AN: Sorry for the extremely long wait. =) Hope this makes up for it. Just want to let you know that I posted some new stories in the "Draco/Ginny archive" while ff.net was down. Plugggggggg... Feel free to go there and leave your marvelous reviews for me or even the other more talented writers there =) Or submit!
Anthend
Chapter Seven : Darkness
Draco ducked to avoid the furious punch Ron flung at him, flung at him so heavily that he almost lost his balance and fell. "What the HELL are you DOING?" Ron screeched again, sounding for all the world like an angry fishwife. Draco ducked the next punch Ron threw at him, but he failed to avoid Ron's lash at his gut.
"Fuck!" Draco swore, and kicked at Ron.
Ron kicked back.
"What are you two doing?" Ginny shrieked. She'd woken up. Great. Just great. That was all he needed to make his day, the youngest Weasley getting ideas about his feelings for her. Which, of course, were non-existent.
Ron didn't bother to answer her. Draco got the feeling that he was too angry to listen to her. For a few minutes the two boys circled, ducking and heaving blows at each other. The fight ended when the door flew open and hit Draco on the behind to reveal a furious Hermione. "Ron!" she shouted. "You promised you wouldn't get out of bed!"
Draco picked himself off the floor. "Yeah, Ron." He mimicked, back to being arrogant and cocky despite his disheveled head of white fluff and the bruise rapidly forming on his cheekbone. "You promised, Ronniekins -"
Ron threw another punch at him. Hermione was by his side in an instant, staring at Draco like he was a mutated Hippogriff. "He's not worth it, Ron."
Ron was breathing, but they all knew that he wouldn't throw another punch with Hermione so close by. "What the hell were you doing, Malfoy?" he asked quietly, each word full of a seething anger.
Draco was straight-backed and in control of the situation. He looked down his aristocratic nose at Ron, and deep down was impressed at his own talent in bullshitting. His ribs ached and he wasn't sure that his aristocratic nose was still straight, but his voice came out strong and steady, with a tinge of contempt he was proud of. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Weasel." He said, just as quietly.
"Get out of here." Ginny said suddenly. They all turned to look at her.
"You heard me. Get out of here. All of you." She repeated. She laid back down, closing her eyes determinedly. "Waiting for you to go," She pronounced.
They all went. Once they were out in the hallway, Draco went off in one direction, Weasel and Granger in the other. A minute later they passed each other again, determinedly not looking at each other, as they went the right way.
_____
"He was where?" Harry asked incredulously, staring at his best friend over the chess board he’d just set up. "Are you serious?"
"Would I joke about something like that?" Ron asked indignantly. "Even I’m not that perverted. And I hardly think I dreamt something like that either -"
"You’re serious." Harry said wonderingly, cutting off what was sure to be another Malfoy-is-a-slimy-git tirade from the Captain of the Anti-Anything-Malfoy- Association. He’d once timed one of Ron’s lectures on Draco Malfoy and he didn’t want to repeat the experience. "That’s disgusting. What did Ginny think of it?"
"Ginny -" Ron said grimly, "is pretending that nothing happened. She just went back to sleep and I haven’t seen her since." He checked his watch. "She’s coming over in a minute, though, Dumbledore said something about wanting to see the both of us."
Harry nodded. "Probably wants to talk to you about the Curse."
"No - really?" Ron asked, feigning shock. He chuffed Harry on the side of the head. "What else would he be coming to talk to me about, Harry?"
"Your little nightly scuffle with Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore suggested from the doorway.
Ron turned a brick-red in two seconds. "Sir!"
"The little rat must have told tales." Harry muttered.
"On the contrary, Mr. Potter. It was young Miss Weasley who related the tale to me." Dumbledore twinkled faintly at Ron. "I gather she is not very pleased with either of you at the moment."
"No, I am not." Ginny said severely. She appeared at the doorway beside Dumbledore. "Are you going to give him a detention?" she asked hopefully.
Dumbledore gave a little cough. "I will discuss the details of their punishments with them later, Miss Weasley. Perhaps, if young Mr. Potter would care to leave -"
Harry took the hint and left, giving Ginny a wink as he disappeared. Ginny wished her heart would stop doing jumps around Harry.
What had she done that was so bad it warranted loving Harry Potter?
"Now, if you would care to take a seat -"
Ginny sat on the chair next to her brother’s bedside, scrupulously not looking at him.
