Chapter Text
March, 1998
Rain is something funny. She knew it was an awkward thought to have considering the moment. However, it was exactly what she was thinking over those last few moments, nesting and embracing her own knees on a window sill while observing those heavy raindrops punishing the glass. Rain had a bunch of facets that could make you feel truly alive — when little raindrops fall on your face and you smile with the sensation of being against them, for instance — or could ruin all your hopes, draining through you as the water that drenches your clothes… and leave you empty.
It’s grey; might be good, might be bad, it all depends on the angle of the viewer, on the moment.
She used to enjoy observing it because the rain didn’t mirror the current Manichean reality — it worked almost as a pressure valve that didn’t involve butterbeer or some sort of illicit activity.
This introspective girl in particular was called Ginevra Molly Weasley, sixteen years old, living in a world trying to balance itself on a tightrope before a breathless audience. No one could say for sure to which side the world would swing.
Her life had a white side, joyous. A side capable of waking her up early in the morning and shout to the world once this “crisis” was over, she would be Harry Potter’s wife, the Boy-That-Kept-Surviving. It just didn’t cross her mind that, after so long and after so many fights, things could end badly. It was a matter of destiny, of justice. The white side of her life also covered her family, the ones that encompassed her with love as a cocoon encompasses a butterfly about to transform — even if the comparison wasn’t that good, since growing up with six elder siblings gave her the grace of a hippopotamus rather than a butterfly. But she couldn’t care less as long as they were by her side… as long as Harry was by her side.
And then there was the dark side of her life, somehow always lurking, always waiting for the slightest blunder. A black side that almost killed her during her first year in Hogwarts due to a bloody enchanted diary, which by the way, put the entire school in danger. The dark side that got her literally running for her life at the Ministry of Magic in her fourth year and the responsible for the tense atmosphere that caused the air to be nearly unbreathable. The black side that took Mad-Eye Moody in June, Dumbledore a year before, disfigured Bill. The dark side that kept pushing her away from him. She missed Harry so much that sometimes she thought she would suffocate, as much as for his absence as for the fact he was off somewhere with Ron and Hermione while she was condemned to stay in Hogwarts… and the sorrow rooted in her chest was there because she was certain of giving all the possible proofs of her capacity and devoutness, and yet, at the end, she would never be anything but the youngest sister, a fragile girl who needs protection, and she loathed that.
They have never treated Hermione that way, and “they” she defined as half of the wizarding world.
Nevertheless, she kept validating her point, doing her bit. At least it was what she has been trying to do in Hogwarts since she left The Burrow at the beginning of September. Alongside Dumbledore’s Army (or the remains of it), she established the Resistance’s cell opposing You-Know-Who’s influence at the school, and only Merlin knew at what cost: if previously detentions could be summed up in boredom and never ending tedious activities, such as dealing with dusty books and vicious animals, now the setting was definitely different. It wasn’t sporadic that a student coming back from those torture sessions disguised as detentions was incapable of walking by themselves, and that was specifically true for Neville; contrary to all Universe prognoses, he had been showing himself a valorous leader, filling her heart with tenderness whenever she thought of him.
It all began when she, Neville and Luna tried to steal Godric Gryffindor’s sword from the Headmaster’s Office, then Severus Snape’s. They had been sent to the Forbidden Forest and their visits to Hogsmeade were banished; Ginny assumed that would be the sum of detention terms they receive, but thereupon, the school’s disciplinary sector was under Alecto and Amycus Carrow’s charge, who took the teaching posts of “Muggles Studies” and the newly devised “Dark Arts”. Ginny felt shivers down her spine at the memory: now students were obliged to practice Unforgivable Curses on those in detention, and Ginny was gutted at the fact.
The worst part, besides not having any news from the outside world, was enduring the Carrow siblings’ oddities. Hogwarts became similar to a cemetery full of lost souls wandering the halls. Obviously, genuine lost souls were wandering there, although the context was quite unrelated.
