Chapter One: Speed, Bonnie Boat
"You might as well stay."
As soon as she uttered it Ginny wanted to take it back. It was nearly the exact opposite of what she had said to him the last time she had spoken to him. She wasn't even sure why she said it to him; she would have liked to lay the blame on the irritation she felt lately with Ron, Fred, George, and her father -- and her childish compulsion to return some of that irritation to them by consorting with the enemy. Maybe it was just that in the stormy half-light that came in through the window of the smallest compartment on the Hogwarts Express, he looked very desolate and miserable and strangely old.
When she spoke, the figure across from her started ungracefully in mid-bend as he sat down. He really hadn't seen her when he came in. Still, he controlled his expression and met her eyes as he smoothly settled himself back into the cushions, stretching his long legs out and crossing his ankles before arching one dark eyebrow over an otherwise blank visage.
Ginny sat up on the opposite seat, swinging her legs over his to the floor and pushing herself upright. Her black-booted heels landed lightly on the carpet, and she noticed that they appeared to be wearing nearly identical footwear. Mentally pinching herself for losing her train of thought, she returned her attention to her unexpected companion. Still slightly surprised with herself, she continued more quickly than she would have liked.
"As it happens, I've just come from the front and the only remaining seats are with Weasleys. There's one seat next to Ron, one next to Fred if you don't mind his pointy elbows, and I suppose you could sit on George's lap if you could get Lavender Brown off it. Unless you want to stand in the corridor until we get there... or you can sit in here and have your own seat. And, when we get off we might both get the pleasure of seeing Ron get really hacked off." At the last, she was unable to suppress a mischievous grin, though she was slightly horrified with herself for imagining a potential scene at Hogsmeade Station in which hexes and jinxes turned even innocent bystanders into yellow-feathered toads. Or perhaps ferrets.
His expression didn't change. He sat, still as a statue, not blinking, looking at her -- no, looking through her. The seconds ticked by. Did he even hear me? Ginny wondered. Why didn't I keep my mouth shut? Do you pick up a wounded snake? Unnerved, she tried to think of some way to escape the whole situation. A dozen plans flashed through her mind. She would start laughing like it was a practical joke. She would grab her trunk and join with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, her recent arguments with Ron notwithstanding. She would hit Lavender and George with an Ice Water Charm so they would quit snogging and budge over to make room for her. She would stand in the corridor. Or sit on the floor in a first year compartment. Or throw herself off the train.
Just before she could move, he spoke. "So are you going to put a locking charm on the door, or should I?"
***
Blinking and rubbing at her eyes, Ginny tried to remember why her bed was rumbling and swaying. She closed her eyes again, going back over the events of the day. First, a shouting match with Ron over who would use the bath next. Really, it had been about the fact that Ron had seen Hermione leaving Harry's room that morning. He had stopped before rounding the corner at the bottom of the stairs, staring at the reflection in the mirror that faced the long hallway. Ginny had seen, too, when she opened her door to head to breakfast.
Any other summer, Ginny might have bickered with Ron just to keep his mind off his troubles. They had once been close enough to fight with fists and feet and everything forgotten an hour later. No longer. Still, she mightn't have minded if she thought that there was any chance that Ron had seen her too in the reflection, that he would confide in her and share his fears and hopes and secrets with her like he would have before he entered Hogwarts -- which made her decide that she wouldn't mention to Ron that she was fairly certain Hermione had only been waking Harry up. Let them work it out themselves.
Then, the fight between her mother and father about how to get to Kings Cross, the same every year, except this time even Harry and Hermione were exposed to the noise and confusion. Her father always wanted to take his latest car, which he could barely drive and which would surely attract the attention of a Muggle police officer. Then, there would be questions about licenses and insurance and how did they all fit in there, anyway? Followed by, of course, a fine from the Ministry of Magic and humiliation in the Daily Prophet, not to mention any Muggle penalties. Her mother wanted to Floo to Diagon Alley and take a Muggle taxi from the Leaky Cauldron, which meant they needed to leave as soon as possible. Of course, this led to the realization that it was too late anyway, the hurried breakfast, and the car ride during which Ginny sat with her eyes screwed tightly closed and her hands on her stomach because she didn't want to watch her father nearly run into everything in his path all because he loved to drive.
