When He Returns

A/N: Okay, here's another distraction from my distraction. So, let me know if this one is worth continuing, I think I like it. It's a change from what I usually do. And um… REVIEW!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot. All characters and places are J.K. Rowling's. I use Stephen King's animal, called the billy-bumbler. This is his, and only his, from the third Dark Tower book, The Wastelands. I didn't steal it, just borrowed it, so DON'T SUE! (You wouldn't get much anything.)

Chapter One: AND THEY CHANGED!

“Welcome to the jungle, we got fun and games. We got everything you want, honey we know the name. We are the people that can find, whatever you may need, and if you've got no money, honey, we've got your disease” Guns `n Roses, Welcome to the Jungle.

Ginny sat one her bed, a picture of grace and peace with her head resting gently on her chest. It was extremely rare to gain even an ounce of silence in the Burrow, but today, she was nearly drowning in the nothingness.

Bill and Charlie were over from Egypt and Romania respectively, not to mention Harry and Hermione. That brought the toll of lives within a single house up to the high number of eleven. The house was crammed to the seams, but strangely comfortable.

Right now, however, Ginny was alone. Her parents, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, and George had all gone to Diagon Alley for a strange reason that no one had made clear. The Dream Team had gone off on one of their many secretive adventures that she was still `too young for', even though she was almost sixteen and only one year younger than them. Oh well. At least she was left to herself.

School started the next day and she was taking a well-deserved break from packing. School. That's where Ginny was really ambivalent. She was still on the `outside', so to speak, but she really didn't mind. Rather than taking part in mindless words, she spent time bettering herself. Though it would be nice to laugh once in a while. The only person that made her laugh nowadays was Draco Malfoy, no matter how improbable that sounded.

She thought back to that day two years ago.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Ginny who had been reading a book looked up and met the cold eyes of Draco Malfoy.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

“I want my chair.” Something had been different about him. His smirk is gone. She thought, and then Damn, he looks hot.

“I don't exactly see a name on it? Why should I give you this chair when I'm perfectly comfortable?”

“Because I'll sit on you if you don't.”

“Go ahead and do it then! See if I bloody care.”

Ginny's eyes widened in horror as he actually sat horizontally in her lap, head facing toward her.

“Comfortable?” she asked.

“Not yet.” He reached one arm around her neck and kissed her thoroughly.

Ginny had never known Malfoy before then, had never had any run-ins with him, and so was open to the kiss. Two years now they had been together, in secret, though, always in secret.

She heard the low chuckling of Fred and George outside her door. Damn it! Why the hell are they back so soon?

“Ginny!”

“Yes, mother?” this was so tiresome. Couldn't they leave her be?

“Will you please come down her a moment?”
“Yes, mother.”

Gingerly stepping down from the bed, she crossed the room and opened the door. The sight that greeted her was ghastly. George was holding the most horrid creature she had ever laid eyes on, while Fred was nowhere to be seen.

“Disgusting! What in bloody hell is that?” Ginny exclaimed.

“This, my dear sister, is what is called a billy-bumbler.” She looked at the animal once more, appraisingly. It looked like some kind of mix between a badger and a raccoon with its large gold-rimmed eyes and sharp, whiskery snout. It had a long, closely coiled tail, somewhat like a fur-covered bedspring.

The billy-bumbler opened its mouth and began to speak with a voice surprisingly like Fred's. “That's right, I'm a billy-bumbler. Now get down stairs, mum wants you!”

Ginny shook her head. Even though they had graduated and were now working full time, they still had their trademark childish antics. That's what you get when you own a joke-shop, she thought as she went down the stairs, Fred and George's laughter shadowing her every step.

“Hello mum, how was shopping?” Molly Weasley was busy putting everything where they went, stopping only to talk to her daughter.

“Oh, just wonderful. We can't afford anything we bought, but that doesn't matter.” She remarked cheerfully.

“Ahem, what, may I ask, is with the effervescent attitude after spending more than we can afford?” Ginny asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. We just—” a knock came at the door just that moment. “Will you get that dear?” Ginny looked once more through narrowed eyes at her mother, who had returned to putting the groceries away.

