Unofficial Portkey Archive

Revenge by mynewgenesis




Chapter Five: Spin

The moment she stepped inside her dormitory, bone-tired and hungry, longing only for rest and the chance to silently reminisce about her relatively wonderful (but for a few snags) day, Sterling pounced. Ginny sighed and waved away her dreams, wishing for a less curious friend, and got around to the telling of the day's events. Ginny tried to remember everything, though pointedly leaving out some of the more private details of the many, many amorous embraces she'd shared with Draco throughout the day, and believed at the end of her recounting that she had more or less shared everything pertinent that Sterling would be desirous of hearing. And when she was finally able to relax on her bed without fear of Sterling becoming agitated and pouty, Sterling seemed to be in a better mood, pleased at Ginny's day. Ginny resisted the urge to grumble into her pillow. Sterling was her best friend, and she might as well have gotten used to her rather more pushy tendencies, but somehow, whenever they arose for something to do with her own life, her friend was a thousand times more difficult to deal with.

"So it went well then?" Sterling asked, for probably the fifth time that evening.

"Yes." Ginny growled. Sterling remained unperturbed, well used to Ginny and her occasional grumpy moods.

"So where are the gloves, then?" Sterling asked, turning her great, moon-like eyes on Ginny expectantly. Ginny swore, only just remembering.

"Draco still has them, I forgot to get them back from him when we came in." She pulled a sheet of parchment from her desk, which was situated directly beside her four poster bed and littered with vast amounts of incomplete homework and textbooks she never bothered to read. She flicked papers in all directions and rummaged for her quill and ink but couldn't find either, only succeeding in sending more and more garbage to the floor, where she stepped on it, wrinkled it, and made it illegible. Sterling threw something at her.

"Here," the blond said, and Ginny looked down in her lap to find the muggle pen Sterling always offered to lend out but no one trusted enough to borrow. Ginny looked at it suspiciously.

"What do I have to do?" she asked, peering at it from as far a distance she could whilst still keeping the thing in her hands.

Sterling just shook her head and sighed, as she always did when her classmates acted overly doubtful.

"Just use it like a quill."

"But where's the ink?"

"It's already inside the pen, see?" Sterling snatched it back out of Ginny's hands and made a squiggle in the corner of the parchment.

Ginny glared at this new bit of equipment but set to writing the letter anyways, absolutely convinced that the ink would need replenishing before her note was through. And when it did not, she was doubly convinced that there was some sort of replenishing charm on the thing, and did not believe Sterling when the girl swore on her grandmother's grave that it was not so - Ginny wasn't sure that Sterling's grandmother was actually dead, after all.


Send me my gloves, I'll pay you back when I can. Sorry I forgot them, see you tomorrow.


Ginny borrowed Sterling's owl, Scruffy, and sent off the note. She hoped the bird would go quickly. For all she knew, the muggle ink might disappear or slide off the page before the note ever reached the recipient. She supposed she would have to wait and see.


"Oh, he didn't," said Ginny in a mortified tone that rather confused Sterling, who was peering over her friend's shoulder expectantly at the unveiling of Ginny's new gloves, which had arrived by post not five minutes before.

"Did what?"

"These aren't the gloves he bought me," the redhead said, staring down at the offending items in her hands with abject loathing. They were sitting at the dinner table and Ginny's brother Ron was growing curious, despite himself. Sterling whispered softly into Ginny's ear.

"Put them away, your brother is looking."

Ginny did as Sterling suggested and stuffed the gift inside her bag at her feet, leaving them there until an hour later, when Sterling was waiting for Ginny to change into her Quidditch gear and leave so that she might have the dormitory to herself and lie down for a nap. "So tell me again what's wrong with these?" Sterling asked tiredly, wondering why in the matters of sports, she was such a simpleton, not for the first time. Ginny glared at her from over the wrapping.

"Because these are the most expensive gloves on the market, that's why. I know for a fact that these aren't the ones Draco bought me, because I was right there. I watched him put them in the bag, and then, - Oh, that cheeky bastard!" Her face suddenly turned all sorts of interesting shades of red and Sterling rather wondered how one person could look like so many breeds of tomato at once. "He exchanged them when I wasn't looking!"

