A/N Hello, nice to see you all again. Sparks fly, but are instantly smothered when Draco throws The Water of Denial at them. The Dream Team reorganizes themselves and bravely continues on their perilous journey.
Title: The Protagonists
Chapter: The Art of Denial
Rating: PG
Summary: Above ^
Disclaimer: Put the story in a pot, Strain out the plot, Everything you have left, Was not taken by theft, But merely borrowed for a time, Please excuse this poor rhyme.
***
Draco was surprised. Surprise didn't come naturally to him. When it did rear its ugly head, it caused a chain reaction. Something extraordinary would surprise Draco, who would be surprised that he was surprised, and would be even more surprised that he was surprised that he was surprised, and so on. Draco getting surprised usually resulted in a few hours of stunned shock in which Draco mentally waded through all of his brain cells that were screaming "Oh!" at the top of their lungs. He would seek out the reason for his initial shock and find out exactly what he could have done to prevent being surprised.
The cause for this mental calamity was the unconscious Ginny Weasley. Draco had kissed many girls in his life. They had reacted with one of several predictable waves. Most kissed him back. A few slapped him. Virginia Weasley was the first to crumple into a faint.
And it wasn't even really a faint. It had happened slowly. First her knees had given out, but he had pinned her too tightly to let her fall. Next her hands went limp. Then her torso, her shoulders, her neck had all ceased to function, and the only thing that seemed to be alive on her entire person were her lips. She was kissing him back furiously as if trying to hold on to consciousness with the only weapon she had. And then, finally, they too went slack and he was holding a limp body, head gently lolling to one side.
He very carefully set her on the enormous couch and collapsed in the chair opposite her, studying her carefully. Her fingers were flexing in her slumber, her hands rotating slightly. He watched, mesmerized, as she twitched convulsively. A sound like a brick hitting a bag of wet cement spit the air, and Ginny flinched. Draco stared, horrified, as a dark purple bruise bloomed on her cheek where an invisible force had struck her.
Her body thrashed, arms clawing madly at an invisible force, mouth opening and throat straining in silent screams. Thinking that some form of evil in an invisibility cloak had attacked her, Draco lunged and punched the empty air, succeeding only in bloodying his knuckles on the wall. Nothing was there.
Still, the girl continued her silent wails, straining to free herself from the unseen, unfelt force. Then, like a stone launched from a slingshot, she rocked upward into a sitting position, eyes snapping open. "No, no, no... Please stop! I didn't mean to-I just wanted to wash my hands and the-no no no!" She choked out desperately, her voice hoarse and scratching, incapable of rising over a soft murmur.
Off balance from the number of events which had just taken place, Draco didn't even make a sarcastic remark. Instead, he gently supported her back and comforted her. "It's okay, it's okay. It was just a dream, just a very bad dream." Even so, they both knew it was more. Dreams didn't savage you-at least not in the real world.
Ginny wrapped her arms around him, nails digging into the fabric of his robes. Hysterical sobs racked her body as Draco gently rocked her back and forth. Slowly, the tears ceased their flow and she was reduced to mild hiccuping. " 'm sorry. Didn't mean to hurt you... Shouldn't've slapped you. Jus' made me so mad. Thank you for helping me." She murmured softly.
Draco abruptly became aware that he was hugging Ginny Weasley. Kissing was one thing, but hugging was quite another-it was intimate. He stood up and stepped back, ashamed of himself for touching her. "Yes," he said uncomfortably, "I was just making sure you weren't dead or anything. Didn't want to have to do all the work myself. For that I'm glad you're alive, Lava-for-brains, but I have to be going now."
He turned and half-walked, half-ran, away from the library, away from the scared stiff sixth year Gryffindor, away from himself.
***
Hermione groaned. For the past hour and a half, Ron had been berating her about her choice of routes. Harry had put a deafening charm on himself after the first twenty minutes, but she was allowed no such luxury. Every time she would try to use a spell to block out his endless berating, he would pause his tirade long enough to bellow "Finite Incantatem" and pick up from wherever he had left off.
"-stupid? I thought you were supposed to be the smart one of the little quartet Dumbledore formed. Looks like I was wrong. You put your-and our-safety in jeopardy just for the sake of a cushy mattress! I think you need to get your priorities straight Hermione, because... Hermione? Are you listening? Oh hell... Finite Incantatem!" Ron ranted.