Their last brilliant idea was promoting some kind of fraternization, aiming to demonstrate the wizarding world was now united under one flag. The four big houses of Hogwarts must be united, a crystal clear statement meaning there was no room for disparity and plurality; this “fraternization” would be the first step towards homogeneity. Of course, the gentle touch of masochism had been left in the Carrow siblings’ careful hands: they found very interesting (not to say hilarious) to determine the couples for the occasion, creating potential punitive and embarrassing situations for those involved. It seemed unnecessary to underline that to refuse to attend “could” bring more trouble than benefits. Furthermore…
“Hey, Redhead.”
She was abruptly pulled away from her thoughts.
In those particular moments, the entire elder siblings’ forbidden vocabulary and the need of having a Quidditch wooden bat at hand would pop up on her mind. Blaise Zabini appeared from a shadowy corner on the hall, seemingly ready for the forthcoming session of torture disguised as a Ball. It was still ghastly to uphold any sort of civilised dialogue with him, but… his presence was way more comforting than a Carrow's.
“Hello to you too, Zabini. Good to know it’s common to stalk defenceless girls through the halls among those who received a pure-blood marvellous education,” she emphasized.
“First of all, you’re also a pure-blood, in spite of everything. Secondly, if you are a defenceless girl, I’m sure You-Know-Who fancies nasal congestion charms.” He said with his typical steady voice. “I’ve already witnessed one or two consequences of your jinxes to verify for myself how defenceless you can be.”
She bit her lower lip to avoid an unwanted smile. If someone had told her a few months ago she would have something near to a friendship with Blaise Zabini, she would have given this someone a lift directly to St. Mungus. Even though he was more restrained than his Slytherin comrades, Blaise had never hid his scorn for muggle-borns, although the fact he demonstrated disdain for every single person, regardless of their origin, weighed in his favour. The truth was Blaise Zabini was a relief, showing up with his natural acid retorts, cynicism and his constant behaviour. Ginny, not for the first time, pondered that was exactly what was missing on her life latterly: Constancy.
She was far from deeming Blaise Zabini the new paladin in the fight against the Dark Lord, able to forge a scar on his forehead and defeat Death Eaters. Perhaps what attracted her about his presence was precisely that — she was so familiar with a “good versus evil” world that finding someone who didn’t swing to either side made her curiosity level rise. Therefore, since the detention in which she was compelled to stay under his supervision for four hours (which supposedly should have included some moderate types of torture), their acquaintanceship had evolved a lot. He was quite pleasant to chat with, as long as him being an egocentric bastard was ignored.
In essence, Blaise was the embodiment of selfishness, purely. He was not loyal to any ideology, to any cause. He didn’t appreciate fundamentalism of any kind, and neither would he stick his neck out for someone. He wanted (and he would, she had the feeling) to be on the winning side. Well, at least he was fun and he could make her forget for brief seconds about the utter tosh that was living during a war — and when in war, one thing Ginny has learnt, you can’t choose your allies; you simply accept those who are given to you.
She jumped from the window sill, stretched out in one of her usual feline movements, and began to walk.
“It isn’t proper to wisecrack in the hallways nowadays, Blaise,” she sighed, still avoiding a smile. She didn’t reckon it was right to smile while Harry and Ron were starving and freezing, or while Dumbledore’s Army was being hunted.
“As much as it isn’t proper to wear a brown dress when you’ve got this flaming hair. You have the appearance of a rust spot.” He wrinkled his aristocratic nose at her. “But this is how life is, my dear Gryffindor. Good taste is just like money. Some have lots and others have so little…” He smiled with a bit of malice.
She compared her coy brown dress, adorned with golden lace on the sleeves and hem, to his posh tailor-made suit; it was of a dark-blue that matched his chocolate, comely skin. For a short period of time, she felt as if wearing a dress tailor-made to her grandmother. But it was a very short period of time. It wasn’t proper to get attached to futilities.
