Jewel of the Harem: The Grindelwald Continuum Book One

Robin cleared his throat, stepped forward, and grabbed Ginny's arm. "Jamie wants these fish we've cleaned before we go on watch, George," he said. "We must leave. Now."

Draco stepped in front of Ginny as she tried to get up, blocking her path. "So, that's your name, is it, boy? George?"

Ginny mumbled something incoherent, fear stabbing through her.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," sneered Draco. He grabbed the thin, small arm that protruded from the swirling dark cloak the strange boy wore, and tried to pull him around.

Ginny felt his hands on hers. His fingers, each one separate and distinct, were pressing into her skin. And even though it was Pansy's skin, Pansy's arm, Pansy's body, it still felt like being touched by fire. She remembered the last time she had touched her in the room at the inn, and it was as if no time at all had passed between that moment and this. Once again, she was as she had been then-- helpless, quivering, melting under his touch. No, oh God, no!

His other hand was moving up towards her cloak. In another instant, he would pull it off. The scrap of enchanted cloth protecting her would fall to the deck, and he would see Pansy Parkinson. She saw Draco's fingers move closer to the fastening at her neck, closer and closer and closer and--

WHAM!

The world exploded in a sea of fish guts.

Draco's head emerged from a deluge of mackerel whose scales exactly matched the shade of his wide eyes. His mouth gaped as wide as any of theirs as he made little stuttering sounds.

"I--you- it--"

"Beg pardon, sir, beg pardon!" said Robin. "I've always been so clumsy, you see. Even as a child in my village, they'd never let me carry the milk. I would confuse it with the manure. Happened all the time, and it did nothing to improve the cheese. And as for the village midden heap--"

"I'll have you whipped! Both of you! "spluttered Draco, clawing at the fish tails that were falling out of his ears. "Or--or keel-hauled! Or whatever it is they do on board this horrible ship--"

"But, but terrible sorry, sir, really I am- here--let me straighten your cloak, like so-" Robin began pulling at Draco's robes, and somehow managed to stuff a very large fish head down the front of his shirt.

"Get your hands off me!" Draco shrieked, stumbling backwards. Robin tipped forward, and for some odd reason, the rest of the fish guts splattered Draco's once-immaculate collar. Ginny had a horrible and completely inappropriate urge to laugh.

"Ooh! You'll never get mackerel out of linen, indeed you won't, sir. Or so me mum always said, and she was the washerwoman in our village, so she was. Here, let me help--" This time, Ginny was fairly certain that she caught a wink from Robin as he deliberately stuffed a herring head down the back of Draco's trousers.

"Touch me again, ever again," snarled Draco, "and I'll throw you overboard myself! I'll--I'll-- " He glared at them both for a moment, moving his lips as if the words to express his indignation simply did not exist. Then he whirled around and stomped across the deck, towards the stern cabins.

Ginny let out a breath that she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. "Thank you," she said, when she could speak again.

"Don't mention it," said Robin, graciously, and together they brought the cleaned fish back to Jamie.

Ginny followed Robin with a curiously light feeling in her chest. A burden shared is a burden halved, her mother had always said. But could I share this burden? She wondered. Would it be fair? Could I really trust Robin? I think... I think maybe I could. They would have watch together later tonight. Perhaps when they were alone at the top of the mizzenmast, away from everyone else, she would be able to unburden her heart a little.

Fish scales floated in the water as Draco scrubbed himself for the ninth or tenth time in a row. He leaned back against the inside of the wooden barrel tub with a gusty sigh. Thank God we can still do freshwater charms, at least! I never realized that one doesn't need a wand, for those... but I can't do them... And he couldn't. He'd had to ask Crabbe, who looked at him oddly and grunted something incoherent at the barrel of seawater. Draco hadn't even been able to tell what he'd said, but the spell had obviously worked. It rankled at him horribly that even Crabbe could do simple wandless magic like that, and he couldn't. Draco sank down in the tub until he felt the hot water rise up to his chin, and stared at the opposite wall without seeing it.