Hermione sighed. She had actually managed to live through five minutes of blessed silence, only to be torn from her fairy-tale world by the cruel mouth of Ron. She realized that she had been in mortal peril, and that Ron had saved her life. She was extremely grateful to him, which was the only thing preventing her from strangling him on the spot. But enough was enough! She had made a mistake. It happened. Even Hermione Granger the infallible can make a mistake. Ron, however, didn't appear to realize that.
"-as irresponsible as Fred or George! Just running around, not even looking behind you, and then going into a deserted alley! That's like tacking a big red and white sign reading Just-Kill-Me-Now-And-End-The-Stupidity! Always thought you were smart, Hermione, but..."
Hermione sighed for what was possibly the fifty-seventh time and cut into his monologue. "As much as I enjoy being criticized, Ronald Terrence Weasley, we are nearing the next camping sight and I would appreciate if you didn't alert the entire forest of our presence." She snapped irritably.
After a few moments of silence, she heard a slightly muffled "Finite Incantatem" from behind her. She turned her head to see Harry shake his head, as if clearing his brain of something. He grinned at them.
"Thank god you two are done arguing. Or rather, thank god Ron is done voicing his part of a one-sided argument. While I do agree that Hermione's choice was a rather foolish one, and she didn't take necessary precautions, I don't see any reason to wear her eardrums out by going on for very near two hours." Harry reasoned in good humor. His comment was met by a silent thanks and a frosty glare.
All three members of the 'Dream Team' sighed simultaneously.
***
Ginny was still curled up on the Library couch, her tears having long dried into salty flakes on her cheeks. She kept playing the dream over in her mind, how the flawless hands had come pounding down on her body, leaving the bruises still aching and visible in the real world. Dimly, she wondered what would happen if she died in her dreams. Would her real-self die too?
She had certainly unnerved Draco with her crying. She doubted if he had ever been around a crying female in his life. Scratch that-he almost certainly had. She doubted whether he had ever cared that a female was crying in his life. Did it mean something that he had comforted her until he realized what he was doing, or was it just a natural instinct for any male to comfort sobbing terror-stricken girls?
Bruised, battered, and puzzled beyond comprehension, Ginny rolled off the couch and slowly made her way to the Gryffindor common room.
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Narcissa sat on her bed, staring at the mirror. Her long honey blond hair hung to her knees when she stood, but currently was pooled across the bedspread. Her eyes had been said to be her best feature when she was a girl-large cornflower blue pools-but that wasn't so anymore. Devoid of all expression, they seemed to have become lighter, colder. Her lips, which had once been full and pink were now constantly pinched in a grimace. Living with Lucious Malfoy had done this to her.
Narcissa was in her late thirties, but she was often said to look a decade younger then she really was. Perhaps that was the reason Lucious had kept her as long as he had. Lucious obsessed over beauty. If something seemed ugly, or even plain to him, he would kill or destroy it. Every morning Narcissa would meticulously apply exactly the right amount of the right shade of makeup, just the kind Lucious liked. Narcissa was indeed devoted to her husband. Not because she loved him, as many assumed, but because she had a very strong survival instinct.
Narcissa reached out and touched the mirror in front of her delicately. It rippled like a pond, distorting her reflection for a moment. When it came into focus, Narcissa almost jumped in horror. The girl had a gigantic bruise across her face! Oh no, she hadn't meant to go this far... The magic wasn't supposed to spread to physical pain, much less actually leave bruises. But then, was it really from Narcissa's meddling, or had the girl merely been clumsy, to get such a bruise?
The magic couldn't possibly have gone wrong, Narcissa had been far too careful for that. Months of meticulous study and countless testing had revealed that no pain would be inflicted on the subject. The most the girl could be receiving would be rather bad nightmares. But Narcissa's pain was fading already. The worst memories had vanished and she no longer had to put up with Lucious' constant raging fits, as long as she had a reflective surface with her at the time-which she always made sure she did. Narcissa felt slightly guilty for causing the girl such terrible visions, but the fact that they were only dreams softened the impact on the child.
"I'm sorry." Mrs. Malfoy whispered, and stroked the glass gently. The image rippled once again, and she fell into blissful sleep.
Lucious' hand rapped against the door.
***
A/N And the plot thickens... So, 'The Man with Beautiful Hands' isn't Draco after all. Hope I appeased all your fears, faithful reviewers. Please keep this humble author happy and make use of that fabulous little box down there. Thank you, and have a nice day.
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