The relevant fact was: she didn’t care about Blaise’s retorts any more, mainly the ones about her financial condition, because those had a tendency to be followed by some comment even more poisonous concerning someone else, regardless of their origin, financial condition or status. For example, the comments he always made about Pansy Parkinson and her low intelligence quotient.
Ginny saw the chance and she grabbed it.
“Then I’m very glad you’ve got a date with lots of money but no good taste,” she said, half serious, half smiling. “I bet you’ll have an unforgettable night with Parkinson.”
She sensed he got uncomfortable. “Touché. It doesn’t amuse me to scavenge through other’s people garbage,” he said with a touch of wounded pride and an absolutely malicious tone. “Even if I’m strongly guessing Malfoy won’t care much about what I do or not with Parkinson, since he’ll have the pleasure of far more interesting company.”
Ginny blushed right away — with anger. It was hard enough to deal with the obligation of attending the Ball, but having Draco Malfoy as her date was the equivalent of being cursed. Since the end of the last year, his image only brought knots to her stomach. Dumbledore… his fault. Bill... his fault. Grief in Hogwarts… everything was his and that bloody Vanishing Cabinet's fault.
After the couples’ announcement, her mood was pretty bad for an entire week. She has finally attested the veracity of “Nothing is bad enough to the point it cannot get worse”.
Anyways, it seemed the Malfoy influence inside the Death Eaters' circle was outworn. There was no doubt she was being punished through the selection; the acquaintanceship with Zabini may have caused the impression of a slight inclination to the Dark Side, but this impression was a very microscopic once it was considered that her family were still blood-traitors and, to top it all, she had been Harry Potter’s girlfriend.
On the other hand, the punishment to Malfoy could only mean one thing: his family was in trouble with You-Know-Who. After what happened at the Ministry of Magic and the Astronomy Tower, something went, without question, very wrong for them. Probably it was the failure of Draco's attempt to kill Professor Dumbledore, in spite of him being responsible for all the chaos caused in Hogwarts that night… Anyhow, Ginny could only speculate.
“Oh, yes, his date is a very distinctive person. It’s a shame that he thinks she’s worth less than a toothless grindylow,” she said absently.
Blaise laughed. He didn’t laugh often and Ginny thought his smile made his countenance a lot blander. “So I presume his distinctive date worries about what he thinks of her?”
Her stomach tossed and turned thanks to the nausea provoked by Zabini’s joke. She couldn’t dismiss from her mind the problems Malfoy had created last year, the injuries Bill had suffered, and how Harry broke up with her at Dumbledore’s funeral.
“Easier for me to worry about Snape’s thoughts on my dress,” she said, more grudgingly than expected. The one sin of Blaise Zabini was the fact that he was an egocentric bastard. Meanwhile, he didn’t deserve a double shot of Weasley temperament.
“Hum, I somewhat doubt his taste can be trusted. However, you can ask him for some hair washing advice… Or not.” He had returned to his introspective self and Ginny was surprised, not for the first time, by how egocentric Blaise really was.
Raising the hem to an acceptable height which would allow her to walk a little faster, Ginny hastened her steps towards the Great Hall, designated to host the “fraternization”. Draco Malfoy hadn't bothered contacting her, and neither had she. As the vast majority of couples was arranged to dissatisfy those involved, the mutterings spread through the hallways suggested the best to do was to meet at the Great Hall’s doors, then perform a bit to the Carrow siblings, make a just-sucked-sour-lemon face and get out of there as soon as humanly possible.
Walking the hallways, with a quiet Zabini on her heels, Ginny kept focusing on the end of the evening. She was walking faster and faster as if to anticipate the desired end, with her shoes echoing against the castle’s solid rock walls. Blaise was walking with much more elegance and flippancy, not even putting effort in following her. When both turned a hallway that provided access to a few rooms, they saw two silhouettes dragging a third, which looked more unconscious than awake. In a certain way, Zabini’s presence gave her the courage to get close. Ginny held her breath at the scene.
