Of Love And War

Chapter Two - First Day Jitters

Try as she might, Arabella couldn't sleep. She knew that it was incredibly stupid to lie awake, tossing and turning on the last night before she had to teach, but it wasn't as if she planned it this way.

Getting up to look out the window, she had a breathtaking view of the grounds below. The light of the waxing moon was enough to illuminate the lake below, washing the landscape in a luminescent glow that was almost painfully beautiful. She almost expected to see James and Sirius racing into the forest, with Remus trying to stop them and Peter simply trying to keep up. It was almost as if she were once again able to turn and laugh with Lily at the boys' stupidity, like they always used to. The tears came unbidden.

“Stupid prat,” she said, berating herself in the darkness. “How the hell are you going to survive a year here when you cry at little things like that?” But she knew it was for the best, much like re-breaking a bone that had healed incorrectly. Simply burying the past and refusing to face it was unhealthy, and that was exactly what she had done. Hiding her past, throwing herself into her work, all led to where she was now. Outside of Arabella the Auror, she was nothing. The girl who had stood on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters all those years ago was screaming to be let out, and she intended to set her free.

That still didn't make it all any easier to do. It wasn't as if she didn't want to reclaim herself; far from it. She simply hadn't reckoned on the pain involved re-breaking that bone. Reviving a personality was more difficult than it sounded.

After the Wizarding world had acclimatized itself to life after the Fall, and the Aurors no longer were in a life-or-death hunt for Voldemort, it seemed as if everyone in the blasted Department had made it their covert operation to find her someone to make her forget Sirius. Finally she simply stopped saying 'yes' to all the second cousins and friends of the family that people were throwing at her right, left and center. The truth sunk in slowly to everyone that she didn't want to forget.

When he had escaped from Azkaban, she had been so certain he would try to come to her for help. The Wizarding world regarded his escape as proof that he was truly guilty; no one other than a dark wizard would be capable of escaping the dreaded isle. Still, Arabella had to hope, maybe his escape proved just the opposite. Weren't those trapped on the island really just trapped inside their own minds? Perhaps the reason he able to break out was because he didn't have that atrocity on his conscience. And if he hadn't betrayed Lily and James, perhaps his flight meant that he was going after those who had? This thin ray of hope seemed to shimmer more brightly day after day... until she realized he wouldn't be coming back to her at all.

Then came the day she caught her tail. One of the younger Aurors must have been assigned to watch her small apartment in Leeds, most likely to report if she was harboring Sirius there. But Arabella, more experienced in surveillance had spotted her. It wasn't until then that she realized the real reason Sirius was staying away. Her own colleagues were spying on her! Needless to say, when she came walked into the Ministry later that day she was livid. That had been nearly eighteen months after Sirius had escaped; eighteen months of the Ministry knowing about her every movement. Later that month, when the letter came inviting her to take the DADA job at Hogwarts, she accepted without a moment's hesitation.

Staring out across the fields again, she knew she was no closer to sleep than she had been before, but simply remembering what had brought her here gave her the peace of a hundred nights of eight-hour rest. If Sirius was here, she thought to herself with a smile, there was nothing to keep her from finding him.

***

Ginny Weasley sat up far later than normal in the common room that night, also unable to sleep. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something was making her very uneasy. To her it seemed as if the entire castle was on edge. Even Fred and George were more tense than usual, but for them that simply amounted to the two of them setting off a few more Filibusters and telling a tad more jokes than usual.

She supposed that it was the way last year had ended'. That whole 'Return of the Dark Lord' business was bound to affect everyone, she thought wryly. She wouldn't concede to the notion that there was something else unexplained as well.

Her place by the fire was so cozy, she was certain she would have dropped off long ago if she had been more relaxed. The fire was low, and her chair was soft, so why couldn't she enjoy the comfort? Something simply wasn't right.

Creeping up to the dormitory, she shook her head at the closed door and raced down the steps. Creeping out of the Portrait Hole without waking the Fat Lady, she wandered along the halls silently, praying that she wouldn't run into Mrs. Norris. Since when did she start taking risks like this? She was the sensible one, the one who the others all went to when they were in trouble. She didn't run around the school at night? Wasn't that Harry, Ron and Hermione's job?

The school was silent, but to Ginny it seemed as if the silence itself was deafening. Stealing around the corridors and muttering about her own stupidity, she continued on, uncertain about her own actions, yet powerless to stop them.

A faint light appeared suddenly around the next corner, and Ginny frantically attempted to find a hiding place. It grew steadily brighter and brighter as she tried in vain to escape. Finally, it was upon her.

