The Other Gryffindor Girl

Chapter One:

The Means to an End

So you've finally come, have you? They've convinced you to show up? If you've been offered any bribes, I don't blame you. But sit down quickly.

I need you to know something, know something from me. Learn all the rules I learned the hard way, allow me to teach you all I can, so you do not meet the same fate that I must face, for I am now truly aware of my own mortality. But what horrible fate is it? Why am I trying to reach you with my news?

Well, you could ask that, friend. It would be a pleasant change for someone to speak to me at last, after so much silence and emptiness. Just having you here is a luxury denied me for many years.

Unfair? You could say that, but I would never take back what I've done, and what I am about to die for.

One night, eight years ago, a man of about forty-five lay on the pebble beach outside The Rabbitside, a small inn of Bexhill-On-Sea, a little town in Sussex. He lay silently (possibly for the first time in his life) and calmly in a puddle of his own red blood.

Although the wounds on his face were dry by then, clotting to a forbidding maroon color, they were so great in number one would not recognize him at first sight. Even his head, once full of the platinum hair he was once so proud of, was shorn off, leaving a white scalp exposed to the vapors of the sea air. Strangely, his hand still gripped a document, a little stained, a little torn here and there, but intact, full of minute writing, and two signatures.

Needless to say, the man was dead.

There was a woman standing over the body, black coat wrapped around her, her knee-length dark skirt whipping in the frantic wind as her loose hair swam around her, face half hidden by a black veil. The woman was holding a knife, covered in blood and staring unblinkingly at the corpse. There were no tears, no shouts, no attempts to even hide the body. The woman just opened her hand, letting locks of bright blond hair fall from her fingers and float away as the wind howled around her, invisible against the night sky.

The ocean roared, pounding against the rocks, but the woman did not even stir. There were no feelings of remorse as she stared blankly at the corpse, eyes narrowed. It was right, she knew, it had to be done.

How do I know this?

The victim was Draco Malfoy, Minister of Magic. He had been brutally murdered.

And I had been his murderer.

My name is Lavender Brown, and tomorrow, I will die for my crime. Now will you listen?

---

What can I say--I was employed as a favor. At Hogwarts, I had never been especially skilled at anything. No unusual ability in charms, or potions, or any particular spell... in fact, I only had two things going for me; my talent in mathematics was the first. I could do any problem in my head within moments without a piece of paper to guide me.

The second thing was my looks. Oh, don't be ridiculous, vanity is all I have left. I knew I was beautiful. My dark brown waved hair fell to my shoulders, faithfully brushed and washed, and it framed by cheekbones and slightly-pointed chin ending my porcelain-complexioned face. My mahogany eyes glistened, my lips were pink and my cheeks were rosy.

But enough of my recollection of my beauty. It has since vanished.

Naturally, I had searched for employment in the Ministry of Magic, Gringotts Bank, and at as many shops in Diagon Alley as I could find. Occasionally, I found work, but I had never been able to hold a job for long. What can I say, I was young and rather.. Too many late nights with no thought to work here and there in the early mornings. In three years, I went through about fourteen jobs.

My last job as a clerk for Eyelops Owl Emporium was the last straw for employers all around London. I was thrown out on my twenty-two-year-old ass after breaking in after hours and letting five owls 'free'. The Diagon Alley guards had to tranquilize me and take me to the hospital, as raving and drooling as I was in a drunken stupor. Yes, that was my forte.

Well, I was asked to pay for the owls that had been lost. Had I had money I would have happily paid my poor manager for the damage I had done. However... the money had been previously spent, I'm afraid, on not entirely honorable merchandise.

Well, drink-talk aside, a message flew by word of mouth of my deed. Before I knew it, a photo of me appeared beside every 'Help Wanted' sign, with a big red X through it. I searched classifieds in The Daily Prophet like a madwoman, only to have them disappear magically as soon as my eyes hit them.

My ordeal was far from pleasant, and in the end, I had delayed my rent payment so long my landlord threw me out of my downtown apartment.

So there I was, completely alone. Lavender Brown, a pretty, twenty-one year old female was in the darker part of Wizarding London without a penny, or an opportunity for employment. Not a good situation.