"And this is a problem, why?"

"Because I said I'd pay him back!"

"Maybe he intended the difference to be a gift," Sterling suggested. Ginny didn't bite.

"No, he pities me, that's what. He's insinuating that - that I'm poor!" Ginny slapped the gloves into the palm of her hand and began pacing around the room, only to stub her toe on the fire grate and scream in frustration as she launched herself back onto her bed. Sterling shook her head.

"Sweetheart, you are poor."

"So? He doesn't have to remind me!"

"What if he's just being nice?"

Ginny shot her a baleful glare. "This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, Sterling. Not Harry - never mind."

Sterling winced. "Ginny, I know Harry hurt you, but-"

"He didn't hurt me!" Ginny growled fiercely, squeezing her fists around her new gloves without seeming to realize it. Sterling got off her bed and crossed over to sit at Ginny's feet, reaching out to lay a hand on the redhead's shin.

"Ginny, Draco and Harry aren't the same people. Who knows, Draco could be good for you!"

Ginny looked at her and Sterling could see the fierce determination in the other girl's brown eyes, glittering with intensity. Sterling recognized that look. It was Ginny's obstinate, determined, stubborn look. Nothing Sterling said tonight would make any difference. She sighed and said softly, trying not to sound pushy, "Ginny, just let the gloves go. Think of them as an investment."

"How so?" Ginny said suspiciously.

"Well, Draco is on the opposing team, right?" Ginny nodded slowly. "So when Gryffindor wins, you can say it's because the opposition financed your new gear. Draco Malfoy just gave you the tools to beat him!" Ginny started to, reluctantly, grin, and Sterling knew the worst was over as the brute obstinacy receded from her still glittering eyes. She got off the bed. "Now finish getting dressed and go and try them out."

Ginny grinned for real this time and hugged Sterling hard. Sterling hugged her back happily.

Sometimes, Ginny was a strong, mature, independent young woman. And other times, Ginny was like a little child who wanted but couldn't have candy. Sterling quite frankly wondered how on earth Ginny would ever survive without her there to calm and guide her along.


She had now been running for about an hour, with no warm-up, in the suddenly blisteringly cold and windy weather, the threat of rain hanging heavy over the pitch. She could have stopped long ago, probably fifty minutes ago, if she hadn't minded the smug grin of an idiot boy who knows he's won - but she couldn't, and so was still running, jogging, limping, whatever. The rest of the team was sludging along behind her, joining her in their suffering, but whereas she was fueling her successive laps around the pitch with blinding determination and pride, her team was following her now out of blind hatred and the burning desire that she trip in a hole and find herself incapable of continuing.

The practice had not been a particularly foreboding one to start, but shortly after the boys changed and exited their locker room, Ron had spotted his sisters new gloves, and recognized, regrettably, the make, brand, and price. And as Ron very well knew the contents of his sister's coffers, he also knew that there was no way Ginny could have afforded them on her own, and had promptly begun yelling at her, demanding to know what 'services' she had exchanged to get them, and then had quickly cottoned on that it had been Draco Malfoy who'd been her benefactor. Harry had heard the heated argument, and wanting to get his practice started sooner rather than later, had come over to break up the commotion. But upon seeing the source with his own eyes, Harry had become so irrationally angry that he'd scrapped his original practice plan and assigned a run around the pitch - to last as long as Ginny could run. Of course, Ginny had taken this as a direct insult and challenge, because it had been issued as one, and was absolutely furious.

And so, she was still running.

Her inside hip was aching, her arms numb and cold in the wind, her cheeks frozen like her nose and ears. Her hair was plastered to her neck, her shirt stuck to her back, and her legs, bare in her running shorts, were beet red and refusing to work properly. But still, Ginny kept going, if only to infuriate her brother (who was following at the back of the pack) and Harry (who was growing ever more annoyed sitting on his broom, realizing that Ginny wasn't going to break as fast as he thought she was, and that his practice was getting destroyed). And she was succeeding too. She heard the team muttering behind her in laboured, panicked breaths about just jinxing her already so they could stop, but all had left their wands on the benches to keep free of unnecessary obstructions. None had expected to be without them this long.