It could have been worse if her parents hadn't hurried quickly away after seeing their charges through the barrier to platform nine and three-quarters. Not knowing her family, the conductor had no idea who had caused the Hogwarts Express to leave behind schedule for the first time in more than fifty years. Knowing her family quite well, Ginny pushed her cart next to the twins and listened to them discuss with Lee Jordan possible reasons why the Exploding Owl Dungbombs, their latest invention (that they had tossed through open windows), hadn't cleaned themselves up after five minutes as she watched the conductor magically uncouple several cars and levitate them onto an adjacent track.
Finally, the conductor had allowed students onto the train and Head Girl Alicia Spinnet took it upon herself to direct students aboard. First and second years streamed through the back, third into the middle, and fourth and above boarded at the front of the train. Apparently each student had been waiting as far away on the platform as was possible from their boarding area, and chaos reigned as carts and luggage became entangled with sobbing mothers and Neville Longbottom's toad, which had sprouted wings and was swooping and diving over a herd of Hufflepuffs.
With several cars missing, each compartment seemed full of arms, legs, trunks, and animals. Ginny was one of the last onto the train, levitating her trunk down the corridor and glancing from side to side as she passed down the hallway. Amid the confusion, strange combinations of students were settling into the cars. In one, a glaring row of sixth-year Slytherins sat across from a cool-looking group of seventh-year Ravenclaws. A lone second-year Gryffindor was scrunched miserably into the corner of a crowded 5th-year Hufflepuff compartment, and only the first year students were isolated from the rest in two cars toward the rear.
Ginny didn't even stop as she passed by Ron's car, even though she could tell that there was room for one more with the fifth-year Gryffindors. The compartment with the twins proved to be too mushy for her taste, and the remaining cars were overcrowded with younger students.
Finally reaching the end of the train, Ginny looked out the window where normally a door would lead to another three cars. She pressed her forehead to the cool glass, wondering what to do next. Reaching for the wand that was tucked in her skirt pocket, she removed the concealment charms from her clothes. Her plain grey skirt and navy hand-me down jumper (formerly Percy's) reverted to black dragonhide boots that were a present from Charlie, dark grey trousers, and a black shirt. Molly Weasley would never had approved of the outfit; Ginny was just lucky that it was far simpler to make something unattractive than it was to make it more beautiful. She shook her hair out of its long plaits and let it fall down to her waist. Maybe she would use a Charm to create black lipstick and eyeliner and make an impression on some scared first years, telling them that Hagrid would eat you if he was hungry after dark, and that Flitwick had a tendency to make students disappear from class, never to return again. They'd never recognize her later.
As she turned around, Ginny noticed a door -- two doors, really -- on her right. The first years would have passed right by them, since they didn't match the sliding compartment doors. Where one door would be, two smaller doors with tiny knobs opened out into the corridor. Ginny opened one: a broom closet. The other: a narrow passage led around the closet to an empty half-size compartment behind.
Relieved, she had gone around to the seat that wasn't visible from the corridor and floated her trunk into the space above. She groped blindly on the shelf until she found a squashy pillow, and curled up on her side for a nap. The heavy black clouds outside, harbingers of an approaching storm, made it nearly dark even though it was just after noon.
She nearly had fallen asleep, she remembered, but the door had clicked open and shut again. Oh, and Draco Malfoy had come in.
Ginny sat up with a start.
***
He was still sitting there, and hadn't moved at all that she could see, except that his eyes were closed. Ginny squinted at her watch in the half-light, not wanting to light her wand and wake a sleeping dragon.
Ginny finally determined that, as best she could tell, she hadn't been sleeping more than an hour. And, as best she could tell, she hadn't been hexed or jinxed -- not that she wasn't well-versed in counterspells, growing up with the twins. Maybe Future Death Eaters like their victims to be awake, she thought darkly. She couldn't quite believe that she had fallen asleep but remembered that she had decided to pretend after locking the door against intruders.