This is where my story begins, where the first rung is forged on the ladder.

So what did I do?

I took myself into the nearest bar and got as drunk as I could, trying to figure things out.

Afterwards, I somehow caught the Knight bus to the posh part of town not going anywhere in particular and took a stroll down Knightworth Avenue... well it was more of a tumble and a totter. In the end, I found myself in a dark alley, puking my guts out. Dizzy, sweating and lightheaded, I slumped against the wall, and lost consciousness.

When I awoke, I was in a St. Mungo's, hospital bed, with a pounding head and bile in my throat. I squinted through my lids, expecting harsh lights and Healers with attitudes as starched as their uniforms... but as I opened my eyes a little more, I realized the round face above me was familiar.

"Oh..." I said, very surprised. "Neville, is that really you?"

He grinned.

"It's Healer Longbottom now, Lavender. You've been asleep for days. You took in quite a bit of the hard stuff the other night, I was beginning to worry you wouldn't wake up!"

I shielded my aching eyes, and smiled... then realized why I had been so drunk in the first place.

"Yeah, well I sort of wish I hadn't..." I replied softly, more to myself.

Neville looked at me with concerned eyes.

"What's wrong, Lavender. Come on, you can tell me. It's been ages since I've seen you--what's happened? You were talking in your sleep, so I know something's up!"

"I don't know Neville... I--"

"You're my final patient," he assured me. "and I've nowhere to do but home. C'mon, I've got all night, really."

I sighed and looked at the white wall next to my bed frame. The creak of springs told me Neville had sat down at the foot of my bed.

"Neville," I said desperately. "I've got a problem..."

And so with many tears and stuttered confessions, I poured out the drop my life had taken to Neville. My steadily increasing alcoholism, my unemployment, my shit-head of a landlord, how I didn't have anywhere to go. I told my whole story and Neville took it in as I lay on the steel-framed hospital bed. He nodded and shook his head, frequently touching my arm in comfort and making little sympathy noises. By the time I finished, my nose was ruddy and my eyes were sore from my rubbing them dry.

"...and then I woke up and I was here!" I concluded tearfully, and Neville nodded slowly.

"Oh you poor thing," he said softly. He offered me a tissue so I could blow my nose.

"I don't know what to do, Neville!" I sniffled, dabbing my eyes on the corner of my sheet. He looked off into the distance, pudgy fingertips pressed together.

"Well I daresay you could come and camp out at my place for a while..." I gasped.

"Oh Neville! Do you really mean it?" I reached out my arms and he hugged me laughing. "Only if it wont be too much trouble!" I said primly. He grinned.

"Of course not! The rents barely anything anyhow. So what d'you say?" I kissed his check fervently.

"Ooooh! Thank you thank you THANK YOU!" I squealed, and he flushed a little pink. I was nearly crying with relief and thankfulness.

"But Nev, I've talked so much about myself! What about you?" He looked down and I scooted up to sit next to him and nudged him with my shoulder. "C'mon. Is there some... romantic interest I should know about it?"

Neville smiled in a small way.

"Hah!" I cried. "I knew it! Well? Who is she then? Do I know her?" I saw him open his mouth, but hesitate. "Oh come now, I won't tell anyone!"

"Well... um..."

"Yes...?" I pressed.

"It's not... it's not...a..."

"A what, Nev? Spit it out!"

"She's not... she's not a 'she'. His name's Jacob... I meant to tell you, I swear!" I turned away so Neville would not see the confusion on my face. I was not opposed to homosexuality, but I had never really been connected to a person attracted to the same sex. "Gran wasn't too pleased, I've got to tell you." He said sheepishly, rubbing his palms together awkwardly and exhaled. But when I turned back to him I was smiling.

"Alright, well does he come over often?"

He seemed startled by my quick acceptance, but at that moment, I would have bedded down with a werewolf if it meant a place to stay. "Erm... sometimes. And he... you know, stays over." I nodded slowly.

"Well..."

"I was going to tell you!" he insisted.

I covered his hand with my own, patting it sympathetically. God forbid if he decided it would be too uncomfortable for me. My patting became more insistent as I grew more and more afraid that the offer for shelter was slipping away. "Neville, calm down! I just want to know when I can meet him!" He looked much happier then.