"So what do you want to know?" Ron asked abruptly. Ginny realized with some surprise that he was fidgeting in bed, one of his hands clenched tightly in the sheets. She glanced quickly up at Dumbledore, but he was staring off into space - at the wall above Ron’s head.
"Nothing to worry yourself about, Mr. Weasley. Do you have any idea of who put the curse on you?"
Ron shook his head. "No. I’ve been thinking about that. All I can tell you is that the voice sounded -" he paused, a frown pleating his forehead. "- it didn’t sound natural. It didn’t sound like a girl or a boy -"
Ginny thought back to the voice she had heard - Imperio - it had been too quick to catch anything of the person who said it. Had it been a girl or a boy?
"I think the voice was female." She said slowly, uncertainly. "I’m not sure, though." She added quickly, not wanting Ron to scoff at her.
"What makes you say that, Miss Weasley?"
Ginny thought back again, so hard that her head began to hurt. "I - I don’t know." She said, frustrated. "I really don’t know. It just sounded a lot more female than male."
"It was female." Ron said suddenly, startling her. He sounded triumphant. "It was definitely female."
Dumbledore stared at Ron, his eyes calm and mild - annoyingly so, Ginny thought, especially since Ron sounded so certain. "Why definitely, Mr. Weasley?"
"I recognize that voice." Ron said, his face fierce and focused. "I recognize that voice."
_____
Draco lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his hands behind his head. The ceiling above him was comparatively normal, made up of blank grey stone and chiseled rocks. He shifted his head slightly so he could see Crabbe, who was bending over his foot, painstakingly cutting his toenails. Draco could see that the action was requiring tremendous mental energy, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a thin, contemptuous smirk.
Crabbe and Goyle weren’t quite as stupid as they made themselves out to be. With the tremendous cunning of stupid people, they had learnt to conceal what intelligence they had from a young age. Draco sometimes thought that they had concealed it so well they couldn’t quite remember where they had put it. This was only sometimes - on occasion they displayed an ingenious, simple cunning that surprised him.
But only slightly.
Draco had been taught never to underestimate the enemy.
Not that Crabbe or Goyle were, by any stretch of the imagination, enemies.
On the other hand, it was always just as well to be on your guard.
Which was why Draco felt so angry, so fricking angry, that he couldn’t control himself around the youngest Weasley.
The only thing you couldn’t control were your hormones.
But you could repress them.
Draco let himself think of the youngest Weasley for a brief moment, his thoughts brisk and businesslike, tinged with the cold anger that he felt for both himself and her. Himself for the fact that he was thinking about her and her because -
Because she had long red hair and a carnal mouth and freckles that shouldn’t have stirred him.
Because she was a Weasley and a Gryffindor and not a Slytherin.
Because when she looked at Potter it was so obvious what she felt for him.
And mostly because when she looked at him, he could read the mixed feelings in her gaze.
Draco didn’t want to think about that.
He especially didn’t want to think about that, and remember the way her warm lips had pressed against and sought his, and realize that she had been willing.
Realize that for a moment she hadn’t been a Weasley, and he hadn’t been a Malfoy -
Just two young bodies needing each other like fire needed air -
_____
Harry surfaced for air and took a deep, fortifying breath. Kissing Cho was like -
Well, there really wasn’t any description for it.
But kissing Cho was definitely not what he should have been doing with a Quidditch match in fifteen minutes.
Harry pulled away and gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I’ve got to go prep my team."
"You haven’t finished prepping me -" Cho trailed invitingly, running her nails down his sleeve.
Harry took her mouth in another long, energy-draining kiss. It was hot and hungry and God, they really needed to get a room -
"Now I’ve really got to go." Harry said, glancing at his watch. Five minutes to game time. The Gryffindors were going to kill him. Kill him, castrate him and whack him upside down. He turned resolutely away from Cho’s red mouth and wicked hands, and sprinted down the steps.
He jogged into the Gryffindor locker room with half a minute to spare. In a flash he was in his Quidditch robes and someone was tossing him his Firebolt along with a half-worried, half-annoyed look.
"No time for a pre-game talk now -" Harry said clearly to the team who was assembled in front of him. He saw Dean toss their Keeper, Richard, a look, and was annoyed with himself because he knew it was justified. "All I have to say is - play a good game, like we’ve been doing in practice."
The team gave a half-hearted chorus of mumbles and Harry’s heart sank. He raced out to the pitch.
