they were off in their own little world, where Draco and Blaise were the benevolent rulers.
So now that you have been sufficiently caught up, I give you the next scene in that weekend's shopping escapade.
"Alright, Ginny! Come on out!" Pansy yelled from the other side of the silk curtain, huddled on a plush maroon sofa in between Blaise and Draco.
"In defence of my self-image, I refuse to take one step out of this dressing room!" I yelled back, reaching behind me to attempt to take the dress off.
"Do we have to have another Chloé repeat?" Pansy asked archly. I shuddered, reliving the moment. The last time I had refused to walk out of a dressing room, claiming mortal embarrassment, was at Chloé and Pansy had decided to fling open the curtain, revealing me topless (and by "topless", I mean sans bra for "in order to get the full effect of the backless dress, one cannot wear a bra." Pansy's words, not mine) and in the process of taking off a dress that upset my at times conservative sensibilities. Oh, I forgot to mention that Draco and Blaise were behind her, as were half of the store's patrons. Needless to say, I still ended up mortally embarrassed and had walked out the store with that particular dress in hand at Pansy's "insistence". "No," I muttered, letting my hands drop to my sides.
I cautiously stepped out of the dressing room and, Draco and Blaise, the considerate gentlemen that they are, waited a good thirty seconds before they burst out laughing.
Pansy turned pink at the height of her cheekbones, running over to push me back into the dressing room with an, "I am so sorry, Ginny."
As I took off the dress, I could hear Draco and Blaise talking to Pansy in between bouts of laughter.
"Didn't we tell you that the dress wouldn't work? Her hips are too big; that dress only exaggerates them." That was Draco.
"She doesn't have your frame, Pansy. She's thin, but not angular, like you are. Besides, I think Balenciaga might be a little too daring for Ginny's tastes. It works for you, but not for her. And I hate to say it, but this may be the first time I've ever disagreed with one of your fashion suggestions," was Blaise's addition.
"Okay," Pansy replied, the pout evident in her voice. "I'll make a mental note: no Balenciaga for Ginny. Happy?"
"Yes. Very," I replied, walking out of the dressing room, relieved to not be purchasing the dress, even if it did have a really cool design pattern. "Although, I wouldn't rule out this particular designer altogether; there were some other pieces that I liked." I smiled, hoping to cheer Pansy up.
"Okay, so I'll revise that mental note to remind myself to never outfit you with a dress of that nature."
"Exactly."
Pansy paid for the purchases and we continued on down the block to Christian Dior.
The first thing I spy in the storefront is this glorious creamy silk concoction resting on one of the mannequins. The mannequin's jet black hair is done up in a mass of folds and curls with a headdress, in the form of silver chopsticks, jutted out of the back of the style, lines of delicate, jewelled flowers dangles, glowing in the halogen light. The bodice was asymmetrical, folding every seven centimetres or so, sticking out at different lengths before folding down. The skirt followed the same symmetrical pattern seen in the bodice, folding at odd intervals, before rippling out into a train made of tulle just below the thigh. The bodice and part of the skirt were also embroidered with flowers of various sizes, the outline of it all glimmering like the headdress.
"Done looking at the wedding dress, Ginny?" Pansy asked somewhere to the right of me.
"That's a wedding dress?" I exclaimed, my eyes growing as wide as saucers.
"Yes. Are you done? We came here to buy you clothes," the brunette replied airily, moving away to look at a handbag display.
"Are you serious?" I asked even louder than last time. I still couldn't fathom that it was a wedding dress. I began to walk around to the back of the dress to gawk at the train, marvelling at the artistry and craftsmanship that went into creating the dress.
Pansy stomped over to where I stood, pulling me away. "Come on, missy; we have work to do. Besides, that dress is a season or two old. You don't want that."
"Um, Pansy, two things: one, I don't give a flying fuck about the fact that the dress is a couple of seasons old; and two, I would be honoured to be able to wear that at my own wedding."