“Miss Weasley,” the Gray Lady said in her sad, yet gentle voice. “A bit late for a stroll, don't you think?”

“Oh, Lady Jane,” Ginny said, knowing that her relief must be evident. “I thought you were Filch.”

“Not the kindest of comparisons, but understandable. What brings you out so late in the evening, Miss Weasley?”

Even though Ginny was a Gryffindor at heart, the Ravenclaw ghost had become somewhat of a friend to Ginny, especially during her second year when she was had still been reeling over her episode with Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets.

“Just restless tonight, Lady Jane.” Even in death, Ginny still thought it appropriate for this kind, regal soul to retain her title.

“Restlessness is one thing, my dear, but I sense that something else is troubling you tonight.”

“Well, the school is still a bit shook after last term,” Ginny said, dodging the real issue. “I suppose it's a bit of that.”

“Certainly. Is that all?” Those three little words triggered an explosion went off inside her head; all the intangible things that were bothering her crystallized into words that were just screaming to get out. She could tell the sympathetic ghost all her troubles and get them off her chest, using her as sort of a supernatural therapist, as ridiculous as that sounded. Then she could get back to the Tower and get to bed where she belonged. Certainly someone who'd been dead since the 1500's wouldn't judge her for the strange thoughts and feelings she had been experiencing?

But even with the words so clear in her mind, she replied, “Yes, that's it. Good night, Lady Jane.”

The ghost looked sadder than usual, but not surprised. “Good night, Miss Weasley,” she called to Ginny's back as the obviously troubled girl headed back to her room.

***

The next morning, the Great Hall was filled with the usual start-of-term chatter. The Gryffindor table was especially lively.

“Behold! Our newest creation! Opera Pellets!” Fred plopped down a bright blue ball roughly the size of a shooter marble, then ran for the hills. The thing suddenly exploded in a cloud of purple smoke and emitted the fifth movement of 'The Marriage Of Figaro' as loud and off key as a Howler. Harry, his fingers in his ears, noted upon a glance up to the High Table that while McGonagall looked torn between her usual stern countenance and mild amusement, Dumbledore was outright chuckling.

“Your brothers,” Hermione said to Ron after the singing had ended, wearing an expression very similar to McGonagall's. “Honestly, if only you two used your powers for good instead of stupid...”

“You wound me, milady!” George said with a dramatic hand to his forehead. “After all, amidst these dark times-”

“Stuff it, Forge.” His twin seemed to have a better sense of when not to carry the joke to it's grave.

“Oh, all right.” Fred turned to Ron. “Hey, kinda funny about Mum and Dad's friend being our new DADA prof, huh?”

Ron's ears turned as red as his hair. “Oh, yeah... very,” he stammered, taking a long drink of Pumpkin Juice to mask his obvious trepidation in the matter.

“Personally, I'm looking forward to having a woman DADA professor.” Harry had to smile. Hermione seemed to be attempting to draw Fred and George away from irritating Ron and into a discussion about modern feminism. “Think of all she will be brining to the subject! After all, she was right up there with Moody as one of the top Aurors.”

“Provided she really is Arabella Figg. Remember last year, everyone,” Seamus Finnigan said with a bit of grin on his face. “After all, we don't know if she drinks from a hip flask yet.”

“Oh, shut it. I'm sure they wouldn't be about to try the same trick again,” Ron said dismissively. “Think about it. Dumbledore would be on the lookout for something like that.”

“Ginny?” Fred said suddenly, concern etched on his face. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah,” George added, taking a good look at his sister. “You look like death warmed over in an oven on low heat with a sprig of mint.”

“Sod off,” she said with a halfhearted glare. “I just didn't get enough sleep last night.”

“Why?” Ron asked, glad the focus was off the new professor.

“Because, Ron,” Ginny said, adopting a weary, patronizing tone, “When one's seratonin levels are out of balance, causing cidarian rhythms to be off- kilter, the subject typically has difficulty maintaining normal REM cycles. This can be caused by any number of things; poor diet, emotional distress or,” she added, directing her tone to Fred and George as well as Ron, “Irritating older brothers!”

At this, Harry, Hermione and even Ron all burst out laughing. The look on Fred and George's faces was amusing, to say the least.

“Well,” George said huffily. “Percy's not around!”

“Let's see here,” Professor McGonagall said rather distractedly as she attempted to hand out the new terms schedules to her brood of Gryffindors. “Granger, Weasley, Potter, Weasley, Weasley, Finnigan, Thomas, and... oh dear, Miss Weasley, you don't look at all well. Are you feeling ill?”