“Just what?” futile, yes, but she was unable to resist.

“Open the door, dear.”

“Fine.” She mumbled under he breath, getting down off the counter she was sitting at.

The person at the door must have been really impatient. By the time she had been halfway across the sitting room, they had knocked thrice more. She blamed impatience. It could not have been because she was so bored, it took seven minutes just to reach the door, not to mention open the three locks and the actual act of dragging open the piece of wood.

Her eyes were half closed when she first looked at the visitor, but they immediately snapped open. A boy of about seventeen, 6'2 with blonde hair and silvery gray eyes stood before her.

“Draco!” she leapt forward, throwing her hands about his neck before realizing the entire family plus the Dream Team were behind her. She looked sheepishly up at him, surprised to see him smiling. He was not in the least disoriented by their mysterious appearance. She slowly turned to face everyone full front.

“Um…. I'm sure you want an explanation….” She racked her brain for something to say, but found nothing. It was Harry that spoke next. Ron was standing between Harry and Hermione, not looking particularly pleased at his sister. Hermione was just looking thoughtful.

“Don't worry about it Gin, we know.”

“Yes, they know alright.” Draco whispered next to her ear, making her jump.

She whirled to look at him for more explanation, but only found that beautiful, chilling smile. By the time she turned around again, everyone was gone.

“I have a feeling that you planned this… somehow. And even went far enough as to gain the good graces of all my family plus the Dream Team.”
“And you thought it couldn't be done. Mind if I say `I told you so'?”

“Not at all.”

“I think this covers it.” His mouth came down on hers as his hand came to rest on the small of her back. She arched into him at his touch. Ginny's tongue darted out to his lips, tasting and caressing. His lips parted for her tongue, but instead his tongue came into her mouth. Reluctantly, Ginny pulled away from Draco.

“Completely.” When she looked around the room she thought was empty, she saw the billy-bumbler, a.k.a. Fred, lurking in the corner, and a wide dumb grin on his face. “Come, on. We have an audience.” She said, nodding in the bumbler-Fred's direction.

“I'm not even going ask.” Draco said, ever-present smirk playing on his lips.

As they retreated to her room, Ginny distinctly heard Fred say `I thought this would come in handy,' and George respond `I am a genius, aren't I?'

***

Ginny's room looked like a small shack that a tornado had blown through, touching the contents, but leaving the outside alone. With the simple wave of her wand, however, all things were righted. Draco stood leaning against the doorway, one arm casually draped across his chest, watching as his favorite redhead readied the room.

When she finally finished, she turned and looked at him.

Her velvety brown eyes spoke more than her soft pink lips did. Her hair had darkened slightly, and was no longer the horrid shade of her brother's. Everything about her was perfect for him. Not his father, though. That evil man had made it perfectly clear that nothing was good enough for him. In fact, waiting one more year for the Dark Mark wasn't good enough either.

In all truth, that is why he had told the Weasley's about him and Ginny. It just seemed as if the truth would come out, then he would be untouchable by Voldemort. The whole thing, actually, seemed somewhat surreal. The day was drawing ever nearer, and yet it seemed infinitely far away, winter break to be exact. Life at the mansion was unbearable. Every time he saw Lucius he was reminded that the scaly Dark Lord was going to touch him. Draco was too vain to want his fine skin contaminated by that disgusting piece of filth.

But now was not the time to be thinking of such things, though he seemed unable to keep them from flowing through his head.

Draco was not the same person around Ginny. He seemed to be happy all the time, even when she was taunting him or when she was sad. Happiness. `Twas an emotion he had never felt until he met the little weasel.

“Draco, come over here.” The Weaselette called from across the room, lying back on her bed. Draco was more than happy to oblige, taking his place just on top of her.

“Comfortable?” She asked, laughing.

“Not yet.” Draco spoke, immediately placing a gentile kiss on her lips.

“Get a sense of déjà vu just now?” Ginny said after they had broken apart.