Would I have been able to do wandless magic in my own time and place, if I ever needed to? Is it only that I'm here, so far from everything I've ever known?

Sometimes, he was sure that was the explanation. Draco found himself dreaming of Hogwarts. He had thought that he hated the place, that he would have been quite happy to never set foot there again. Yet it haunted him in the earliest hours of the morning before dawn. Again and again, he woke gasping from those dreams, staring wildly into the dark, close confines of his little cabin. It wasn't that the dreams were frightening, because they certainly weren't. It was just that they had called up sense-memories of the place so powerfully, so thoroughly that Draco's dream-self was convinced he had returned, and was always joyful and relieved. Everything that had happened in the past weeks seemed itself to be only a fever dream. And always, always, it was the little things that convinced him. Sunlight on the stones. The clock tower. The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. The valley, the mountains, the sun glimmering on the lake, the railroad bridge over its sparkling waters where he liked to go sometimes and be alone.

He felt miserable and stupid and out of place on board this ship, in this here, this now. The crew were all beneath his notice, as he told himself repeatedly, and anyway they spoke with such strange accents that it was sometimes difficult to recognize anything they said as being in English. Only Snape ever spoke to him at any length, and that was only during his interminable lessons. His father seemed to spend all of his time closeted with the other Death Eaters in one of their cabins. Draco was never brought in on the plans, whatever they were. And Narcissa was like a silent shadow. The sailors didn't like having a woman aboard; they all thought it was bad luck. So she kept to her cabin, emerging only at night, when Draco had history lessons with Snape. He almost never saw her.

There were times when Draco went to sit by Ginny in her cabin, during the hours between his lessons and his meals. But she always lay as still as a marble statue, never giving the slightest response to him. He pressed his hands along the barrier between them sometimes, ignoring the painful little shocks to his palms, but he was never able to get inside it. He spoke to her sometimes, but he knew that she didn't hear him. He was never sure if Lucius Malfoy knew that he sat in Ginny's cabin, and he never tried to find out. Actually, Draco hoped that he didn't know. His continued failure could only be a disappointment to his father, but he tried not to think about that. He could get to Ginny soon; Snape had said that the charm separating her from the world would wear off, in time. So he wished himself into a waiting state, as fidgety and uncomfortable as a pair of too-tight shoes. Alienated and restless, he threw himself into his studies, too, succeeding at everything but the yatagan.

He was not quite anywhere. He was waiting to arrive somewhere. At night he would stand on the foredeck and listen to the soft sound of the crew singing on watch, and the sounds of the boat as it slipped through the waves, and the ever-changing sound of the sea itself. His mind spun, sometimes, with the complexity of everything that had already happened. Yet in a way it was really very simple. And sometimes, in the darkest part of the night, he admitted it to himself. Like a lodestone, Ginny Weasley had pulled him. She lay at the heart of his strange journey, and be the path ever so tortuous, it must lead to her at last. He tried not to think about what would happen if she never woke, although whenever he sat by her side in her little cabin and looked down at her still, white face, it seemed impossible that she ever would. And in the morning, Draco had a way of denying that he had ever thought any of these things.

The water was growing cold around his shoulders now. Time had slipped away from him again, and he had no idea how long he had been sitting there, thinking. Draco gave a deep sigh, and stepped out of the tub, reaching for a towel. The door opened.

Lucius Malfoy stepped into the room, his long black cloak swirling about him.

Draco stared stupidly at his father for what felt like at least a full minute. He could feel water dripping off his body onto the rug, and he knew without seeing himself that his hair stood out in a thousand wet cowlicks, as it always did after he'd had a bath and before he'd combed it. Then he felt his towel slipping, and grabbed at it hastily, still unable to speak. He'd scarcely seen Lucius Malfoy since the night they had all come on board. When he had failed so completely at forming any sort of bond with Ginny Weasley.

"Draco," he said.

"Father," said Draco, trying desperately to match the older man's utterly calm and even tone. The towel began to fall off again. "Uh--I'm not really dressed--"

"Yes, I see that." Lucius took in the room, and his nostrils quivered. "Is that a fish head on the floor?"