The game started. Harry caught a blurred glance of the bleachers and was happy to see Cho sitting with Hermione. He was disappointed to see that Ron wasn’t there, but not surprised. He’d only left Ron an hour ago, after all - and he had suffered through a Cruciatus curse and contact with Malfoy; Harry wasn’t sure which was the greater evil - he couldn’t expect Ron to be up to watching a Quidditch match.
Some small part of Harry rebelled at that, but he squashed it down quickly.
Harry was jolted out of his reverie when Dean screamed at him. "HARRY! THE SNITCH! THE SNITCH!"
Harry turned around just in time to see Fred Wilkes, Hufflepuff Seeker, grab the golden Snitch and hold it up in the air.
_____
At about the time Gryffindor lost their first match of the year, Dumbledore and Ginny were watching Ron pace the room, the fact that he was wearing an extremely flimsy infirmary robe forgotten. His face was tight and red with exertion, his fists clenched at his sides.
"I recognize that voice!" he said suddenly, stopping to look at both of them, his voice agitated. "I do! I just can’t remember -"
"It’s all right Ron," Ginny said soothingly. "It’ll come to you - "
Dumbledore watched Ron pace, his face impassive. "Calm yourself, Mr. Weasley." He said gently.
Ron released a huge, frustrated growl. "Why can’t I remember?" he howled, grabbing his hair with his hands. "I RECOGNIZE that VOICE!"
Suddenly the door popped open and Colin and Hannah came in. They both looked despondent.
"Ginny." Colin said. He glanced at Hannah. "We thought we’d just come by and tell you that Gryffindor lost the Quidditch match."
Ron stared at him, his troubles temporarily forgotten. "What do you mean, we lost the Quidditch match?" he asked, quite simply.
"Harry didn’t catch the Snitch." Colin explained.
Ron didn’t say anything. Ginny wondered if he was going into shock. She was pretty shocked herself. The only match she remembered Harry ever losing was that one in her second year, and even then the Dementors had been a distraction.
"The Gryffindors think it’s because of Cho."
All made sense. The world was on its axis again. Cho - the main reason for any of Harry’s mood swings.
Ginny wished bitterly that Cho had never been born.
The door swung open and Harry came in, looking untidy but calm. He wasn’t sweating or anything, and that was amazingly unusual for someone who’d just gotten off the Quidditch pitch. Even more unusual, and which tugged at Ginny’s heart, was the look on Harry’s face. He looked lost, as if he didn’t quite understand what had just happened.
Ginny could understand - to a certain extent. She knew how much Quidditch meant to Harry, how much winning at Quidditch meant to Harry. He’d been so excited that summer when he’d been appointed Captain of the Quidditch team. She’d seen the fantasies in his eyes, being the best Captain ever, soaring through the air.
To be pulled down so ignominiously to reality - to a very real failure -
Even if she didn’t love Quidditch as much as Harry did, she could certainly understand.
Her thoughts jerked to Draco, and she thought, idly, on a plane different from her conscious thoughts that he must be as used to losing as Harry was to winning on the Quidditch pitch -
"Hey, Ron." Harry said, strangely normal. The lost look was still on his face, the lack of comprehension, the mild puzzlement. "We lost at Quidditch."
Ron just stared at his, his jaw hanging open. He ruffled his hair. "Harry! I -"
"It’s not that big a deal -" Hannah interrupted, her voice bored as she glanced down to check her nails. She rolled her eyes and tossed her hair. " - it’s only a Quidditch match after all - not the end of the world -"
Everyone stared at Hannah, their jaws hanging open.
Ginny felt an overwhelming urge to giggle. That was so typically Hannah, to reduce the drama of the moment into a small, childish thing, and look at how everybody was staring at her - like she’d just committed blasphemy - except for Dumbledore, who was staring rather queerly at Ron -
Ginny knew, suddenly, that something was very wrong -
She turned her head very slowly, realizing, as she did so, that Ron didn’t have the disbelief on his face that everyone else did -
That instead of disbelief, on Ron’s face was a slowly dawning recognition, bringing with it horror as his eyes remained, dazed, on Hannah -
A split second before his mouth opened, Ginny knew what he was going to say, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to hear this, not wanting to have this happen -
"That’s the voice." Ron said, slowly, his voice still incredulous -
Ginny opened her eyes, she had to see this, she had to see this - and saw Ron’s hand come up to point at her friend, one of her best friends - as he repeated, "That’s the voice. That’s the voice that said the curses."
And then, wonderingly, Ginny thought, All this time, all this time -
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