“No, I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Such feigned innocence. But it does seem you have a fetish for sitting on people.”

“Oh, but of course. Where else is there to sit?” His eyes were locked with hers. Over the last year a sense of understanding had developed between them. There was something she wanted to tell him. Draco knew this. But she was reluctant. “So, how has your summer been?”

“Does living hell please you?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Do you really want me to?”
“Will you stop answering my questions with questions?”

“Will you stop asking me questions?”

“I see how it is. Well, since I am the elder, you are forced to tell me why your summer has been a living hell. Now.”

Ginny heaved a sigh of defeat. “Fine. Evil, evil person.”

“I'm not evil!” Draco put on a show of running around the room, lifting clutched hands and screaming, “I am not evil!” Ginny could do nothing but laugh.

“Hm.” Draco huffed, finally slowing his pace and joining Ginny on the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of her. “Now that we have established that I am not evil, and don't you go thinking I'm strange, because I'm not, go on with your story.”

“Fine. Well, the biggest thing is that everyone is here an—”

“Oh, what, so now you want me to leave!?” Draco said incredulously, drawing a light laugh from Ginny.

“Yes, that's exactly what I want. But, no, the thing is, Bill has Charlie, and in with the worst, they both have mum and dad. Fred and George have each other, no one can seem to join in the fun. With Harry and Hermione here, Ron also has someone, two someones. And I'm always on the outside, as if I'm not a person. Its not like they go out of their way to include me in things, because they don't. I doubt that I would say yes to any offer, but still, you know what I mean?”

“No, actually I don't know first-hand. But I can fathom.”

“Mhmm, and it's as if I'm not here, as if I'm not human. Sometimes… I don't know. Sometimes it hurts.” Tears were rolling down her flaming cheeks as Draco pulled her into the warm circle of his arms.

“Does it make you feel better that my life had been hell up until I saw you today?”

“Yes and no.” Ginny opened her eyes and looked up at Draco. “So what is going on at your house?”

“Nothing you want to know.”

“The Dark Mark again?” She knew him all too well.

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I don't know. I don't want to have that slime touch me. And I can't just walk up to Lucius and say `you know what, father, I don't really care for that disgusting shell of an animal touch me, so I don't think the whole `dark wizard' life is for me, alright?' and walk away alive. It doesn't work that way.”

“I know.”

“I know you know.”

“I know you know I know.”

“I know you know I know you know.”

“Enough?”

“I think so.” Draco sighed into her hair, readjusting his head to be a tad bit more comfortable. “Well, what is there to do around here? Or do you all just cry all day?”

“Evil, evil person.”

“Argh, I thought we had decided that I was not evil!”

“It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind.” Draco laughed softly at this. “Well, do you want to go to the river?”

“What is there to see at the river?”

“Um… me, I guess. Nothing else I can really think of.”

“Then let's go!” Draco said near her ear, sending a pleasant chill down her spine.

“You'll have to let go of me first.”

“Then let's stay!” he spoke in the same manner as earlier.

“Draco—”

“GINNY! FERRET-BOY! COME DOWN AND EAT DINNER!”

“That brother of yours is really tiring, did you know that?” For the umpteenth time that day, Ginny laughed.

“Yes, I know, now let's go.”

“If we must.”

***

Everyone sat in the living room after dinner. The topic of discussion stayed gratefully away from Draco and Ginny, though Ron kept shooting Draco disgusted glares from across the room.

“So, Charlie, how is everything going in Romania?” Draco asked.

“Everything is great. We just got a new dragon in. It's an Antipodean Opaleye, a real beauty. She doesn't seem to be to keen on anyone except Jonathan, but she's warming to me little by little. The thing is, she seems to think everyone's out to steal her eggs, though she doesn't have anything. We blame Bill.” Charlie finished by throwing an accusatory glance at his brother.

“What do you mean, `we blame Bill'? What have I done?”

“It came from Egypt, bro, you're backyard.”

“Oh well. At Gringotts, it's become a custom to blame everything on Fred and George, so I guess the cycle continues.”