"Well, his name's Jacob Snare. He works at the ministry, and he's busy most weeknights but comes on weekends. Maybe you could meet him when you move in!"

I knew I was golden, but I had to continue the façade of the desperate home-hunter. "Would he mind you having a roomie!"

"Of course! Here, I've got a picture in my wallet somewhere..." He fished around in the pocket of his coat and produced a cracked old dragonskin wallet. Out of it, he produced a small photograph. "There he is!"

The face that waved back at me was impish. Jacob had curly blonde hair and a round face with a chin that pointed quite suddenly. IT was as if someone had taken a piece of dough and rolled it, then pinched the bottom between their fingers. His nose was short and his eyes squinted out of the frame as he grinned at me through a large mouth.

"He's wonderful," Neville sighed adoringly. "You'll love him, I know you will."

I hoped he was right.

There was a moment's silence, and then I suddenly began to wonder...

"Neville, how did I get here in the first place?"

He gave me strange look.

"Well... erm... is this one of those deep questions people ask sometimes? Because--"

I laughed throatily. "No no no, I mean who brought me to St. Mungo's? Was it you?"

Neville shook his head. "Nah, I don't do house calls, not even on Knightworth Avenue. No, the person who brought you here was another old friend of yours."

"Really? Who?"

"Pansy. Pansy Parkinson."

I immediately sat up. "Are you serious? Pansy Parkinson? Good God, I'd hoped I'd never see her again! How the Hell did she find me there?"

Neville shrugged. "It's Pansy Malfoy now. She and Draco were married in March I think, at least that's what I was told. I wasn't at the wedding."

I slumped back against my pillows.

"My God--" I said slowly, as my stomach dropped in shock. "so she finally managed it, did she? Oh well, I daresay they deserve each other... any kids yet?"

"Nah. It's only been a few months. Besides, the way I hear things are going they've got separate rooms now. Only a matter of time before they start living in separate houses. Well, at least Pansy's made a bit of a way for herself."

There was a silence as I chewed the fat of this news. So Pansy had hooked him at last, only to lose him. Funny, really. If you asked me, she had always been over-ambitious with boys, and now it was finally catching up with her.

'Hmm,' I thought with the ignorance of my youth. 'Good. She rather deserves it.' I noticed my purse sitting on a stool near me.

"Neville," I suddenly wheedled, indicating my bag. "Would you be reeeeally nice to me and pass me a ciggy-bug please?"

"A what?!"

"A cigarette. All I need is one, just let me have a little sm--"

Neville narrowed his eyes and shook his head violently, his authority coming in to play. "Absolutely not. Against hospital regulations. You'd stink up the whole bloody ward!"

"Oh come on! There's no one else in the--"

"Oh yes there is! Look!"

I raised myself upon to my elbows and looked around. Two beds were occupied at the far end of the ward, but the occupants were apparently asleep.

"Fine," I sighed, and slumped back down again. ---

"...and here we are!" Neville announced as he dragged my trunk into his flat two days later.

The layout was basic. A door opened into the living room, revealing a dark green carpet with a couch, and armchair of black leather taking up the space in front of the television. The door in back led to a small kitchen, to the right there was the restroom, and to the left there was a small hallway followed by one bedroom and then another. I took the guest room.

It was small, but the white curtain-lace was cheerful enough, though the queen-sized bed needed a colorful coverlet, and the paint on the walls needed a bit of re-doing. All it needed was a woman's touch.

"It's wonderful, Nev. You have no idea how much this means to me."

Neville only smiled. "It's not much, but it's home. I'll make some dinner for us, shall I? I'll heat up some spaghetti bolognaise, it's absolutely divine."

"How soon will dinner be ready?"

He checked his watch.

"Erm... about fifteen minutes. Will you be ready? There's no reason to unpack tonight, it's already late."

"Sure," I said, going to the window and surveying the rather un-charming view of the rooftops. "What time do you leave tomorrow morning?" I called as Neville walked out to the kitchen.

"Around seven," he called back. "Don't worry, no need to wake yourself up."

