Of Binding Spells and Chartreuse

The snow drifted down in lacy clumps. The temperature hovered around the freezing point, and it was the sort of biting chill that seeps into the bones. Ginny tried to wrap her indoor robe more closely around her, and shuddered with the cold. The streets were mostly dark and silent, with closed shops. The pubs and restaurants that were open at this hour were all on the other side of Diagon Alley. Ginny went by Gringotts, walking fast. Its white marble pillars gleamed eerily back at her, reflected by the brilliant moonlight. Then she paused. Directly to her left was the turnoff to Knockturn Alley. She peered at it. The very cobblestones of the street looked darker past that point, gleaming with wetness where the snow had melted into rain. She retreated to the safety of a streetlamp and stood in its orange pool of light.

She saw the dark figure moving down the street before she heard him. His steps were almost noiseless. He was tall and lithe and graceful as a cat--a magical cat, she thought. And his hair flashed silver when he passed her.

"Malfoy," she said.

Her voice had been so low that she wasn't sure he had even heard her. But he turned round as quickly as if her speaking his name had plucked at him with iron fingers.

"What are you doing here, Weasley?" he asked, sounding startled. He stepped closer to her, under the light. Under the streetlamp, most of his face was hidden in pools of shadow. He did not quite look like himself, and that fact somehow gave Ginny a bit of courage.

"Standing under a streetlamp. What about you?"

"I was in Wiltshire," he said briefly. "Just got back. I'm going to my rooms."

Malfoy Manor was there, very near Stonehenge, Ginny knew. So he was at home. I wonder why he didn't stay there, then? "Can't you Apparate?" she asked.

"Of course I can. I've been able to do that ever since I was fourteen."

"But you couldn't have done, until you were sixteen. I mean--well, it's illegal."

He only looked at her in reply. His face was very weary, she saw now, with dark circles under his eyes that were only emphasized by the glare of the streetlamp. "I like to walk, sometimes," Malfoy finally said. "And you didn't tell me what you were doing out here."

Ginny shrugged. She didn't know what answer to give.

"Aren't you afraid of the dark?"

"No."

"Maybe you should be." He laughed, short and sharp. His eyes looked tired, but they were burning even brighter than usual. He was in a strange mood, she thought, but then, so was she.

"You must be cold," he said.

She nodded. "I went out without a proper cloak."

They were standing very close by then. Malfoy opened his own thick winter cloak of black wool and wrapped half of it around her. She felt the feverish warmth of his body.

"Calorus," he muttered, and a draft of warm air surrounded them both. Still, he did not unwind his cloak from around her, and she did not step away from him.

He moved into the shadow of a doorway in one of the alleys, and she followed him. "Will you do something for me, Malfoy?" she asked.

"You think I ever do anything for anybody?" he asked, his voice mocking. "Don't you know how selfish I am? Haven't all your little friends told you that? Except, of course, when I'm engaged in the disinterested pursuit of pure evil. Then, any desire to save my own skin apparently goes out the window. Not very logical, but it's what they say."

"Do you know who Phineas Nigellus is?" Ginny asked.

"Yes, I know. The last headmaster of Hogwarts who came out of Slytherin. And the least popular one the school has ever had. Why do you ask?"

"I heard that he once said... well, I'm not sure what the exact quote was, but it was something like, 'We Slytherins are brave enough, but we aren't stupid. When given the chance, we save our own necks.'"

"Then he was a wise man." Draco Malfoy looked down at her. "What do you want from me, Ginny Weasley?"

"I want you to kiss me," she said.

His eyes went round with surprise. Before he could react further, she herself reached up and pulled his head down to hers. His hair was soft and thick and perfectly smooth, sliding between her fingers like water. He hesitated just a moment, and then she felt his hands moving in her own hair, down to her shoulders, pulling her close to him. And then he kissed her.

And then she knew.

This is it. This is what kissing can be. This is how bodies can feel. His lips on mine, his tongue searching out my mouth and the taste of him, mint and lemon and sweetness but warmer, sharper, his arms going around the curve of my back, all of him fitting me in that right, perfect way. He would fit me, Draco Malfoy would, and I would fit him.