Laughter sounded from every corner of the room but one.

Ginny sat curled on the chair before the hearth, watching as the laughing faces of her family and friends slowly changed into hideous shadows of what they once were. Their smiles were no longer innocent, but full of knowledge.

They knew what she was thinking of, who she was thinking of. They knew that sometimes at night Tom came to her, talked to her, and they knew that she wanted to join him.

That what was hidden behind those smiles and grimaces. Knowledge—the most terrible of all things.

A/N: Alrighty then! Well, I finally finished this chapter. I’ve been working on it for about a week and a half now, so not that bad. I know that this is a long time in coming, but my life has been really fucked up lately. I just moved half-way around the world and I haven’t really had time to indulge in my favorite pastimes. But now that I’m as settled in as much as I possibly can, I hope to finish this fic. I actually have a plan in mind for it, so I guess that makes the chances that much better. Yippee! Please disregard the false happiness; it happens when I’m trying not to have a complete mental breakdown. Anyway, to the whole ONE person who is reading this (AND I LOVE YOU FOR IT) have fun! I hope you didn’t wait all that while for nothing….

~unknown street kid

Chapter 2: Degeneration

“All the people around, all the voices make sense, as I’m thinking of her, all the choices will fade” Distant—an amazing band no one has heard of (sill in H.S. I think), but I don’t know the name of the song the quote is from.

School started. That was it. No more endless days full of angst, but rather a fixed, nearly unchanging schedule kept by the teachers. No more endless hours where she was left alone with her thoughts, easy prey for Tom to come in whenever he very well pleased.

But school also brought with it a lack of privacy. A bustling hub of activity that one could easily get lost in, sucked in, and then exposed for what one truly was. Also, school was where Draco was. After her wonderful display yesterday, she was still waiting for the storm to hit. He had said nothing of it. And that was abnormal. He should have brought it up. Asked her what was wrong. But he hadn’t. He let it slip.

Was it possible that he hadn’t noticed? That her horrendous self had not been bared in front of her family and Draco? She would wait it out. Make absolutely certain.

After all, one does tend to make an imprinted scene on the mind by screaming and running out of a house.

What was even stranger was that she was in her own bed at the Burrow. She did not remember returning home after her flight…but she must have.

Staring up at the ceiling, contemplating numerous things at once (Tom most of all), Ginny heard a knock at the door.

“Gin, are you up?” masculine, familiar, but too tired to recognize. She decided to feign sleep.

“Gin?” The door began to open. Ginny opened her eyes as much as she dared—barely slits. The first thing she saw was the blond of Draco’s hair. Draco. Last night.

She never finished packing!

Her throat dropped into her stomach. The train left in less than two hours and she had not yet packed!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco surveyed the room. It was in shambles. And, he noted, the Weaselette had not finished packing her things. Eh, might as well finish for her.

Now. What did girls take. Make-up. That was the first thing that came to mind. Only one problem there, though. Ginny didn’t wear make-up. Clothes. Of course! Girls wore clothes! He was not a complete imbecile after all.

Yes you are. Clothes. Girls wear clothes. What else could they wear?

Meh. So he was an imbecile. That didn’t change anything. But what would Ginny pack? Everything. And if she normally didn’t, this time would be a bit different. Change was good, after all. Just as he was about start, a strangled noise came from the sleeping girl, causing him to turn toward her.

Nothing else. So, she was faking! He might as well toy with her a bit, then.

Draco crossed the room to the girl’s bed, laying down just on top of her. Still she did nothing. He began kissing her neck, her most ticklish area, and then he got something. She started giggling softly.

“Stupid prick!” She said sleepily through the giggles.

“Aren’t I though? Anyway, get up and pack. We’re leaving in half an hour!” Draco then got off of her, standing up, brushing off his clothes, and smoothing his slightly mussed hair.

“You know what you remind me of?” A thoughtful curtain had settled on Ginny’s face. The curtain masked the amusement hidden beneath it, but not well enough.

“What?” He asked incredulously, almost comically.