Her chest burning with pain like the Cruciatus Curse, she doubled around through the middle of the pitch to change direction to ease her aching inside hip, to give her left hip a chance to bear the majority of the weight. She pushed on for another indeterminate amount of time. She slipped in a corner and twisted her ankle, and it quickly began to swell, and so she limped in a sort of half run, half skip. Her knee on the hopping leg bearing the weight felt like it would snap after another three laps, and she realized that she was going slow enough that someone could easily walk beside her at a leisurely pace and not strain himself. But she kept running, even when it started to rain.

The wind was howling now, raking through her ears, whistling past her skin, chapping her dry, parched lips and tongue, and she opened her mouth to catch even faint droplets of rain.

Finally, just as frustrated, angry tears began to release themselves from her eyelashes and burn their way down her frozen cheeks, mixing with the drops of rain on her skin, Harry blew his whistle. But stopping was almost as painful as running. As they turned into the center to get dismissed, her chest felt like it was going to implode, and her insides, intestines, stomach, all twisted together to form a giant, roiling knot, stuck fast and painfully, like her skin was being pulled inside out. Her ankle was now the size of a grapefruit. She bent down to peel her sock over the skin, off her foot, but she ended up wimpering with pain. She covered it back up, ignored the sickly coloring, and dragged herself on her mostly good leg to hear Harry's condemnation.

But she wasn't there for long.

"Ginny, go back to the castle. You're done," Harry spat at her, his words like venom and refreshing lemonade at the same time. She nodded, not caring that he was furious, and passed the stands on her way back to grab her wand, holstering it to her forearm as she limped away. The wind snatched away the remnants of Harry's voice, and her only companion back to the castle was the fearsome weather. She liked it better that way.

She was in no mood to speak with anyone.

By the time she reached the castle steps, she found that she could not raise her foot to step up. She tried and tried, for what seemed like long, frustrating hours, to lift her good foot and raise it to the next step. It was impossible to stand with her weight on her swollen ankle, and so she tried to step with her bad ankle, and almost made it, but then found that when the time came to hoist herself with the swollen joint, she couldn't do it. A sharp flash of pain jolted up her leg to her spine, and she fell sideways, crashing her bones against the sharp stone steps. Finally, she gave up. She refused to crawl.

She lay on her back in the cold, staring up at the dark, stormy sky, watching raindrops fall from a certain height, always the same, above her head, only to see them disappear in the corners of her vision. Heavy, pebble like droplets, light grey against the clouds, always avoiding her eyes but not her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth. She opened her lips to catch some of the water, but as soon as she did, it seemed the raindrops averted, falling everywhere but in her thirsty lips.

She didn't know how long she laid there. Surely the practice hadn't gone on that long after she'd left. Everyone would be changing now, out of their running clothes and into their warm cloaks. She wished she had thought to do that before leaving. She had been too intent on getting away from Harry. How she longed for a hot shower, a bath, a hot drink!

She was so intent on imagining everything warm she would enjoy when she finally made it up the steps, she didn't even notice when she fell asleep.




Like she didn't notice or remember falling asleep, she also could not precisely put a time to the moment she woke. She didn't open her eyes at first. She first focused on becoming aware of her surroundings; the scratchy sheets, the warm pillow beneath her right cheek and ear, her hair tied on top of her head and out of the way of resting, her feet encased in warm, woollen socks. She could feel the faint, aftereffects of the throbbing pain in her ankle, the memory of feeling. Her bones felt warm and her blood was moving freely. She almost couldn't recall that she had been freezing only a short time before.

When she opened her eyes, she realized she was in the Infirmary, with its high arched ceiling, creaky iron beds, hospital bedclothes and blankets, and the ever-present scent of potions and spilled fluids. She turned her head to the bedside table after another long period of undetermined time, and noticed a note, folded into a triangular shape, so that it stood on its own, displaying the message for her without the need for her to reach out and grab it. When she read it, the most incredible jot of happiness coursed through her, starting in her belly and pulling the rest of her gut with it to her throat.