When she had closed her eyes, Draco was staring out the window, his crossed arms and stern profile not inviting conversation. Now, she could stare without guilt. He had grown over the summer, as Harry and Ron had. She had, too, finally meeting her mother at five and a half feet. He must be a head taller than me, she thought, more than Harry and less than Ron. He was pale, without the slightest hint of color in his cheeks, and dark eyebrows were slightly gathered toward a straight nose. Only the circles under his eyes and slight scowl he wore marred his expression, and in the faint light from the window that painted all in shades of grey he looked like a statue Ginny had seen in a book about Greece. Still, even in his sleep he's horrid, he looks like he's dreaming of eating bubotubers.
But he wasn't asleep. "Like what you see, Weasley?" Draco drawled, without opening his eyes. Ginny grimaced, feeling a sudden flash of shame.
"I was just trying to see if you were awake or not."
Draco lazily opened one eye. "Why? Are we to sit here talking about our summer holidays? You went hungry, got blown up by one of your brothers, mooned about over Harry Potter, worshipped Muggles, went hungry?"
"Most summers, yes," replied Ginny, deadpan. No use denying the truth. "Well, except for the worshipping Muggles part, that's Dad's hobby. You've forgotten 'bought secondhand supplies in Diagon Alley' and 'received hand-me-down clothes from older brothers,' though," she finished thoughtfully. Ginny glanced over at Draco quickly. Was it her imagination, or had he almost smiled? "This summer, I went to Romania to visit my brother Charlie. Studies dragons, you know. And I got my mark. So that kept me away almost..." she trailed off, as Draco's face went from startled to confused to -- was he frightened? -- blank again, all in the space of a few words.
"Your mark." It wasn't a question, but a statement. Almost without expression, he continued, "Let's see it, then."
Ginny fought down the smirk that threatened. If he wants to order me about without waiting for explanations, he can face the consequences. It's too bad I won't get to see his face. Standing up, she turned around, crossed her arms, and grasped the hem of her shirt with both hands.
***
"Weasley?" Draco choked out. Damn, he knew he was handsome, but women didn't usually strip for him in broad daylight on the school train. Well, there had been that one time when he, Crabbe, and Goyle had been sharing a compartment with Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson, but he had been happy to slip away to the food cart while that was going on. Luckily, whatever had happened was finished before he returned, and all he ever got out of questioning Crabbe and Goyle was mumbling about lace and thongs and garter belts. "Usually, you can just push up your sleeve..."
She lifted her shirt about six inches, and then he saw it.
It was truly beautiful. Slowly, he stretched out his hand to touch the Muggle tattoo on her back. A dragon in shades of pale silver-blue with piercing green eyes hovered in mid-flight against the milk-white skin in the curve on the left side of her back. He knew it couldn't move, but the way it curled around with its wings spread made it seem like it was about to spring from her back and spout fire. All of a sudden, Draco felt a ferocious ache to have such a dragon inked on his own skin. Forgetting for a moment where he was and everything else, he painstakingly ran one finger over the dragon from tip to tail.
Was this what my mother was thinking of when she chose my name? His mother, a thought so painful he jerked his hand away. For a second, he squeezed his eyes shut, hearing her summer voice again. You must not show emotions, Draco, because that only leads to injury. No use thinking of that now; there were secrets to be kept. Draco struggled to compose his features, and it was a long moment later before he found his voice. Distract her. "Break into Gringotts for this one, then?" Did that sound offhand enough?
It must have. She tugged her shirt into place and turned back around. "Actually, this one was free. It was the other one that took all my savings, after I had paid the initiation fees."
She tugged at the collar of her shirt and bent forward. Draco's mouth went dry. If one of her brothers walks in right now, I am going to be transfigured into a canary forever, he thought resentfully before leaning forward. "Your chest is probably as freckled as your face. So you ought to keep those things covered, Weasley." He leaned a bit farther forward, not really able to see anything but curious all the same.