“You’re like a cat. I mean, you groom yourself almost all the time.” Her face remained straight, though he could see her restraining herself from laughing.

“Do I? Hmm… Maybe I am, but you just think I’m a guy…” Draco allowed his voice to trail off, leaving a falsely thoughtful silence hanging in the air for a few seconds.

He looked up at her to find her looking at him. They burst out laughing at the same time. “Now get up you lazy bum!” He turned and began packing for her. In a moment she got out of bed and helped.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In about fifteen minutes they finished all her packing. Five minutes after that Ginny was dressed and ready to go. She emerged from the bathroom to find Draco sitting, back propped up against the wall just to the right of the doorway.

“You know, I’m very disappointed in you about last night.” His voice was calm and consistent, accusing. For the second time that day Ginny’s throat dropped into her stomach. Fear enveloped every centimeter of her flesh.

This was the moment she had been dreading.

If only life were a novel. A flash of Dune by the genius Frank Herbert found its way into her thoughts. Herbert called it the Litany against Fear. How did it go? I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Bah. Apparently that only worked to dispel fear in the books.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what was wrong with me. I-I-” She broke into tears, slumping down next to Draco and resting her head on his shoulder. His hand snaked into hers. Snaked. Snake. What interesting imagery. He was her serpent.

The Basilisk.

This thought brought back the Chamber. The Chamber that Draco didn’t know about. The Chamber she knew all too well. New tears came to her eyes, and she fought them back—a losing battle, but she held her own. She couldn’t hold back a dry sob, however.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay.” He had no idea what was wrong with her. “I just wanted to go to the river. Don’t take me seriously. Come on, love, how many times do you know me to be serious in one day? I was just joking; I didn’t mean to upset you. I was a bit upset that you slept before we had a chance to go off together. Shh love, its okay.” He pulled her closer and began to stroke her hair.

Ginny froze, stiffened. So he hadn’t… she hadn’t… she had been asleep?

“Love?” His voice seemed to come from a million miles away. She had been sleeping. She never ran out of the house. She never met Tom in the alley. She never looked upon him with longing eyes, never fell into his arms and felt home. He never let her fall. He never looked down and laughed. None of that. Nothing.

She realized Draco was still waiting for an answer, struggled to make a noise. The only thing that came out was yet another dry sob.

“Come on, stand up. We’ve got to go. You’re family is already waiting for us in the car. Come now, love, you’re okay.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The car was packed. And not in the comfortable love-y dove-y sense, but get-the-hell-off-me-you-ruddy-bastard sense. In the front were Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry, and Hermione. In the back there was himself, Ginny, Ron, Fred, George, and some young boy that no one seemed to know but was coming along anyway.

The most interesting person in the car, by far, was the boy. In all truth, Draco was reminded of himself greatly. Not in any physical characteristics, but rather in his general demeanor. The boy was beautiful, though. He had black hair, dark black, true black, that fell slightly into his eyes and touched the collar of his shirt. It was wild, yet tamable, rough. Like all wild things, however, it still had that aspect of danger just below the surface. He had deep green eyes. Eyes that brought with them intelligence and knowledge, old and wise eyes set in a young, trouble-free face. His lips were of the deepest crimson, almost purple, as if they had been stained with blood. Although his lips were full, his mouth was small. A wry sort of mouth, one that Draco could imagine being twisted in a scowl, words of pure malice spilling over the boy’s lips. His overall complexion was pale, and there was a soft spatter of freckles across his cheekbones, just below his eyes. There was a supple roundness to his features that gave away his youth, but just below the skin dwelt his older self. A ruthless being capable of anything.

But his demeanor! He carried himself as if he were a prince. Careful, quiet, reserved, yet regal and outgoing. His voice was soft, but commanding. When he spoke, people listened. His hands rested peacefully in his lap. He was wearing simple clothes, navy blue robes and a black collard shirt and pants. He looked about eleven years old, barely more than an infant, though he held himself as if he were an adult.