Neville was laid between two big lads, staggering to his feet. A cut was bleeding on his right eye while the left one was so swollen it could be considered nothing but a simple line inserted on a purple sea of protuberances, also known as the right side of his face. He seemed to be wearing a gala suit, but it was so damaged Ginny wouldn’t be surprised if Neville told her he was just hit by the Hogwarts Express. After drinking five bottles of fire whiskey.
“In the name of Merlin, Neville! What happened to you?!” She gasped, getting closer.
The troglodytes who carried him (who Ginny recognized as Vincent Crabbe and David Urquhart) tried to block her way, but the imposing figure of Blaise Zabini right behind her as a statue somehow intimidated further reactions on the part of the "guards”.
“Oh, hey there Gin!” he said with difficulty. “It’s nothing major, trust me. All I did was convey my thoughts to the Carrows about this Ball. I guess they didn’t appreciate my insight.” He finished the sentence with a mixture of coughing and laughter, which made his body swing inertly between the troglodytes.
Ginny stared at her dress, at herself, ready for a Ball, and felt like the worst and most deplorable person ever, agreeing to such whimsicalities coming from lunatics. She had the urge to rip off her dress, wield her wand and scream to the world she would fight, as her siblings, as Neville.
Neville, already being dragged again to wherever it was his destination, noticed her reaction and as much as his condition allowed he tried to say gently: “Relax, Gin. Each one of us has our own way of fighting. It doesn’t mean not fighting at all.” He ceased with a wink, but its effect was neutralized due to the state of his eye. Afterward, Crabbe dealt a violent kick to Neville’s right leg, and he immediately fell to the ground like a huge sack of oat. The Slytherin laughed as he would on those rare occasions when someone told him a joke he understood. Ginny tried to react but the hand groping for her wand wasn’t as fast as Zabini’s hand holding hers.
His stone cold look was saying “don’t do anything you might regret later”. Ginny disentangled her hand from his sharply and dashed towards the opposite direction, leaving the message “don’t you dare follow me” hovering in the air. Blaise was terrific when dealing with unsaid words. She would find a way to get to Neville after that stupid Ball was over.
Ginny tightened her eyes trying to avoid the tears, remembering her first ball at Hogwarts, when Neville invited her, and it strangely seemed to have happened ages ago. She missed that age. She missed her room with those Weird Sisters posters plastered on the walls. She missed her mother washing the dishes with just a wave of her wand in a dance so familiar to her. She missed Luna, who has been kidnapped from the Hogwarts Express by Death Eaters at Christmas. She missed Hermione, she missed the twins and she missed Harry. Merlin, she missed Harry so much. She missed everything she had lost since Dumbledore’s funeral.
She shook her head, nurturing Neville’s idea. Yes, she would fight. But one battle at a time. At the moment, she needed to survive the evening, which probably would result in memories she would gladly dump right after into a Pensieve.
Ginny slowed her steps, taking a breath, and tried to pay attention to the details of the room which preceded the Great Hall’s entrance, which had been decorated so gorgeously for the Yule Ball, in the Triwizard Tournament year. There wasn’t as much sparkle and illumination but the biggest difference was, undoubtedly, people’s faces… Previously so happy and full of expectations concerning the music, the food, the whisperings to come, and now their faces only showed anxiety and disgust, awaiting their undesired dates.
She thought, caught between weeping and desperate humour, that place was comparable to the St. Mungos waiting room; where people didn’t know what they would find in the consulting room, but they could be sure it wouldn’t be something good. The Great Hall entrance was open; however, Ginny couldn’t see inside clearly. As she was about to squint and deepen the inspection, a figure claimed her attention.
There he was standing, turned back, leaning against one of the pillars supporting the ceiling, monstrously high on that part of the Castle.
The time has arrived. The time to deal with Draco Malfoy.