She should have been angry. Instead, she had an odd expression on her face that was a mixture of disbelief and surety. He wasn't sure what to make of this, but it did inform him that she knew he couldn't actually see down her shirt. He sighed, defeated, and she pointed her finger very deliberately at a spot under her right collarbone. Draco lifted his wand and pointed it at her chest. Ginny didn't flinch. Very good, Weasley, he thought.
Draco cleared his throat. "Lumos."
***
Ginny looked at the top of Draco's silvery-blond head where it nearly bumped her chin. She knew what he was seeing by wandlight: another dragon tattoo, smaller than a Knut, that would move for a bit after it was touched. She ran her finger over it, and out of the corner of her eye saw it spread its wings and breathe a miniature cloud of ink. He continued to examine it, and Ginny could feel his breath on her chest. There, the warm air tickled on her skin in sharp contrast to where she could still feel his ice cold touch on her back. She had shivered, almost shuddered, really. Did he see?
Draco sat back abruptly, and she straightened her shirt as she sat back down. Ginny forced herself to look up at Draco and was surprised to see the reluctant admiration written on his face. He spoke first. "Where in the world did you get that? How is it done? I've never heard of a tattoo that could be enchanted. In fact, I've been told that it can't be done."
"I can't tell you," Ginny began, but was cut off.
"Yes, can't tell me, because I might create an animated Dark Mark next summer holiday at Future Death Eater camp," snapped Draco, his black mood back again.
"No, I can't tell you because I don't know how it was done. I had to take a sleeping potion before it could be put on, and the Dragonriders Society keeps it a secret," Ginny replied evenly.
"Dragonriders? You aren't a boy. Dragonriders are boys," Draco condescended, "and usually, they are also burnt to a crisp."
"As it happens, Charlie and all of his colleagues at the research facility are junior members, and they encouraged me to take the tests this summer. I only had to ride on one dragon, and as I'm not dead, the society was quite pleased to take my money. Probably needed it, too, since to become a full member you have to complete ten dragon rides and they like to send a few Galleons when one of their members is 'burnt to a crisp.'"
Draco wasn't sure if she was joking or not, now.
With one part of his consciousness, Draco listened to Ginny's tales of her summer holiday. How Charlie hadn't been able to stop talking about dragons, how everyone at the reservation had been feeding her facts all summer, how she had been reluctant to take the Dragonriders Society test, and how she had piloted a baby Swedish Shortsnout once around its cage. When she faltered, or focused her attention on him, or got that slightly panicky look that to him meant 'oh Godric, I'm blathering in front of a Slytherin' he would nod or murmur a question the way his father had taught him. Listen until they tell you what you want to hear, son.
He let her soft voice wash over him like a warm spring breeze. He tried to half-focus on it, let it distract him. With the rest of his mind he concentrated on controlling the blue-green ache that had begun to blossom from the center of his chest, squeezing his heart and throat. Slowly, he denied it until it was a cold arrow shaft, burning but confined. With effort, Draco pulled himself up through the darkness and back to the compartment. He watched Ginny's face as she scowled, suddenly.
"...And I was mad at Charlie for keeping his plans a secret all summer, but then the test administrator was there, and I thought, better a mark that I chose than a mark I didn't." Ginny colored, pressing her lips together tightly as if she knew she had gone too far.
Draco knew that he should make some retort to this, but the mere thought of the effort needed to open his mouth exhausted him. Racking his tired brain for something, anything to say, he slowly opened his mouth. "Well, I..."
Her stomach rumbled. Saved, he thought, relief washing over him. This he could handle with very little thought. "Ah well, back to normal life, eh, Weasley? Bet you wish you hadn't spent all your money on a useless tattoo. Can't eat that."
"Percy sent me money for the cart," Ginny said, looking at her watch, "but -- oh no, we'll have missed her! Why didn't she come in?"
"Locking Charm, remember? Probably didn't think anything of it, in front of this door. Although, it would have been simple enough for anyone with half a brain to give it a password, something like 'anything off the cart, dearies?'" Draco finished in a remarkably accurate imitation of the round little witch who went around selling cakes and sweets at the beginning of each train trip.