"Uh, yes, it probably is. There was an incident with a, um... a basket of fish."

"A basket of fish," repeated Lucius.

"With, er, a couple of those half-wit sailors. The crew on this ship is totally incompetent, and impertinent as well-- I'd like to see these two punished. Whipped, or whatever it is they do here. Surely we could--"

"I'm sure none of them are fit to clean out a privy," said Lucius in an uninterested voice. "That's no concern of ours, however."

Draco finally got the towel tied into a knot at his hip. He felt the cold of the room striking his wet skin, and groped around for his robe, which should have been hung on a nail driven into the wall. But he couldn't quite seem to find it, and he scrabbled and searched, turning his face away. He couldn't tell if his skin was growing red yet, but he thought it might easily be starting to do so. His complexion was too fair to hide any trace of a blush.

Lucius studied his son. "Have you been eating enough?"

You certainly wouldn't know, as you don't take any of your meals with me, Draco longed to say. "Yes," he mumbled. He could feel his father's eyes on him.

"You look very thin. Thinner than you ever were at home. Have you lost weight?"

"It's all the exercise I'm getting, "said Draco, finally finding the robe. "I've got yatagan practice with Snape four hours a day."

"Yes, I know," said Lucius. "I've heard all about that."

Draco could feel the blood rising in his cheeks now. He busied himself with shaking imaginary wrinkles out of the robe.

"Get dressed, Draco," said Lucius. "I'd like to speak with you about something."

As soon as his father left the room, Draco let the robe fall from his nerveless fingers onto the floor. He stood in the center of the room, breathing hard. Then he dressed swiftly and went out into the little corridor, where he knew that Lucius Malfoy was waiting.

They walked down the dark hall with its low ceiling together. Lucius stopped in front of a door and gave Draco an inquisitive look. Draco felt his heart begin to race. It was the door to Ginny's room. The last time they'd been in here together was nearly a month ago, now. He knows. He's got to know... The door swung open, and Draco forced himself to walk through it. Lucius took a chair, and motioned Draco to sit in the other.

"What's this all about?" he asked, regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. They made him sound... guilty.

"We've had very little chance to talk on this voyage," said his father.

Maybe because you haven't said five words to me in the past month, thought Draco. He nodded guardedly.

"Your studies are going well?"

"Yes, very well."

"What are you learning?"

Draco was sure that his father must know the answer to that question already, but he told him anyway, putting off the moment when the true purpose Lucius Malfoy had in taking his son to this room would come out. "The history of the Ottoman Empire, and of the Seljuk Turks. I know the entire line of Osman now. The Turkish language, of course. I'm learning to write Arabic, and I've got through a deal of Persian poetry. Uh... palace architecture..."

"And the yatagan."

"Yes." Draco squirmed just the tiniest bit. He couldn't help it.

"Snape tells me that all your other studies are going very well," said Lucius.

"Mm-hm," answered Draco, trying not to look at the motionless, prone figure of Ginny in the little bed to his right. But the room was too small to avoid seeing her completely.

"You spend quite a bit of time studying, I suppose."

"Yes." Where on earth is this going?

"Some places are better than others, I'm sure," said Lucius. "Is there some quality about this room that you find particularly helpful?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Draco stiffly.

"Draco, I don't have time for games," Lucius said impatiently, dropping the silky tone of his voice as if he had lost tolerance even for that. "I know that you were here last night for hours, and I highly doubt it was the only time you've been in this room since the last time we were both here."

"Nobody told me that I wasn't to come in here," mumbled Draco. Damn Crabbe to all the hells I can think of! He saw me go in or out of the room, and he went and told my father. I knew it. It had to be him. That's why he gave me that queer look tonight, when he was charming the seawater...

"No, they didn't. And I'm not displeased," said Lucius. "Don't think that." He leaned closer to his son, and Draco could smell the dark complex scent of the soap that his father had always used. "Draco, why do you come here?" he asked.

"I don't know," said Draco, and it was the simple truth.

"Do you believe that you can see something through Ginny Weasley, even without her having yet awakened... without being able to touch her? Is that the reason?" Lucius asked softly.