Before Pansy had a chance to reply, Blaise cut her off as he began laughing next to an increasingly irritated Draco.
"You better be thinking about what you're going to say next, Zabini, or else I'm going to Avada your arse right here, right now," Draco said, glaring at his best friend.
Of course, now I know why Draco became upset at that moment, but at the time that he said it, I was blissfully unaware.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "Ridiculous, the pair of you. Come, Ginny; you have things to try on."
"Do I have to?" I whinged, slumping my shoulders in defeat.
"Don't you want to have a fabulous wardrobe?" my roommate queried, dumping a heap of clothing into my outstretched arms.
"Not particularly," I replied honestly.
"Tough shit, princess," Pansy stated, forcing me into a nearby dressing room.
"Now don't come out of there unless you're wearing something amazing!"
For the next hour and a half, I was at the mercy of Pansy, Draco and Blaise's judgement. About thirty minutes in, though, a charming, petite shop assistant joined the panel. It seemed she had taken pity on me and alternated between bubbling with laughter after a humorous comment, or bursting out in rapid fire French anytime she approved of a particular look.
Seeing as I'm not as proficient in French as I would like to be, I can only assume that she was saying complimentary things.
And, in an effort to alleviate my boredom, I decided that there was no time like the present (metaphorically speaking) to live out my globe-trotting model fantasies and, with each wardrobe change, I exited the dressing room, striking a pose that I felt best suited what I was wearing.
What started out as a way to amuse myself became an all-out circus as Draco decided to play the role of my headstrong, volatile French photographer, who loved to bark out his directions and occasionally stormed off, arms flailing, yelling obscenities in perfect French any time I did something not suited to his tastes. Blaise, meanwhile, joined me as the stereotypical, idiotic male model, trying to outdo my already caricatured actions, forcing Draco to storm off even more to prevent himself from laughing.
We eventually made it out of the shop, laughing hysterically, as the shop assistant (who I found out is named Emmanuelle) waved at us from behind the glass front door.
"I've always had fun shopping, but Merlin; I've never enjoyed myself that much before," Pansy wheezed, wiping a tear from her lower lid. "Between your and Blaise's vanity battle and Draco's irate French photographer, I didn't know what to do with myself. That was really a bit of genius, Ginny; really it was," Pansy continued, turning towards me with a grin.
"Why, thank you, darling," I replied, making a grand show of bowing. "So is it time to go home? It's getting rather late." I probably sounded desperate, but I had done enough shopping in one Saturday to last me a lifetime.
Pansy's mouth formed into a truly devious smirk before she replied. "Oh, no, Ginny; we are far from done. Unlike my other shopping trips, we're building you an entirely new wardrobe from scratch. We haven't even gone to New York yet. Not to mention Milan."
"Are you serious? I thought that London and Paris were enough."
"You'll come to learn that, as far as Pansy is concerned, what you have now is never enough," Draco stated as Pansy smiled knowingly.
"So are we going to New York now?" I asked hesitantly.
"Of course we are!" Pansy exclaimed, grabbing a hold of my arm. "And tomorrow, you can wear one of your new outfits."
And with that, we Apparated, landing in the middle of a richly decorated sitting room, Draco and Blaise literally popping in right after us.
I did a circle of the room, taking in the opulence of it all before turning to the three Slytherins. "This place is incredibly tacky."
"Finally! Somebody who agrees with me!" Blaise announced, throwing his hands up in the air.
"Who's flat is this? If we're even in a flat," I asked as I plopped down into one of the high-backed chairs.
"It's my mum's. One of her husbands used to live here, and when he 'died of natural causes', all of his properties went to her," Blaise explained, complete with air quotes. "She's always wanted to change the decor, but she apparently never has the time. My mum likes to be hands-on when it comes to decorating all of our properties."
"I think it's rather nice," Pansy countered, running a hand down the length of the chair's arm.
"You only say that because this is the way your house looks. You've lived in this for nineteen years," Blaise said, sitting down on the couch across from me and Pansy.