'We'll see about that,' I said to myself. I flipped open my trunk and grabbed my pajama bottoms. Dragging myself out of my constricting jeans and sweater-top, I dove into my purse for my cigarette pack. I lit one almost immediately and took a long drag and sighed.

The smoke alarm above me started beeping, so I threw my shoe at it. The stupid thing came clear off the ceiling and hit the ground in three pieces. I looked left and right, like a child, but no one seemed to be ready to pop out of my closet. Junky piece of plastic probably wouldn't have worked in a real fire anyway. Oh well, at least I could smoke in peace now. I blew out the smoke through my nose, savoring the calming effects that had been denied to me for so long.

'Filthy habit,' I decided idly. 'But oh well.' I lit another, then a third as I unpacked my underwear from the top layer of my suitcase and put it in a heavy wooden wardrobe. I threw myself down onto the bed and exhaled again and shut my eyes. The mattress was so soft and...

"Ven, you're not smoking, are you?" came Neville's voice. "It's against regulations."

"Shit." I said under my breath. I threw my cigarette butt out the window. Oh well, what Neville know wouldn't hurt him.

I slipped into my nightclothes and padded over the soft carpet to the kitchen. The smell of re-heated spaghetti greeted me.

He grinned at me and put the two plates full of steaming spaghetti on the table.

"Grub's up, come and get it!" he said with a little over-the-top enthusiasm pulled a chair out for me and sat himself down.

Neville immediately began to eat with profound vigor, but I found I suddenly had no appetite. I twirled the spaghetti around my fork and thought hard.

"What's the matter?" Neville asked between mouthfuls.

I put my chin in my hand and sighed, slamming my fork down with a clatter. "I don't know, Neville. I mean, you're nice enough to give me a place here until I find work but... what if I don't find work?"

There was a silence, until Neville slowly wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked up at me.

"You'll find work I promise you. If we have to find you a job all the way in Scotland, we'll find you someplace to go. Don't worry, where there's a will, there's a way."

I picked up my fork and said nothing more for a time.

"Where can I go though?" I demanded of Neville, suddenly forceful. "Everywhere I've tried has just thrown me away because of that last incident. It isn't fair!"

"Well, life isn't generally fair," Neville pointed out annoyingly, shrugging. "but that doesn't mean we can't find you employment somewhere. Listen, I've had a bit of an idea--oh don't look so excited, it's not going to be pleasant for you."

"HOW could finding work ANYWHERE not be pleasant? I'd work in Hell just to earn a little money, and dig myself out of this rut!" I said eagerly, waving away his comment. I meant it too. Sort of.

"Alright," Neville said heavily. "I've heard it through the grapevine that... that Draco Malfoy needs a new accountant. I spoke to Pansy about it, and she said there's a position open... you could start Monday, and the pay's good..." this all poured out of him a rush, but he quickly popped in the stopper as he saw my face.

I stared at him in a mix of disgust, horror, surprise, and oddly enough, a stifled, hidden joy.

"Me?" I hissed. "Work for Draco MALFOY? I..."

"Well, it's not as though you have so many offers to pick and choose from, is it?" Neville said angrily.

"I'd rather work for You-Know-Who than The Malfoys. You can tell them I reject their offer," I shot back. Neville's face purpled.

"You'd better take what you can get, and this may be your last chance!" He jabbed an accusing finger at me. "I worked hard to get you this offer, so I suggest you put your damn pride away and swallow the key, because it won't do you any good in this situation!" he roared.

"Are you absolutely sure there are no more job openings in Hell?" I grumbled.

I suddenly felt very ashamed of myself, which is rare.

"I'm sorry, Neville," I said softly, covering his pudgy hand with my own. "You're right. When can I go over for an interview?"

"Tomorrow morning, if you like," He replied gruffly, seeming surprised at his own outburst.. "And you'd better eat, you're going to need a lot of energy. You didn't eat much food at the hospital."

"That stuff isn't food," I teased, trying to lighten the mood. "it's gruel fried, gruel roasted, gruel broiled, marinated, braised, toasted and everything else they can think of and shaped to pass it off as meatloaf or potatoes or something. You guys really need to work on that."

"Yeah well, at least you kept some of it down. Here, have a garlic roll."

***