"I, I really--I really don't know." Snape said that trying to get at Ginny again wasn't wise. He can't know about this, Draco realized in a sudden flash of intuition.

When Lucius spoke again, his words were softer still. "Will you try?"

Draco could do nothing but agree.

He stood by Ginny's side, looking down at her. Not a ringlet of her glossy copper hair had moved since she'd been put into trance a month before. Her dark golden eyelashes cast little shadows on her milky white skin, and her pink lips were slightly parted. It was like staring at a waxwork in a museum. Lucius stood behind Draco, so that he could only see the dark shape of his father out of the corner of his eye. But he heard his soft, silky voice.

"I want you to try to see into that other world again, Draco. The same one you saw before. I want you to make a connection."

Draco closed his eyes. He had never felt so utterly disconnected from even the slightest possibility of doing magic of any sort, much less something that seemed as impossible as this. "What do you want to see, Father?" he asked.

Lucius smiled slightly, just the smallest stretching of the lips. "Can you see anything to order, Draco?"

I don't think I can see anything at all, though Draco.

"Well, we shall see what we shall see. But if I could choose, I would choose to see this world's end," said Lucius.

"Its end?" asked Draco, startled. "What on earth do you mean? The end of what?"

Lucius hesitated. "We have made some discoveries in the past month about the nature of this alternate reality," he said carefully. "They're based on what you already learned about it, but we can go no further without more information. I have questions about its... stability."

We? Who's we? Has Father figured all this out with Snape? And if he has, then why wouldn't have Snape have told me something? Of course... nobody tells me anything. Or has he, with Lord Grindelwald? That can't be. He couldn't even see the Dark Lord. I could... but I haven't been allowed to.

"Will you try?" repeated Lucius, watching his son closely.

"I've already said that I will," said Draco.

He stepped closer to Ginny. He took a deep breath, and held his hands out above her, thinking that if he at least got as close to her as he could, it might help this effort. He tried to cast his memory back to the precise state of mind one needed to be in just before casting any spell. Open. Receptive. Ready to let the power pass through. Magic is something that passes through. Just as Snape said. Magic isn't something that anybody has. Be, therefore, a vessel... ready to be filled...

Draco stood and stared at Ginny, feeling like a dry cup. He heard the soft lap-lap of the waves against the ship's hull. He felt the impatience that radiated from his father, standing behind him. And he saw her immobile face, frozen in sleep or trance or suspended animation or whatever the hell this really was. But nothing else. He could no more see visions than a Muggle.

Long minutes passed. "Do you see anything?" Lucius asked. Quite unnecessarily, Draco thought, since the surge of magic would be unmistakable if he had. He shook his head. More time went by.

"Well?" Lucius asked.

"No," Draco said tightly.

After what must have been at least another fifteen minutes, Lucius gave a long, displeased-sounding sigh. "I suppose we may as well not waste any more time here." He turned away.

Draco realized that his father had not even waited for his reply.

They left the room. Draco tried not to look at Lucius at all. A choking sensation rose in his throat, and all he wanted to do was to get back to his cabin and lie down and be quiet. But I can't. I've got history lessons with Snape. Gods, but I just want to get out of here. Yet he kept sneaking quick looks at his father as they walked out of the room, afraid to see the look of disappointment he was sure he would find. But he did not; there seemed no emotion on Lucius Malfoy's face at all. It was already closed and cold.

"Snape said she'll wake up in a month," said Draco as he closed the door, unable to bear the silence a moment longer.

"I suppose so," said Lucius.

"I'm sure this will work then."

"Well, perhaps."

"Maybe if I tried it with Snape here..." Draco began, tentatively.

"Some other time, maybe. I'm late for a meeting," said Lucius, starting down the corridor at a fast pace and clearly not expecting Draco to keep up.

Draco took a deep breath. "Don't you think I could be a bit more useful if I were invited to these meetings?"

"No," said Lucius.

"Don't you think it would be a bit more helpful if I were told something about the plans that were being made? Anything?" Draco could hear his voice rising, but couldn't seem to stop it.