"What can I say? Maybe I like gaudy when it comes to home décor," the brunette replied with a shrug.
"I'm sorry if I offended anyone; I'm just really used to my own home. There's homemade everything there. Not to mention the amount of items passed down through generations," I said, growing rather uncomfortable.
"Oh, don't apologize for your opinion, darling," Pansy told me, patting my forearm in a matronly manner.
"What time is it?" Draco asked, coming back from the kitchen with a tumbler of firewhisky in his hand.
"Probably close to midnight here, if not later," Blaise answered, squinting at a clock on the other side of the room.
"And that's my cue to go to bed," I announced, rising from the chair.
"I can show you to your room," Draco supplied, moving to my side. "Pansy and I already have established rooms here since we travel with Blaise so often." I shrugged, not really caring about Draco's explanation, just so long as I got a room with a nice bed in it.
The blond man next to me turned towards me with a wide smirk on his face. "Do you really like all of the clothing Pansy bought you?" he asked once he felt us to be out of earshot of Pansy and Blaise.
"Truthfully?"
He nodded.
"I actually like everything she bought for me. I thought I wasn't, or that she was going to force me to buy things that I didn't like, but she respected my opinions."
"You even like 'the Dress'?"
I let out a bark of laughter, pinking slightly as I thought about the moment. "After I got over my embarrassment and was forced to exit the dressing room with the thing fully on, I admitted to myself that Pansy does know what she is talking about. I think what initially made me refuse to walk in public with it on was that I had never worn anything like it before. It might still take some getting used to, but I do genuinely like it," I answered with a smile.
"I thought you looked great in it," he said, not quite meeting my eyes.
"Oh, thank you." I blushed even more; my pink cheeks turned tomato red from the simple compliment.
We stopped right outside of the door to what I presumed was my room. As Draco went to open the door for me, I turned to face him, tilting my head so it rested against the wall, crossing me arms over my chest, studying him. "Why are you so nice to me now?" I blurted out, causing him to stop just before he turned the door knob.
"I'm not exactly sure," he replied, furrowing his eyebrows as he considered my question.
I pressed my back against the wall, sliding down until my bum hit the carpeted floor with a dull 'thump'. I padded a space to the right of me, just in front of Draco's feet. "Come, Draco; you and I are going to have a little chat."
He slid down to where my hand was, pulling his knees up to rest his elbows on as I yanked my hand away from underneath his bum.
"What is it with you and needing to talk with me at all hours of night, Weasley?"
"Excuse me?" I spat, affronted.
"Sorry. I regress back to my Hogwarts demeanour when red-headed chits keep me up past my bedtime. Not to mention the fact that I'm drinking," he replied, smirking as he raised his tumbler in salute before downing the rest of its contents.
"Forget I even asked," I said, using my hands to press me up off the floor. I rose to stand, but Draco latched on to my right wrist, yanking me down next to him once more.
"Oh, no you don't. I'm down here already, which means that I'm not budging for quite a while. It seems that you are stuck listening to me ramble."
"Must you be so forceful?" I asked, lifting my sore bum to rub it in hopes of alleviating the throbbing sensation I was experiencing.
"Only when you are involved, my darling Ginevra," he replied, flashing me a winning grin.
I slid down a bit further, so I was nearly hunched over, and then rested my head on Draco's shoulder.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" he asked nervously, looking down at me.
I waved a hand in front of my face, trying to get rid of the stench of alcohol his breath had left.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist; I figure I'm going to be here a while. I might as well be comfortable, and you're as close to a pillow as I'm going to get at this juncture, so shut up and start talking," I commanded.
"Yes, ma'am."
About two minutes passed and Draco had yet to begin speaking; just a series of broken syllables and audible mouth openings and closings.
"Sometime before I fall asleep would be fantastic," I drawled, earning a stinging slap on one of my legs from Draco. "Ow! That hurt!"
"As it should; but, I'll try to get through this rather quickly."
"Thank Merlin."