The boy was speaking to Ginny now. Draco felt a pang of jealousy, though what he had to fear from this… boy, he did not know. All the while he had been staring at the boy, an unbroken gaze. Now, as if feeling Draco’s eyes upon him, the boy looked up, smiled, returned to his conversation with Ginny. Slightly embarrassed, Draco turned his attention on to Ginny.

She wasn’t speaking.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard her speak since she noticed the boy. Ginny was pale and her hands were clenched into fists on her lap. She stared unblinking into the boy’s eyes, transfixed yet horrified. Draco decided it time to cut into the conversation.

“This year will be my first year at Hogwart’s. I’m excited, but I’m a little nervous as well.” The boy finished speaking, Molly Weasley said something, but Draco barely heard.

“Pardon me asking, but who are you?” There. The question was out.

“You know who I am Draco, so why bother asking?” The boy’s attention was now directed at Draco. He could feel his gaze on him as if it were something substantial. It was piercing, intruding—knowing.

The next second, the people in the car were gone. It was just him and the boy… who didn’t exactly look like a boy anymore. His young façade had disappeared, to be replaced with an old figure, crippled, decaying. It was a vile excuse for a human being—Voldemort. Could that boy have been Tom Riddle?

“Give the boy a cookie! Did you hear that! It only took him one try.” The voice was exactly as he had imagined coming from the boy, this time it was dripping with thinly veiled sarcasm. Cheap, sardonic humor.

A good show, but Draco was already bored with it. However, he could not tear his eyes away from Vodemort’s. Voldemort opened his mouth to speak (Draco sensed, rather than saw this) but Draco didn’t hear the words. Perhaps he would later, but not now.

Now he hit his head against the window of the car, startling him out of the dream.

In his sleep he had become Ginny’s pillow. Note the lack of complaint. The girl’s head rested on his shoulder, her fiery hair spilling onto her pallid face. A peaceful face, he noticed, and thankfully. When he first saw her it looked as though she hadn’t had a good night’s rest in a week at the least. Like him, she was wearing plain black robes. But, having the features of a girl, she was wearing a deliciously fitted black tee-shirt and mini-skirt. A sliver of her pale stomach was showing, enough to make his mouth water. He did love the girl. Heh, what would his father say if and when he found out?

Deciding that it was best to leave such unpleasant thoughts for later, Draco rested his head on Ginny's closing his eyes sleepily. In a few moments he had drifted into a dreamless slumber.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Draco was on top of her. Draco was kissing her. Draco was doing all the right things.

Why did she want to be anywhere but there right now?

‘There’ right now happened to be their tree by the lake. It was near a part of the lake that no one seemed to go to, so they claimed it. No one dared take their place.

There were no clouds in the sky today, the sun, however, only cast a dim gray light, as if it were too tired to put in the effort it needed to be blazing. Autumn had come and leaves were all around Ginny. Her hair was splayed out in a fan around her head, giving her an almost saintly look. Her eyes were rolled back in pure ecstasy from Draco’s motions, a comfortable familiar feeling—his lips on her neck—an anchor of reality in a world that seemed to have lost its tangency beneath her feet.

School had been in for a month now, and this was the first time they had found the time to be together, other than classes. Ginny had been assigned all seventh year classes, the same ones as Draco.

And life went on.

There were highs and lows. Now was a low. Tom was at the back of her mind. She could just picture that it was truly Tom with her now rather than Draco—all too well, all to well.

As if he sensed something was wrong, Draco got off her and sat staring at the lake.

“I hate it when you do that.” He said.

“Do what?” Now she was sitting up beside him.

“Pretend to be enjoying this. It was your idea to come out here today and you’d rather be somewhere else. Care to tell me where?”

With Tom.

No. Not with Tom.

With Tom.

The little voice was becoming more persistent and constant and demanding lately. It was becoming harder and harder to push it away.

“Well?” His eyes were still on the water. Suddenly she felt disgusting, worthless, useless, and overall horrible. He didn’t even want to look at her. Her right hand made its way to her left arm, which was hidden by a sweater. She began to claw at it, rolling up the sleeve and making deep scratches on her wrist and arm.