He kissed the curve of her neck all the way down to her collarbone, just as Harry had done. But not at all as Harry had done. His hands crept up to cup her breasts beneath the robes she wore. Her heart fluttered like a bird beating its wings against the bars of its cage. He could set me free. Ginny did not know what the words meant that had formed in her mind, but she knew that they were true.

And then another thought came to her, slowly.

I'm so tired of being a virgin.

At that moment, it seemed as if she had been bearing the burden of her closed, intact self, heart guarded, body shielded, for a thousand years. She could not bear that weight another moment. She wanted to lay it down.

"Come back with me," Malfoy said, speaking very fast, sounding as if the words were being torn from him against his will. "Come to my rooms."

"I can't," she said.

He pulled back from her, visibly collecting himself. "Are you afraid to go to Knockturn Alley at night?" he asked. "Or afraid to be seen with me? Or afraid to be alone in a room with me? Which is it, Weasley; which of the fears is greatest?" His tone was light, but something moved at the back of his eyes, which suddenly looked very dark.

"None of them," she said. "But, I--not just now, Draco, not just yet."

It was the first time she had ever called him by his given name.

He wore the mask again on his face, the one that had always hidden who he truly was from anyone like Ginny Weasley, and perhaps from everyone else, as well. But it had slipped a bit. She had got behind it, and he could never use it to fool her again, Ginny thought.

"Do you still have that charm I gave you?" he asked.

She fished in her purse and held it up.

"Good," Draco said. "Come to me. Come soon, Ginny." Then he turned from her without another word and headed down Knockturn Alley, the darkness swallowing him up before had gone more than a few paces.

Ginny walked back to the Leaky Cauldron, moving slowly, meeting no-one. Her room was empty when she returned to it. There was no note. Harry might never have been there at all. Perhaps it was all a dream, she thought, getting into bed, knowing that nothing could be that easy.

The next day, she went to the little post office tucked next to Madame Malkin's Robe Shop and paid for two owls to be sent. One carried a note addressed to Fred and George, telling them that she had a slight case of magical flu. No, they shouldn't tell Mum; it would only worry her, and they shouldn't try to visit her, either. It felt contagious. She only needed a day's rest. The other owl went to the Burrow.

Hermione,

Come and see me at the Leaky Cauldron this afternoon. Room 203. I need you desperately.

Ginny

P.S.: Don't tell anyone.

Ginny sat in the taproom and ate a leisurely lunch, reading a book called Tell My Horse that she'd found on the discount table at Flourish and Blotts yesterday. It was about wizards in Haiti and was by an American witch from the early part of the century, Zora Neale Hurston. The exotic descriptions of loas and zombies and voodoo rituals seemed so far away from the Leaky Cauldron, from Diagon Alley, from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and from the memory of the relieved look on Harry's face when she'd fled from him the night before. Reading this book, Ginny decided, was exactly what she needed.

As she was finishing her mashed potatoes, Pigwidgeon zoomed in a happy circle around her head. He listed drunkenly to one side because of the weight of the parchment attached to his leg. Ginny unrolled it, patting his feathered head absently. She could already see that the spiky, agitated handwriting wasn't Ron's.

Gin,

Ron lent me Pig so I could send this. Hedwig's been carrying so many messages lately that I thought she needed a bit of a rest. I'm not much good at writing what I feel, so I'll just tell you. I'm sorry, Ginny, more sorry than I could ever say, if I tried to push you into something you didn't want. I thought you had at least a bit more experience with that sort of thing, because of--well, you know. Because of Michael and Dean and Seamus and Neville. That didn't come out right at all. Please don't think I meant that I thought you hadn't kept yourself pure. I know your mum raised you right, Gin, as she did all the Weasleys, and you're a good girl no matter what you think. I reckon the real problem is your never getting over what Tom Riddle did to you in the Chamber. I know he didn't really hurt you, Gin--your mum's talked to me a little over the holidays, and she told me the mediwizards who examined you right afterwards said nothing had happened. But he got into your mind, didn't he? I wish I could reach right in and pull him out, so you could feel good and pure all the way through. As you really are.