"Says the girl who decides to have a heart-to-heart at one o'clock in the morning."
"You know, the more we argue, the more time we waste. Time that could be spent --"
"Sleeping."
"I was going to say 'talking', but 'sleeping' works, too."
Draco huffed, leaning his head against the wall in an attempt to make himself comfortable.
"I think my behaviour now was greatly influenced by my sixth and seventh years. Many of not only my actions, but my parents' actions were done so we wouldn't die. After my father's brief stint in Azkaban, Voldemort was mightily displeased with him and decided to use me as a means for my family to get back into his good graces. So when I was first assigned the task of killing Dumbledore, I was genuinely excited. I sure as shit didn't feel up to dying at sixteen, and my family was borderline desperate for a break after the Department of Mysteries debacle.
The further into the year, though, I began to have doubts about my allegiances; my parents did, too. I knew I couldn't kill Dumbledore; I was just fooling myself. I think I stuck with my delusions for so long because I didn't have a choice, and again, I didn't want to die.
When I didn't kill Dumbledore, Voldemort was furious with me, of course, but for some reason, he let me live. I have no clue why, but the bastard let me live. Knowing him, he probably kept me and my family around because he enjoyed watching us squirm. Due to those two years, though, I grew up pretty quickly since old, petty school rivalries seemed rather insignificant when compared to the constant threat of being killed."
"So, what does that have to do with you being nice to me?" I asked, yawning.
"Are you serious? Did you not hear that last sentence? Merlin, read between the lines, woman!" Draco huffed, exasperated with my cheekiness, slapping me on the arm.
"I was only joking, you git. And what's with the slapping? Is that, like, a kink of yours, or something?" I replied, closing my eyes.
He snorted. "You wish that was a kink of mine."
"Oh, so you do have kinks?"
"I said no such thing! And stop smirking; it doesn't fit you."
"How did you --"
"I'm a Slytherin; we can distinguish smirks based on tone of voice and inflection. Are you going to sleep?"
"Yes. I thought that was blatantly obvious."
"Yes, but I figured that you would go inside your room and lay down on the bed since, you know, that's what it's there for."
"Aw, but you're so comfortable."
"You're not moving are you?"
"Nah; I'm too lazy to get up."
"Well, I'm too lazy to carry your arse into your bedroom, so it seems as though I am stuck."
"You know that you're secretly excited about this."
"Oh, let me tell you," Draco deadpanned.
All conversation ceased soon after, for it seemed that Draco had resigned himself to his situation, and had tried to fall asleep with my head on his shoulder.
Just as I was about to truly doze off, I heard a voice above me.
My ears perked up a bit, keying in on what they were saying.
"Oh, dear sweet Merlin. I think I'm going to be sick. Please excuse me while I go throw up somewhere." That was Blaise.
"Wait; why would you be --? Oh." That was Pansy.
"I'm suffering from sugar shock."
"I think it's kinda cute."
"My point exactly."
"Oh, stop making such a big deal; you're starting to sound like her brother, Ron. Besides, they aren't even into each other that way. They were probably talking and fell asleep. It is rather late."
"Since when have you become the voice of reason here? That's Draco's job, for the most part."
"Ever since you decided to act like the Weasel King."
"Don't you think you're a little too old to be calling him that?"
"Oh, you know what I mean, git."
"You know you love me."
"Begrudgingly."
"Should we wake them?"
"Nah; you know how Draco is when his beauty sleep is interrupted. And I'm not too sure how Ginny would react if we woke her, so they're going to have to suffer on the floor."
"They're going to kill us."
"Not unless one of them kills the other first." I didn't hear the rest of their conversation as they walked down the hallway to their respective rooms.
Snuggling next to Draco a bit, I let my breathing even out, finally falling asleep.
A/N- And yes, the Dior dress that Ginny describes is an actual dress. One of my faves actually.
Probably doesn't work with the timeline, but I couldn't help myself. Here's what the dress looks like:
link. Modeled by the wonderful Shalom Harlow.