Now he looked at her. Saw what she was doing and stood up without taking his eyes off her. He was now looking down at her. Ginny's hair was curtaining her face, leaving only her eyes, which were trained on her wrist, showing. Her legs were folded under her, knees showing from under her skirt.

He walked away. Rather, was walking away. She knew it. Though she couldn’t see it, he was. When she looked up she expected to see him on the other side of the lake, heading back to the school, but she didn’t. Instead she saw his outstretched hand waiting for her to take it.

Her cheeks moistened and she considered not taking his hand, merely sitting there until all her skin was gone and her veins were exposed.
For a moment that sounded immensely appealing. She was unfit to live.

But she took his hand.

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A/N: I was going to end it here, but I read through it and decided to write a bit more. At least a few hundred more words. I haven’t written it yet, but if I do, this lil chappie here will be about 3000 words. Considering I was going to post at 2000, that’s pretty good. Anyway, back to the story.

“Why her?” Wormtail was speaking to him. The bald, oily man annoyed him greatly, but as a scapegoat he was worth the trouble he caused.

They were in a room in Hogsmead, supposedly part of the Leaky Cauldron, yet completely separate. He had decided to make this his headquarters. No one could get in or out sans his approval.

“Must I tell you once more?” He said in an exasperated voice. “She opened the chamber, true it was through my demand, but she still did. We are connected. The connection has waned over the years, but it is still strong enough for me to cause her to do my bidding. She has too strong of a will now, however. When she has been weakened, I will strike.”

Wormtail was sitting on the rug in front of his massive brown chair now, a young child listening to a story being told by his grandfather. The man was sick. The man made him sick. These days Voldemort had begun to question Wormtail’s loyalty. It had never been strong, but lately had been less cooperative than ever. More questions were being asked of him, there were unaccounted moments when Wormtail would slip away. And answers were becoming less and less substantial.

Now the question was who else was he working with and for what?

It couldn’t be Dumbledore, he and Potter and the lot knew he couldn’t be trusted. But knowing that only made things worse. It meant that there was someone else out there trying to best him.

Or perhaps he was merely being neurotic, though the chances of that were small indeed.

“She is close to the Weasleys, those three incessantly tiring brats, and the young Malfoy, if his dreams are any indication of reality. Her destruction would also bring with it the destruction of those around her. And more if I can gain complete control of her.”

“So you want a repeat of the Chamber?” Wormtail’s high and whiney voice was irritating the hell out of him. Yet he must endure it for the time being.

“I suppose if you look at it in a certain light, yes. Though this time I shall not fail. I’m tired of my plans being foiled.”

A knock sounded at the door.

“Would you get that Wormtail?” Wormtail scurried off the rug and to the door. Voldemort did not move, and instead stared into the fire. The flames danced before him, casting shadows on his face. Had Draco seen him now, he would be strongly reminded of the boy that Voldemort once was.

While he looked into the fire, he heard Wormtail’s screams from behind him. No, he wouldn’t have him killed now, but a slight abuse was in order. Perhaps this would cause him to cease his double actions.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Something was wrong with her, and she wouldn’t tell him. That was just fine with Draco. Let her go on like that. He didn’t want to deal with it.

When you are close with someone, when you love someone and they love you, they are supposed to try and let you help with their problems. But she wasn’t letting him in. She was going to self-destruct.

While a great part of him was deeply hurt and disturbed by this, another part cared in the sense of actually caring. He wanted to help her.

He was in the Slytherin common room right now. It was empty save for a few first years. He still hadn’t seen Crabbe or Goyle today. Saturday usually was the day the Slytherin seventh year’s copied homework from each other in the far corner of the library, Draco supposed that was where they were. He was left alone with his thoughts.

Or not.

Snape had just walked into the room.

“Shouldn’t you be helping your fellow students cheat in the library?” Despite all their efforts, the Slytherins still could not hide anything from Snape for long.

“I don’t really see the point. I gain nothing if I do.”

“Well, that’s what comes when you actually have some trace of intelligence.” There was a slight tinge of humor in his voice.