Ginny stood up in a huff. “I'm perfectly fine! Is this castle so dull that the topic of everyone's concern is that my sleeping patterns are a bit off?” She grabbed her schedule and her bag and left with the entire Great Hall looking on.

“You guys,” Ron said a little shakily. “I think something's seriously wrong.”

“Why, whatever gave you that idea, Ron?” Fred said, trying to regain some of his usual good humor. “I thought she was just peachy.”

“Well, we can't worry too much about her right now,” Harry said, diverted by the sheet of paper in his hand. “We've got Potions first off today. Hey! Wait a tick... This is great!”

“Terrific, now Harry's gone around the bend,” Ron said. “What's great about Potions?”

“The fact that we don't have it with the Slytherins anymore!”

“Well,” Hermione said with a bit of a grin on her face, “This year's starting to look up already. Seems we're paired with Ravenclaw.”

At this, Harry's gut lurched. The simple mention of Cho's house brought back a very painful interlude from the end of last year. While he had be stowing his trunk in the back of Uncle Dursley's Volvo, he had overheard Cho Chang, his first crush, speaking to her parents.

“Mum, Dad,” she had been saying when Harry first cottoned on to her voice behind him, “I've made up my mind. I'm going to accept the exchange to Beauxbatons.”

“But dear,” the soft feminine voice that had to be her mother responded, “I thought you didn't want to leave Hogwarts.”

“Well, now I don't want to go back.”

“Cho,” another voice, this one masculine, said gently, “Perhaps you should think this over a bit. You've had a terrible shock...”

Harry didn't hear the rest of the exchange, because it seemed to him that a bird was flapping its wings wildly in his ears. He had hoped desperately to see her on the Hogwarts Express, to know that she was coming back, but she wasn't. The episode with Professor Figg was actually a blessing in disguise, as it kept his mind off the fact that the girl he had thought he was in love with was in France. It might as well be Antarctica.

“Harry, oh Harry?” Ron was waving his hand in front of his face. “Anyone at home, or have you permanently buggered off?”

“Shut it, Ron,” Harry said good-naturedly. Determined to put Cho Chang out of his mind, he gathered his books. This had less to do with love and more to do with self-preservation. He had two hours of Snape to deal with and, quite frankly he needed all his wits about him to survive that.

***

Ginny ran at full speed up the stairs to Charms, praying that her crying jag in the girl's bathroom hadn't made her late for class. Fortunately, she realized as she arrived, huffing and puffing, to the third floor that the few people milling about were just those who had finished their breakfasts early. She still had plenty of time.

Sliding to the floor in the deserted corridor outside Professor Flitwick's classroom, she was glad for the moment of silence. It was so unlike her to blow up like she had at breakfast. Making a silent promise to herself that she would apologize to everyone, including Professor McGonagall at lunch, she pulled out her Book of Standard Spells, Volume Four and began to skim over Summoning Charms. She didn't get very far along before footfalls around the corner signaled someone approaching.

Expecting one of her Classmates she was surprised to see a solitary Draco Malfoy appear in the hallway. Even more surprising was his reaction to her.

“'Lo, Ginny,” he tossed her way, not with disdain but with almost disinterest. “It is Ginny, right?”

Not trusting herself to speak kindly, she merely nodded.

“Waiting for Charms to start?”

Since when did Malfoy make small talk with her? Since when did he know her name? She nodded again.

A thin smirk graced his lips. “You capable of speech?”

A touch of the usual derision in his voice had returned, reviving her anger towards him and his entire gene pool.

“When I care to. Unfortunately I just don't feel like wasting the oxygen right now. Nothing to speak to, anyway.”

With a very un-Malfoylike shrug, he turned his back towards her and continued down the hallway. “Whatever.”

He left, making Ginny wonder if she wasn't the only one feeling not quite herself these days.

***

Draco Malfoy was indeed feeling less and less like himself. He too couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. He didn't spend anytime around his 'friends', as they now irritated the hell out of him. He hadn't called anyone a 'Mudblood' in weeks. And since when did a Malfoy take lip from a Weasley? The haughty, unaffected air he usually cloaked himself with seemed less and less comforting, and he too was plagued by thoughts of the end of last term.

He had acted like any good son of a Death Eater when he found out about Voldemort. He had even taunted Potter and those two prats Granger and Weasley about it. However, even as the words had left his mouth at the end of last term, he had felt something he had never felt before: guilt.

He, Draco Malfoy, the son of Voldemort's right hand man, felt guilty about that Hufflepuff's death. It wasn't as if he had killed Diggory, or had even had any part of it, but that twinge of remorse had grown all summer long.

