Whimsically Ginny

Chapter Five: Ties that Bind

24^th June 1941

Fourteen-year-old Tom Marvolo Riddle knew that it was a dream.

Everything around him felt strangely real, so much so that it was surreal. He was staring down the broken, abandoned labyrinth of stairs of the East Tower, and below him he saw her.

The faery, of course.

The faery was looking up at him, her face cocked to the side, half-teasingly, her wild red hair, glinting copper and fire in the pale moonlight. Even from his height, he could tell that her eyes were brown, glowing amber. Her fair skin was translucent, vampires' skin.

But what burned into the reaches of his mind like cold fire was her familiarity.

Tom could feel his wand in his inner robe pocket, mouth dry. The faery was toying with him, surely: it was the first time he had seen her with such clarity, in such a complete form, and she was in a Hogwarts uniform, with the Gryffindor crest on it.

The absurdity of it was almost laughable. Almost.

"Who are you?" He finally asked.

The faery smiled, a sad smile. "You don't remember, do you, Tom?"

Tom. The word, his name, seemed to reverberate in his mind. The intimacy of her tone was plain, surely, surely...

The faery took a step up, then another, sidestepping the trick steps, all the time gazing steadily at Tom. Tom did not move, waiting.

"Are you hungry, Tom?" She had reached him, and now another smile, a distinctively playful one, was flirting on the corners of her elfin lips, which befitted her elfin stature. Tom still did not move. She stretched out her left arm. It was her wand arm, Tom knew, for some inexplicable reason. But why would a faery have a wand? But still Tom stared at her, not moving. In her palm was a sloe, and Tom, as if on reflex, retrieved it from her, and before his mind could stop himself, ate the tiny fruit.

It was full of such painful sweetness and want in the core of its bitterness, that when Tom felt the last juices fade away, he felt emptier than he ever had been.

The faery had walked closer to him all this time, and now she was so close, Tom could feel her gentle heartbeat near his chest. Her head was down, and Tom hesitantly yet defiantly lifted up her face in a swift moment, his trembling fingers sliding against the soft skin. The faery was crying.

And then - suddenly Tom knew that he did know her. She was not a faery, just a girl: a girl named Virginia. Ginny. Gin.

"Ginny?" He abhorred the tentative question in his voice.

The girl smiled, for the third time, and it was the sad smile again, as she collapsed against him, her pliable, delicate frame folding into his. He held her, long fingers finding the small of her back, and somehow the years of question seemed to close its overlarge gap.

"I don't understand," Tom whispered, not understanding his own question.

"You only have one soul," Ginny replied, "You gave half of it to me, and took half of mine. You sold the rest, Tom. Don't you remember?" she repeated. "A soul cannot be destroyed, Tom, unless by the Creator Himself. You told me."

She looked up again, her face near. Her eyes were dark, gold-embraced along the irises. Then she kissed him, a chaste kiss, but the aching beauty of it was in how her tender lips graced his, and the effect of its damning purity was irrevocable.

Her cold fingers caressed his face.

Everything was frozen in that still in time: Tom was in no position to resist.

Then suddenly - suddenly, Ginny seemed to dissolve against him, as if her body had disintegrated to a million pieces, shrivelling into oblivion, like the dying petals of a wilted rose. Nothing came out of Tom's caught tongue. Mutely, he stumbled back.

For a moment nothing happened. Then there was a shimmering, and she reappeared again, but she was different. Tom could sense it. Through a passage of time, her once long hair had been cut short, framing her face, and the colour had darkened to a burnished copper. Her skin was anything if tauter and paler against her cheekbones, which had become more prominent, her stature caught between a lady's grace, and a child's lack thereof. She had grown, and was taller. Her Hogwarts uniform had transformed into a pair of dark grey trousers, too long for her, fastened to her narrow waist with a long, slim belt, and her upper body was lost in an overlarge black sweater, the sleeves enveloping the tips of her slender fingers. But she did not seem to see him, and walked, turning towards the darkened end of the East Tower.