“I suppose.” Couldn’t he leave?

“What is with all the melancholy?”

“A friend who is driving me insane”

“The Weasley girl of course. Heed my advice. Although I may appear heartless at times, I do care slightly what happens to you, if not the rest of my students.” Draco let out a slight snort of laughter, but Snape seemed not to hear it. “You cannot hide things from your father, let alone Voldemort. He will find out, and if he does, the consequences will be greater than you can fathom. I mean astronomical. They will both be furious.

“Leave her now if you care about yourself or her.”

With that, Snape left Draco alone.

Draco couldn’t leave her though, could he? Was it even physically possible for him to do that to her? And would it cause her to self destruct even faster? He couldn’t, no. His father would have to deal with it.

Thinking of his father also brought back the knowledge that he was supposed to get the Dark Mark in less than five months. How was he going to tell his father no? What was he going to do when he was facing the Dark Lord? Say ‘Fuck off’? How exactly would that blow over?

Despite having all that to think about, Ginny was still in the foreground of his memory. Everything about her earlier was burned onto the back of his eyelids—the way she looked under him, the way she felt. The way she looked as her nails bore into her arm. He could even see the blood that had begun to make its way to the surface of her skin and the skin that had been torn by her nails. He had considered just walking away from her then, he did not want to see her that way. But he couldn’t. The fact that she would not look at him kept him in his place. Once she took his hand and they went to Madame Pomfery he felt better, but the sight was still there, waiting for him to close his eyes.

He would do what he had to though. He always did.

A/N: Okay, so now I’ll end this chappie. You got a whole 3525 words. That’s 1525 more words than I was planning to post at. I don’t know how good they are and if they hold any meaning, but they’re there. Have fun, and REVIEW! If I get four reviews I’ll start working on the third chappie. So go on, tell a friend. Or not. I mean, why would you if you hated it, right? *goes to bed* Damn, I’m sleeping and it’s only 10:30 PM. I’m getting oldL. I should at least stay up for another 14 hours since I’m 14, doesn’t that make sense? And I should go back to the U.S. and see my friends and be happy again. And I’ll stop hurting on the inside, and this insatiable desire to take a knife to my wrist will subside. And my best friend will stop dating the guy I like. Doesn’t that seem like a wonderful idea? If anyone else has a better idea, I’ll give them a cookie!

Insanity. The word itself holds such meaning, and yet none at all. It is the beginning and the end all wrapped up into one convenient eight letter word. That’s four more letters than a curse, or most of them anyway.

But what exactly is insanity? How does one define it? How does one recognize insanity from genius, insanity from depression, insanity from happiness? And how does one know is they are slowly degenerating into insanity?

There exists links in our world, the real world (assuming there is such a thing), between everything. Every letter, every action, every lack of action—they all intertwine to make our lives, our world. And each one exists independently, in its own little world. Each one is a social outcast from every other letter, action, or lack thereof.

In my mind, a very strong link exists between insanity and fear. Fear of differences, fear of change, fear of heights, and on and on. There is a basic, guttural need for fear, for insanity. What else would we do with those different than ourselves? We would have too much time on our hands. I mean, we already wedged a gap between white and black people. Not to mention white and just about any other people on the face of the earth. We, as human beings, simply cannot accept any deviation from what is considered “the normal.”

And what exactly is “the normal?” Is it that elderly man that walks down your street, clad in brown shoes and an old tattered coat, who sees you and says good morning, no matter what time of day? Is it the feeling you get when you kiss the man you love? Or is it the mud on the bottom of your shoe after a long day, a piece of gum stuck on as well, just for good measure? Is it the carpet that has ripped in four places and you’ve been meaning to replace for over a year? Or the feeling of unreality that you get when you wake every morning? My point is that the definition for normal varies from person to person more than the amount of idiotic things George Bush says in any given moment.

So who determines what is sane and what is not?

And what gives people the right to segregate those thought to be insane from those thought to be normal?

I’m probably not going to post that, and a lot of it doesn’t make any sense, but it was interesting to write….