I don't know how much you remember, but I have permission from Madame Pomfrey, and I plan to visit you in the morning, as she wouldn't let me stay with you tonight. It doesn't really matter if you find this or not, I suppose, because I'm coming whether you're still asleep or not. If I can, I shall bring you a snack from the Kitchens - Granger told me you like chocolate. Expect some.

Anyways, get some sleep, Dear One, and I'll see you in the morning. Feel better,



And tucked beneath it, through the hole of the triangle, was a single, long-stemmed daisy.


He waited in the corridor between the Great Hall and the North West wing, which was the corridor that all Gryffindor's needed to pass through in order to get to breakfast. He was hiding inconspicuously behind the Statue of the Flying pig, with his hood pulled snugly over his head to hide his bright hair. The corridor was almost silent, there having been only three or four students passing through in the whole half hour he'd been there waiting, and he was beginning to doubt himself and wonder whether his prey had not already snuck past him on his way to breakfast, or that the person he was waiting for had not been in a different part of the castle to begin with and so would not need to pass through this way. But Draco was a boy of determination and he trusted his gut - as well as the information that had cost him a galleon which told him that Harry had indeed gone straight to the Gryffindor boy's showers directly after returning from Hogsmeade - and so Draco stuck to his plan, and remained crouched behind a giant, stone pig-gargoyle, his knees aching painfully on the hard ground.

Ten minutes and seven rowdy students later, his grit paid off. Granger and the elder Weasely marched resolutely down the corridor, unknowingly past Draco, with no third wheel in sight. They were whispering feverishly to each other, brushing hands every few steps in their closeness, their heads almost knocking together in their need to convey information over as short a distance as possible. Any closer, Draco thought with disgust, and their lips would be touching, leaving them to communicate in Morse code through their slimy, unclean tongues. Draco turned back to the corridor as they passed by him.

And then, there, dawdling, absent-minded, and depressed, was his prey. Harry Potter. After double checking that there was no one else around to hear any loud noises, Draco stepped out from his hiding place and into the light.

"Potter," he said, curling his lips over his teeth in a well-practiced sneer. Potter stopped dead, startled, his eyes nearly as wide as the rims of his round glasses. After regaining his bearings, Potter attempted his own snarl, but without the practice of a Slytherin, it fell flat, like he had simply smelled something putrid (which, if Draco's sources were correct, the boy probably had - himself) rather than forming an expression of malice. Draco sniggered.

"What do you want?" Potter gritted, clenching his fists. Draco tsk'd and stepped forwards, lowering his hood with his left hand and then raking his fingers through his shaggy white-blond hair.

"I wanted to speak with you," he said, stepping closer still.

"About?" Potter snapped, striving for a tone of impatience.

"Ginny." Draco pulled out his wand from his sleeve an inch or so under the pretense of scratching his wrist. "And about your manners."

"My manners? Go-" --he said a dirty, plebeian word-- "-yourself, Malfoy."

"Yes. Your manners. And especially regarding your treatment of Miss Weasley."

"What do you care, Malfoy? You might be snogging her, but you've got no claims. She's got family, you know."

"Yes, well, her family doesn't seem to be doing much in the way of protecting her innocence. I'm stepping in." He smirked a little before resuming in a clipped, emphatic tone. "To warn you."

"Warn me? Get lost, Malfoy." Potter tried to laugh with casual uncaring, but his anger was overtaking him slowly, probably like a poison, and getting the better of him.