"You'll have your part to play, Draco," said Lucius. "Frankly, your lack of success to date hasn't exactly inspired me with confidence about it."

"I brought Ginny on board in the first place, didn't I?" retorted Draco.

"Yes," said Lucius dismissively. "But if we hadn't been forced to chase after you as we did, I highly doubt we'd be in this situation now. Ginny would be awake, the two of you could have bonded, and we'd know a great deal more than we do."

Draco had no answer to that. He felt his anger draining out of him, like air from an enchanted balloon. They stopped briefly at the doorway that led to the deck.

"Snape should be down in his cabin by now," said Lucius. "Go to your studies with him, Draco." He paused. "You have much to learn."

He went, trying to wipe his mind clean of everything that had happened in the past hour.

Draco glanced up from a bound page covered in flowing Arabic script. "What is the Jewel at the Heart of Istanbul?" he asked.

Snape looked at him over the piles of books and parchment heaped upon the small desk in his private cabin, his dark eyes shrewd. "Ah, so you've reached that point in your reading, have you?"

"Yes... it was in the journal of Al-Rashid." Draco tapped the bejeweled cover of the book he held. "He's the same one I talked to through the Book of Dreams, you know. Before we ever came here. But tell me, Snape--don't change the subject. Is that the jewel we're looking for, the Jewel of the Harem?"

"It is," replied Snape. "It is hidden at the heart of Istanbul. Unfortunately, no-one knows exactly where that is... but if we can get into the complex of palaces, we stand a much better chance of finding it."

Draco leaned forward, his face intent. They had a full course of study planned for that night, but it would just have to wait. This was one of the very rare moments when Snape seemed in the mood to explain much of anything to him, and his former Potions Master was, of course, the only person on board who ever exchanged more than five words with him anyway. Aside from my father, today... and that was much worse than nothing. He wasn't going to let this chance pass, if he could help it.

"But Al-Rashid said that the Jewel had been there since time immemorial, as he put it. How can it have anything to do with Grindelwald, or with the Dark Lord?"

"Do you know what a Horcrux is, Draco?" asked Snape.

Draco's brow furrowed. "I think I read something about it in the Malfoy library once... it's very dark magic, isn't it?"

"It is. But extremely powerful magic as well, as the Dark Arts indeed tend to be. It preserves a part of one's soul in a magical object, one's essence... one's very being."

"What does that mean, exactly?" asked Draco.

"Think, Draco. If you split off your soul into several Horcruxes, and keep them safe and well preserved, what happens if someone tries to kill you?"

Draco thought about that. "Well... your body would die, I suppose. But your soul couldn't. It would be saved in the Horcruxes."

"Precisely."

"But... did V--the Dark Lord, I mean, did he do that?"

"He considered it. But in the end, he did not." The candle at the little table flickered low, casting strange shadows on Snape's austere face. "And the Dark Lord knows, now, that perhaps his greatest mistake was in not taking advantage of the power that Horcruxes would have provided. That is why he cannot take full shape and form--why even raising Grindelwald cannot yet help him. But the power of the Jewel is great."

"So... it can work like a Horcrux?"

"It can. At least, we believe so..." Snape's words trailed off, and he stared into the dancing shadows the candle cast on the wall. "The Jewel has powers no man can know. We can only try to tap those powers for our own uses, but I believe we will succeed in that. And certainly, there is no other hope of bringing together the forces of the two Dark Lords, and unifying the timelines."

"But how can we get into the secret places in Istanbul to begin with?" Draco asked curiously. "I mean, I know something about the Ottoman Empire now. It was... is... a completely closed system. The palaces, the harem--well, especially the harem--there's no way at all into those. Not for outsiders."

"We're still working on that point," said Snape. "It will not be easy. But there are ways. That is not important, Draco--not your concern, just yet."

Draco groaned inwardly. I should've known he'd only be willing to answer questions for just so long! "And when will it be my concern?" he asked, trying to keep the resentment out of his voice. "I mean, it has to be, eventually. What are we waiting for?"