I suppose that's made you afraid of loving me--physically, I mean. But there's nothing to be afraid of. There never could be, with me.

Ginny bit her lip, torn between near-hysterical laughter and a sudden urge to cry. Harry thought she was afraid of sex. He thought that was the real problem! The memory of Draco's kisses eddied around the back of her mind. Oh, Harry, I wish you knew how wrong you were. No, no, I don't; I can't wish that. She returned to reading the letter.

I'm sorry that I can't explain more about what your mum wrote in her letter, Ginny. I'm sorry I can't tell you more about what's happening, because it's something big. Please believe me when I say that I wish I could. Please believe me when I say that it's for your own good that you don't--

She crumpled the parchment in her hand. Then she methodically tore it into little strips and hid it beneath the remnant of her mashed potatoes. One word was still visible, little streams of ink running off it into the butter.

Sorry...

She pushed her chair back from the table.

Hermione appeared a few hours later, all breathlessness and bustle, cheeks bright red from the cold, bushy hair escaping a woolen balaclava, eyes sharp as an inquisitive squirrel's. They took tea down in the dining room, and Ginny curved her hands around her steaming cup, putting off the moment when she'd have to meet Hermione's eyes. For all that she'd begged the other girl to come here, she wasn't exactly sure what she even wanted to ask her.

Hermione finally spoke first, her words fairly bursting with impatience. "Ginny, I have to be back by four."

"Mm-hm." Ginny sipped tea.

"Ron'll get suspicious otherwise. We've been spending so much time studying for NEWTS--although I keep trying to tell him that it wouldn't be necessary to do it over the winter hols if he'd been willing to do it before, but that's neither here nor there, now. But if he knew I was with you, he would've insisted on coming as well. Why didn't you want Ron to come along?"

"Girl things," Ginny mumbled into her tea cup.

"Oh. I see..." Hermione bit her lip. "Something happened with Harry, didn't it?"

Ginny sighed, and decided to take the unicorn by its horn. "Yes. It did. But I can't tell you what. I really can't, Hermione."

"You don't have to," her friend said quietly. "Let me guess. He finally decided that he was ready to sleep with you. And you tried to go along with it, but at the last moment, you panicked and said no." She grinned. "Close your mouth, Ginny."

"I thought you weren't any good at Divination!" Ginny looked at Hermione suspiciously.

"You haven't been talking to Harry, have you?"

"No, I haven't, and no, I'm decidedly not," said Hermione. "All it took to figure that one out was rather basic common sense. And... knowing you, and him, which I do."

Ginny sighed, and rested her chin in her hands. "Is it that obvious?"

"Well, not to Ron, or Fred. But subtlety isn't their strong point."

"No, it's not."

"So are you going to tell me what this is all about?"

Ginny played with the crumbs of a scone on her plate. "Hermione, you're my friend, right?"

"Ginny! What a thing to--"

"I mean, it's not just because I'm Ron's little sister. And that I'm dating Harry now. Or that I was."

"Is it really that bad?" Hermione asked.

"I don't know yet. But listen, Hermione, please. You like me for me, right? At least a little bit?"

"Of course I do," Hermione said. "Ginny, I can't believe you'd ask such a question. You're..." She cleared her throat. "You're my only girlfriend at Hogwarts, you know? I think you're the only one I've ever had."

"Then you'll understand what I'm about to say to you. I need your advice about something, and I need you to help me figure out something. I need it desperately, just like I said. But--" She held up a hand. "There's just one catch. We can only talk about that one thing. Nothing else."

Ginny could almost see all the questions trying to burst out of Hermione's mouth. But she nodded, after a brief pause. "All right," she said. "But--"

"I mean it. I'll tell you what it is, and then you can't ask anything more."

"But--"

"If you don't know anything," Ginny said firmly, "then you won't have to lie to Ron."

"You have a point."

Ginny sat back in her chair. "Do you remember a book we got out of the Restricted Section this autumn? A very old, very battered book with a green cover? It was about Binding Spells. You do remember that book, right?"