He supposed that was what had made the pain of the hexes the lot had thrown at him even worse; that and he had to wait until his mother came back from holiday to have them cured. The strange effects were above his ability to heal, and his father, mortified that his son had been cursed by a bunch of Weasleys and a Mudblood, as well as Potter, had refused to help him. The combination of hexes had left him scarred for a good two weeks.

He could handle his father being disgusted with him. His mother had just looked sad, almost like she knew what he had done to deserve them... and that was somehow the worst of all. It simply exacerbated the prickle of un- Malfoylike culpability he was already feeling.

He had spent most of the summer flying around Malfoy Manor, trying to master moves like the Wroski Feint, since he knew Potter would be itching to try them out on him next year. It seemed like the harder he practiced, the more he felt like a damned fool prancing about on an expensive broomstick. Malfoys never felt like fools.

It was then - flying about in the hot summer air - that it occurred to him what was bothering him so damned much. He was the little carbon copy of his father that he everyone had always expected him to be; his family, Potter, everyone. He was programmed to be the perfect little Death Eater Jr. And now, he realized, that wasn't what he wanted.

Why? Why shouldn't he want something he had been trained for his whole lifetime? It wasn't simply Diggory's death, or the hexes, or his mother; it was like something inside him was telling him that he was wrong. It would seem that Draco Malfoy had grown a conscience.

The initial irritation of that realization passed, and now he was back at school and not exactly certain what to do about it. He wandered about aimlessly, not sure if he should approach that Gryffindor Mod Squad and act like some damn groupie or just wait until some halfway intelligent Slytherin figured out what was going on and did the kindness of offing him in his sleep. Neither option was particularly appealing or realistic.

In the past it would have made him marginally satisfied that Ginny Weasley was obviously as miserable as he was, but now it just depressed him. What was supposed to make him happy now? For a Malfoy, Weasley torture always added up to a good time. Now he just felt drawn to her, and for some intangible reason, he wanted to help her. The Gods of Irony must have been having a ball. For the first time in his life, Draco wanted to help someone, and it of course, had to be a Weasley

So, wandering slowly to the Divination tower, he hoped that at least Trelawney was her usual batty self. Her class was always a good cure for insomnia.

***

“Hurry up, Ron!”

“Slow down then, Hermione! No one should be this anxious for Snape's class.”

“I'm with Mio. If we're late, you'll be disemboweling horned toads again for sure!”

“Oh, fine, you prat.”

The trio made it to the Potions Dungeon with time to spare. Everyone was milling around, speaking with the Ravenclaws who would now be sharing their two hours of torture. As usual, the three took a bench near the back of the classroom. In Snape's class, it was always best to stay out of his line of sight.

“I sure hope that Snape is in a good mood. I don't feel much like getting poisoned today.”

“Oh, hush, Harry,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. “I'm sure he's not about to do that again.”

“Yeah,” Ron added helpfully, “And since when is Snape ever in a good mood?”

Snape then came sweeping into the classroom like he always did, taking that extra moment to glare a glare of utmost loathing towards Harry. Surprisingly, though, he did not enter alone.

“Fleur?” Ron said, his voice squeaking. “What in the bloody hell is she doing here?”

Sure enough, Fleur Delacour was walking gracefully behind Snape, looking as beautiful as she did at last year's tournament.

“Mr. Weasley, if you keep your mouth shut for a moment, I'll tell you. Five points from Gryffindor.”

Harry was quite glad that he was sitting in the middle of the three, because if Hermione heard what Ron had just muttered under his breath, he was certain that she would have reprimanded him.

“Some of you may remember Miss Delacour from the Triwizard Tournament last year.” Here Snape paused to give a very odd look at Harry. It could almost be called sympathy, if it wasn't for the fact it was still laced with derision. “She has been given a teaching internship at Hogwarts this year, and will be assisting me this term. Later in the year, she will move to another class, but in the meantime I expect you to treat her with the same respect you do me.”

Even Hermione had a difficult time stifling a giggle.

“So. As you begin preparing for your O.W.L.s this year-” Now he was glaring at Neville Longbottom, who was trembling in his seat like usual, “-We will be moving onto some more difficult potions. Please open your texts to page sixty-four and begin the early preparation for the Rigaudon Elixir...”

Two hours later, hot, sweaty and irritable, the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws emerged from the classroom. It turned out that the Rigaudon Elixir increased one of the drinker's most natural talents. This effect would have been humorous if it wasn't for the supremely annoying side effects in most cases. Hermione had quoted Hogwarts, A History six times in a row, and Ron and Dean began to engage in a real version of Wizard Chess before Snape broke it up long enough to take ten points from Gryffindor.