"Draco," said Snape, shooting him a sharp glance. "Have you relived the memories from last Christmas yet? The ones you would not show me, when I probed your mind?"

"What?" Draco was badly startled.

"Well, have you?"

"Uh, well... "

"Yes, or no?"

"What difference could it possibly make if I did?" Draco asked evasively.

"You cannot master the yatagan, Draco," said Snape. "You are making no progress."

Draco flushed. "I practice," he mumbled.

"I know that you do. I've worked with you, and I've seen you. But you are not improving."

"What could that possibly have to do with what happened last Christmas?"

Snape seemed to be considering whether or not to tell him something. At last, he spoke. "I believe that your effort to contain these memories is taking too much mental discipline, Draco. And that is exactly what the yatagan requires."

"I don't see why that thing is so important anyway," said Draco, his voice surly. "I mean, if it's only a matter of fighting, I suppose it would be helpful. But is it really going to be as important as all that to know how to fight with Muggle weapons?" He could not keep the scorn out of his voice at those last words, and he did not try very hard.

"The yatagan is no Muggle weapon, Draco," said Snape, his voice suddenly icy. "This is precisely why you cannot master it. You do not understand its nature. And that is something that cannot be explained. You must feel it, just as you felt the power of your wand!" He grabbed Draco's right hand and traced the faint calluses still marked on the inner part of his thumb, and along his forefinger, from years of wand use. "You must feel it in your very flesh," Snape said in a quieter tone. "And you do not."

Draco swallowed hard. He wondered suddenly if his father had told Snape about the fiasco that night in Ginny's cabin. No. Surely not. I don't think he wants anybody else to know. Otherwise, he wouldn't have waited until he knew that Snape was up on deck... Should I tell Snape, then? Not now... not yet... I'll wait. "Is that why I can't make the connection with Ginny Weasley?" he asked, almost inaudibly. "Is that why I can't learn more?"

Snape nodded, his eyes still fixed on Draco's.

"Do you think... do you think that I'll be able to, when she wakes up?"

"I hope so," said Snape. "There is so much we must learn from her, and through her. And then, too, we need a talisman that we can use as a Horcrux now. We need one that can preserve Lord Grindelwald, because at the moment, he is existing as little more than a spirit. "

Draco felt a certain sense of relief on hearing that. It must be the reason why I haven't been called in to speak with him yet on this voyage. Yes, I'm sure that's it. "Couldn't we use the Book of Dreams?" He thought of the magical book, buried at the very bottom of the chest at the foot of his little bed.

"No. It is a magical object that has a purpose too specific, and far too tied to one of the Endless. It is the book of Lord Morpheus, remember. We need something else. Do you know what it is, Draco?"

"The locket Ginny wears," guessed Draco. "And we can't get at it."

"Exactly so." Then he let go the boy's hand, and cleared his throat. The candle flame leaped up and burned steadily, as if in its own reply. "Let's move on, Draco. What are the ninety-nine names of Allah?"

Draco felt rather relieved to be off the entire subject, as well. "The Prophet Muhammad said--"

"Don't forget to say, 'Peace be upon him,'" prompted Snape.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Why do I have to say that when it's just us? I don't care if Muhammad has peace upon him or not. Even if we're counting from right now, he's been dead for almost a thousand years anyway."

"If you are among Muslims, Draco, you must know how to speak in a language they will understand."

Draco turned sharply. "So we're going to meet with people of this time in Istanbul eventually, is that it? People who believe in this sort of god, and his prophet?"

"Return to your recitation, Draco."

"And it doesn't make much sense to learn how to speak like them unless I'm going to pretend to be one of them." Draco looked keenly at his teacher. "What am I going to be doing, Snape? Who must I pretend to be?"

Snape looked as if he were about to make a sharp retort for a moment, but he ended up only sighing. "If I could tell you, Draco, I would."

Draco muttered something inaudible to his parchment.

"Do you believe me?"

Draco looked up at Snape. His face was impassive, but his onyx-black eyes were glittering. "Yes," Draco said in resigned tones. "I do. All right then. The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, said: 'To God belongs 99 names, 100 minus 1, anyone who memorizes them will enter Paradise...'"