"Of course I do," said Hermione almost impatiently, as if she couldn't believe that Ginny was questioning her perfect photographic memory of every book she'd ever seen in her life. "It was a bit confusing. Sixteenth century, I think, written in black-letter script. Very hard to read. And the spells weren't quite clear. Whole sections of it were missing, too."

"But you do remember what it said about Binding spells."

Hermione's brow knit together, and for a second Ginny was afraid that she had overtaxed even her friend's powers of recall. "It dealt with the ones that bind two people, rather than a family, or a larger group," she said, seeming to recall each word with an effort. "Yes, I remember now. It only concerned the most powerful sort, those that were bound with the most ancient kind of magic. The kinds that were needed to cement extremely difficult and far-reaching spells. A Protection spell against a very powerful Dark wizard, for instance."

"But was there a way to break that kind of Binding spell?" Ginny asked urgently, leaning forward. "Did it say anything about that?"

"Oh. Er, yes, it did. It wasn't quite clear, of course..."

"Please just tell me."

"As far as I could tell, it seemed to say that if that kind of Binding spell was to be broken, it had to be done before it was completely cemented. And the .. um...the only way to do it would be to..." She looked down at her hands.

"Spit it out, Hermione."

"Well, I can't. I have to explain it fully."

"Why?"

"Because--well, it's a bit like electricity. You know how that works, right?"

"I've got a fair idea, I suppose. Remember my dad's obsession with electric plugs?"

"In order for a Muggle appliance to operate," said Hermione, going into her best pedantic mode, "it has to be connected to a source of electric power. Like connecting a plug to an outlet in a wall. If that doesn't happen, the potential power won't be released."

"I suppose I see what you mean," said Ginny, her mind turning over recent events.

"This sort of Binding spell is like all powerful spells between two people, really. Its strength--its very existence--depends on the consent and cooperation of both, and on their embracing the potential power. But the way this one works in particular... Ginny..." Hermione hesitated. "Have you ever done anything with any of your boyfriends?"

"I used to do all sorts of things," Ginny said dryly. "But I think you're only referring to one thing."

"Well... yes. What about Michael Corner?"

"I was only fourteen years old! What sort of slut do you think I am?"

"I take it that's a no. Dean Thomas?"

"A bit of snogging, that was all."

"Seamus Finnegan?"

"He certainly wanted to," sighed Ginny. "He didn't much want to take no for an answer, either. And don't tell Ron that, or he'll hunt Seamus down and hex him into a slug and step on him. But I still told him no, and that was that. That's the real reason why we broke up, you know."

"Well, what about Neville?"

Ginny smirked. "Would you sleep with Neville Longbottom?"

Hermione's lips twitched. "Good point. But Ginny, you do realize what that means, don't you? With this sort of spell, virginity carries the power."

"Oh." So that's why Harry was upset when he thought I wasn't a virgin, she thought. It wasn't because he wanted to be my first!

"So if one of the people involved deliberately turned away from that link," Hermione continued, "and, er, offered herself physically to someone else instead...to someone who was, say, the exact opposite in temperament to the person she'd been bound to..." Delicately, she left the sentence unfinished.

"She would break the spell," said Ginny.

"I don't like that look in your eye," said Hermione, nervously. "What are you planning?"

Ginny put her hand over the other girl's. "You said you wouldn't ask, remember?"

That sort of admonition from Harry or Ron had never shut Hermione up before, as far as Ginny ever knew. But this time, she only nodded. "Don't do anything stupid, Ginny, please," was all she said.

"You know I won't. Pour me some more tea, would you?"

As Hermione busied herself with the teapot, and then went to order more, Ginny quickly gulped her full cup of cold tea, hiding her burning face. She could not have put a name to how she felt now. The crushing guilt was still there, weighing down on her mind, and the little voice of reason that kept screeching how mad she was to even consider any of the ideas running through her head. She looked down into the dregs of her cold tea, and felt the stirring of her own will, whispering that it was time to make strong, cruel moves towards freeing herself.