Ginny looked contrite. "You'll have missed lunch, too, and it will be several hours until the feast."
Draco frowned at her. Why didn't she complain about being insulted? Insult him back? Leave, for crying out loud? "In return, you may watch me eat my last Chocolate Frog. All by myself," he added, pulling a small five-sided box from his pocket and flipping the top open. The frog gave one croak and catapulted itself past his outstretched fingers and right into Ginny's lap. It couldn't get any worse.
***
It was worse. Ginny had turned up the lamps and set up the tiny folding leaf table that was hinged onto the outer wall, and was muttering under her breath at the frog in her left hand while waving her wand in strange patterns with her right. What was she going to do? Curse the frog, then feed it to him? She tossed the frog onto the table and leaned back.
Draco ducked as a loud pop rattled the windows. On the table were two steaming mugs of chocolate, a pair of oranges, and a platter of ham and cheese sandwiches on thick slices of rye bread.
"No caviar?" choked Draco, after a second.
"I could only stretch it so far," Ginny replied, shrugging, as she bit into a sandwich.
***
Ginny pretended to read chapter three of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four for the seventh time in two hours. There were helpful notes scribbled in the margins by all six of her brothers (some annotated by Percy), and cartoons of various teachers and students, most of them uncomplimentary. Sighing mentally, Ginny began to skim through the rest of the chapters. She knew most of the spells in this book already, anyway. Having six older brothers try them out over summers forced one to keep a step ahead or face the consequences.
Flipping to the end of chapter eleven, animal conjuring spells, a particularly nasty sketch caught her eye. Draco Malfoy stood in the margin, with the word serpensortia curling off of his forked tongue. He also had horns and a goatee. The words 'I want to have You-Know-Who's baby' were crowded onto his shirt in tiny print. Ginny quickly turned the page and mentally recited the spell for creating bunnies over and over until she thought she could risk glancing up without bursting into uncontrollable laughter.
Draco hadn't thanked her for lunch. He hadn't said anything at all, not even to chide her because the oranges tasted slightly of chocolate. He just turned his face to the wall, his expression drawn and blank again. Finally, she had taken out her schoolbooks to try to keep herself occupied.
Ginny felt an unexpected flash of concern. Malfoy was nearly always loud, the center of any group of Slytherins, and obnoxious to a fault. Is he sick? she thought, and then I wonder if it's catching. In any case, something was wrong. Something more than just his normal lovely personality. I probably should have been at least jinxed by now.
With a loud snap, Ginny closed her book. Draco didn't flinch. Reaching forward, Ginny raised the window shade and peered out. The train had been moving very slowly for several miles now, and the storm blew with such intensity it drowned out the clacking of the wheels. It was too dark to see anything outside, even when she doused the lamp to dissolve its reflection in the glass. She sat back onto the bench across from Draco, wondering briefly if he was dead, he was so still.
After a moment, she realized that the only sound she could hear was the howling of the storm. Pressing her forehead against the glass of the window, Ginny could just see the dim lights of Hogsmeade Station at the far end of the platform. The train had come to a stop so gradually she hadn't even noticed.
Exclaiming something rather unladylike, Ginny touched her wand to her clothes to return them to school standards. Flipping her trunk down from the overhead shelf, she frantically pulled out a set of robes and pulled them over her head before threading her hair into two plaits and coiling them around her head like a crown. Slamming the trunk closed, she spun to face the door.
Draco hadn't moved at all. "Malfoy. Malfoy, get moving." No response. Probably can't hear over the wind. She grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him gently. "Malfoy, we're here," she said, turning his face toward hers with one hand.
He blinked once, twice. A tiny glow of relief settled in Ginny's stomach. She watched as his blank features rearranged themselves into recognition, and he leaned forward. Ginny dropped her arms, ready to step out of the way so he could get up, but before she could move his icy hands were gripping her face.
He was kissing her.
And it hurt.
***
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Draco and Ginny belong to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic, Warner Bros and various other corporations. They are being used here without permission and/or affiliation with the above. None of the authors listed here make any profit from these stories.