But none of the facts he recited, or the names he had memorized, or the history he repeated, made him forget Snape's nod.

You must feel it in your very flesh...

"But I do," he whispered, standing on deck an hour later, looking out into the unfathomable darkness of the ocean that rolled endlessly past him. Oh, how I feel it! He remembered the yearning he had felt when he stood by Ginny's side and stared down at her, and knew that however strong the sensations were, he was feeling the wrong thing. He sighed, and let his gaze travel up to the mast. Two little figures moved around in the little platform tucked into the riggings, flooded with light from the nearly full moon. He watched them for a few moments.

Six bells rang out in the clear night air. Ginny heard their pealing as she stood in the crow's nest of the bonaventure top, feeling the cool wind riffling her unevenly shorn hair, staring out to the sea below.

"Eleven o'clock, and all's well," Robin called out beside her, down to the helm. Ginny always asked Robin to call the watch when they worked with each other, as they often did.

Friends were generally scheduled together, Robin had told her. On a voyage like this, when nearly all the crew was made up of petty criminals who would have cheerfully slit each other's throats for a handful of pennies, such opportunities for an amiable watch were all too rare. And after a number of crude jokes about smooth cheeks and sailor love, the others had accepted them as each others' mates, and left them mostly to themselves. Although, thought Ginny, Tuke always seemed to be looking for some excuse to have her punished. The hourglass had eventually been found, but it had not improved his temper where she was concerned. But he generally could never quite find her, or overlooked her when she was right under his nose, and would go off grumbling something about a limb of Satan under his breath, and vowing that the very next time he caught that lackwit George, he'd make the boy pay. Thank God for the shadow cloak! she thought.

"Robin?" she asked softly.

"Aye?"

"Do you think Draco could really have us whipped?"

Robin shrugged. "Mayhap, if he remembers the matter, and it rankles at him long enough. But I doubt he'll trouble himself with us that much. Is he the sort who holds grudges--do you know him well enough to judge?"

"Oh, yes," muttered Ginny, remembering five years of barbed taunts, snarling rants, and vicious vows of revenge from Draco Malfoy at Hogwarts. "Although, to be fair, I suppose he never really did much of anything," she amended. "Mostly, he's always been just a bully with a big mouth."

"Always?" Robin raised an eyebrow. "How long have you known this Draco Malfoy?"

"I saw him for the first time when I was eleven years old," said Ginny. "But I'd heard about him and his family all my life. I can't remember a time when I didn't know their names."

"Yet you still will not tell me how you know of them, the Malfoys, and what you know," said Robin. "Will you?"

Ginny leaned against the edge of the crow's nest. "I want to," she admitted. "Really, Robin, I do. But I'm afraid you'll think I'm mad." She turned away from him, afraid that too much of her agitation was showing on her face. As she turned, she saw a glint of something silvery white on the deck below. It could only be Draco's head; she had never seen anyone else in the world with hair like that, much less on this ship. It shocked her for a moment. She had not expected to see him. And then, the thing happened.

Ginny knew that she must always, always hold onto the riggings or the ratlines with one hand as she clambered around the ship. But in that second of surprise in seeing Draco Malfoy, she let go. A fierce gust of wind blew up from the north at that very instant. And she felt herself falling away from the little round wooden deck of the bonaventure top, away from the tangle of the riggings and sails, and out into the infinite darkness of the night and the sea. She heard Robin's yells, and the faint cries of the crew on deck. I'm headed for the deck, she thought almost calmly. I won't drown, then. I'll just break every bone in my body. It did not seem at all real; it was happening too fast for her to feel fear. It was like falling from her broom when she was ten years old, the time that Charlie had caught her, and somewhere in the back of her mind she half expected to see him flying up below her. She saw Robin climbing out of the crow's nest and slithering down the ratlines. She saw the little figures of the crew running from the waist, where they had been idling, waiting for the call to watch. But the only thing that was really clear was Draco Malfoy's shocked face, white as death with the moon shining on it, upturned towards her as she hurtled down to him.