"You did a very dirty thing, Potter," Draco continued, blithely ignoring him. He began to slowly make his way around Potter in a circle, large enough to easily avoid a stray fist. "And I'm afraid that, since Weasley has his head too far up his arse in love with Granger to notice a thing about what's going on around him, it's been left up to me to dole out the punishment. As such, the self-appointed protector of Ginny's modesty, I must inform you of the charges brought against you. Any particular order in which you'd care to hear them?" He paused for merely a second before interrupting Potter as he opened his mouth to snap back. "Good. First, you cheated on her. This alone would warrant castration, were you a Pureblood, but as you are not, I'm afraid my honor code will not do. I've had to come up with something a little more - creative, I suppose you could say. Secondly, you snubbed her at breakfast two days ago, leaving her with no alternative but to sit with someone else. For that, would you be a Pureblood, even though you were no longer dating at the time, you would be delivered to the Stocks for three days without food. Again, I've come up with something better." Draco continued on, secretly amused, as the whites of Potter's eyes got progressively more visible as the boy grew more and more worried. "Thirdly, whilst in the presence of your ex-girlfriend, one Ginny Weasley, you attempted to re-kindle a romance with the admittedly beautiful, but incredibly silly Daphne Greengrass. This is low class."

"-But I didn't-"

"-Know that Ginny was nearby? No matter, as you cheated with her, you are honor-bound to leave at least a third of the time you were involved with Ginny to lapse before attempting another relationship. Again, you are not a Pureblood, and cannot be justly sentenced to forty-five lashes, but as Ginny is a Pureblood, and I am, (obviously), I am entitled to do something. And finally, and perhaps most despicable of all, the events of last night, during your so-called 'Quidditch Practice'. Do you recall? I rather thought not. Let me tell you what happened," Draco said, openly sneering now. "You quite literally ran Ginny into the ground."

"I did not, she could have stopped any time-"

"Are you talking about the same Ginny I am? I think you might be stupid, Potter. You insulted her and challenged her, what did you expect? That she would laugh it off and stop?" Draco laughed hollowly. He was beginning to remind himself of his father, a thought that both thrilled and terrified him.

"If you hadn't bought her those gloves -"

"The gloves? What about the gloves?"

Potter seemed to preen under the chance to finally speak for himself. "The gloves you bought for her. What, don't remember, Malfoy?" he snarled, his voice just as ugly as Draco knew his could be. "What, you think we don't know that you had to buy yourself a girlfriend, because you just couldn't get any by yourself?"

Something within Draco tightened, like a heavily twisted cable, beginning to fray under too much pressure. "Are you accusing Ginny of being bought?"

"I don't know," Potter said obstinately, "Did you need to purchase her affections?"

"Are you calling Ginny a whore?"

Suddenly Potter looked confused. "No," he said, frowning.

"Really? Because that's what it sounds like to me," Draco said, his lips curling this time of their own volition.

"No, I wasn't insulting Ginny, I was talking about you-"

"Well," Draco said tightly, feeling another part of his inner chord snap with a final sounding ping,

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you started throwing out insults." Draco allowed his lips to curve into a smile. "Too bad," he said, and Potter raised an eyebrow, trying to return to his badly affected nonchalance, "Wee little Potter just can't grow up and play with the big-boys, can he?"

He stepped further around Potter, keeping the boy in his line of vision.

"But back to what I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted - I have come upon a punishment which will nicely cover all of your offences. Any last words?" Draco pulled out his wand the rest of the way from his sleeve, and extended his arm into the classic duelling position. Potter, to his credit, did not piddle in his pants, but looked terrified, fumbling for his wand. Draco snickered inwardly. How the swot had managed to defeat the Dark Lord was completely beyond him.

"Good. Recolitus Morbus!" He straightened himself again and tucked his wand back into his sleeve and started to walk away, a wide grin plastered across his face.

"I don't think it worked!" Potter called, his tone jubilant. Draco ducked when he heard a retaliation curse heading his way and cast a shield just in time to avoid the graze of the Petrificus jinx.

"Oh, it worked all right. You just wait." And with a final laugh, Draco sprinted out of the corridor and back to the Great Hall.

Just you wait, he thought to himself, happier than he'd been in weeks. Why he hadn't thought of this years ago, he had no idea. Although, if he were now intending to see Ginny regularly, it was probably better that he hadn't. Especially if Potter and Ginny had, well, he wasn't going to think about that.

Too disturbing.