“Why didn't you try to stop me?” Hermione said, annoyed that her voice was now hoarse from speaking for two hours straight.

“What were we going to do, Herm>” Ron said, nursing a jammed finger from hitting Dean in the ribs. “Stick a sock in your mouth?”

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him, then turned to Harry. “I'm amazed, Harry. You didn't do a thing!”

“Yeah, Harry,” Ron said, turning towards Harry. “I know that it can't be that you aren't any good at anything.”

“I don't know. It was kind of like fighting the Imperius Curse. Just seemed kind of silly to summon my Firebolt and go zooming around the dungeon like that.”

“Wow. That's the second odd thing today.” Hermione had that pensive look she always got when figuring something out.

“What do you mean second, Herm?” Ron asked.

“That elixir is well beyond Ordinary Wizardry Levels. I don't know why Snape had us do it.”

“Well, if it was to make me look like an idiot, it sure worked,” Ron groused. “Of course, it was probably to get Harry to do something idiotic, now that I think about it.”

“I'm sure Snape would have been delighted,” Hermione added, a bit of sarcasm lacing her words. “That would have given him the chance to take a round twenty points from Gryffindor.”

***

Arabella came ambling into the Great Hall at lunchtime, thoroughly exhausted by the day's events. Her first three classes had all been Slytherins of varying ages, and the fifth year class had been the one she had approached with the most trepidation. She knew that both Draco Malfoy and several other Death Eaters' children were in that year, and had expected them to be quite obnoxious, seeing has she had at one point arrested most of their parents. They were by no stretch of the imagination polite, but all in all the morning had simply been too long. It was quite obvious to Arabella that the majority of the Slytherins had no interest in defending themselves against the Dark Arts.

Sitting down at the Head Table next to Hagrid and McGonagall, she scooped up a bit of beef stew and tucked in.

“Oy, 'Bella,” Hagrid said, calling her by her childhood nickname. “How'd your firs' classes go?”

“Oh, little bit of this...” she said, nonchalantly, “...A little bit of that,” she added, gesturing her fork in the direction of the Slytherin table.

McGonagall allowed herself a little bit of a chuckle. “Yes, I suppose that in your class that is a bit of a lost cause.” She paused. “But still, we have to hold out hope...”

“Aw, cheer up, Minnie,” Hagrid said, a bit of potato caught in the wiry hairs of his beard. “Aft' all, with Dumbledore, I'm not worried.”

“Enough of this sort of talk,” Dumbledore said, walking up behind Hagrid and clasping a hand on his mammoth shoulder. “I am most interested to know how classes are going.”

“What,” Arabella said, a bit of a smirk on her face. “Weren't you spying on all of us using that little power known as invisibility?”

Dumbledore returned her smile. “Of course, my dear Arabella, if I did do that, I wouldn't waste the power of surprise by telling you about it, now would I?”

The good mood was broken by the approach of a surlier-that-normal Snape.

“A thousand apologies,” he said, managing to make the words carry none of their meaning. “Headmaster, I wish to speak with you.”

“Of course, Severus. If you will excuse me,” Dumbledore said, bowing away from the table.

Arabella waited until they had left the Great Hall to say what was on her mind. “That guy still creeps me out.”

“Oh, Arabella,” McGonagall said, managing only barely to keep it from a scold. “You two never did get along.”

“Us two? Minerva, Snape didn't get along with anyone who wasn't a Slytherin. It wasn't just me."

Fortunately, Jane Sinistra walked up to the table, interrupting what had the makings of a long and pointless debate. “Am I interrupting anything?”

Jane had the classic beauty of a Grecian statue, and it was often joked that the reason so many of the sixth and seventh year boys signed up for Advanced Astronomy had nothing to do with the stars or planets.

“Yes,” Hagrid said, almost wearily. “Please sit down.”

Arabella and Minerva looked sheepish for a nanosecond, then resumed their normal banter.

“So, Arabella,” Jane said, taking a bite of her vegetarian quiche, “How's your first day back treating you? You had Slytherins all morning, didn't you?”

“Yes, but it was actually rather quiet. I have the fifth year Gryffindors and advanced DADA later, and I'm looking forward to those.”

“That means you get Fred and George Weasley this afternoon,” McGonagall said, a grin slowly returning to her face. “If anything could make you regret your decision, those two are certainly it!”

Arabella inwardly chuckled. She was quite certain those two troublemakers had nothing on the originals.

***