Except the East Tower was no longer the East Tower, Tom realised. It was the Slytherin dormitory.

Ginny had disappeared behind the curtain of a bed.

Tom followed, quietly slipping in after her. She was lying, her eyes closed, her body curled inwards, against a boy. Tom did not recognize the boy, but the boy was looking at Ginny in a way that made Tom know him.

It was a thousand impossible emotions that captured the Ginny's form in the boy's silver eyes, hooded by his heavy lashes.

But there was one of those emotions that Tom knew, and understood.

Possession.

~

27^th October 1986

"Who is Harry Potter?"

It was a question which had been on the tip of five-year-old Virginia Isabel Weasley's tongue for days. Her brothers - Bill, Charlie, and Percy - the ones that did bother to make time for her, had went off to school, and the others - Fred, George, and Ron - were off in the gardens, their jubilant shouts apparent as they flew on their lazy brooms, chasing after the old, beloved Quaffle. Molly Weasley sighed inwardly, as she turned in the midst of her cleaning and rushing to face her only daughter, who was thin and slender-limbed like Bill and Percy and Ron before her, but had the streak of stubbornness that characterized Charlie and Fred and George.

"Well, Ginny dear, Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived."

"Why's he the Boy Who Lived?" came the petulant return.

"He's the Boy Who Lived because he defeated You-Know-Who by living instead of dying, when You-Know-Who had cursed him to die."

"Who's You-Know-Who? And why did he want Harry Potter to die?"

Molly Weasley sighed, knowing that her daughter was but a child, and children would always look for a solution without death. She had not remembered having to tell any of the boys, but then boys as brothers in proximity, whether biologically or via friendship, were worse gossips then girls when it came to death and dying. But she had forgotten that Ginny was a girl; it was difficult to remember, even if she was a treasure to her, what with six boys preceding.

"Well, Ginny, you ought to know that...well, there are always bad wizards, as much as most wizards are good. Bad wizards are evil, and they are known as dark wizards," Molly paused, taking in Ginny's rapt expression carefully, before continuing, "You-Know-Who was a very powerful dark wizard who was trying to take over the wizarding world - even the Muggle world, actually - by force, Ginny. He had a group of other dark wizards with him, or perhaps more likely behind him...and well, it was terrible, the time that You-Know-Who and his group of dark wizards - they were called Death-Eaters - were in power. Everyone lived in constant fear. Then one day, You-Know-Who tried to kill a family called the Potters. James and Lily Potter - Harry Potter's parents - were good wizards who were fighting against You-Know-Who's cause. Well, now Harry Potter is known as the Boy Who Lived, because although You-Know-Who killed his parents, and goodness knows how many others besides, when You-Know-Who tried to kill Harry, however, he did not manage to. Instead, Harry was left unscathed, save for a unique scar on his forehead, but You-Know-Who vanished."

"You-Know-Who's not dead, isn't he?" asked Ginny, her young face seeming to indicate that she had absorbed nothing that was devastating in any way, but her question, in its oddity, immediately upset Molly.

"Well, he's disappeared, dear; I would say that he shouldn't be a threat anymore, he couldn't," Molly Weasley's voice was level, but somehow her answer came out more as if she were reassuring herself rather than her daughter.

Ginny's face was now tilted towards the nearby window behind Molly, and for a while her eyes had such a faraway, distant look that Molly wondered whether she had even heard her. Then suddenly Ginny's eyes refocused on Molly, and then Ginny, matter-of-factly, spoke.

"But he's not dead, I know that."

~

24^th August 1995

"Anyhow, has Draco mentioned wanting to see Lucius?"

Blaise glanced at Shu Han, whose dark brown eyes were still following his movements steadily. He had gotten up to trail the area; his restlessness was palpable throughout the room.

"Can he? Haven't the Dementors left?"

"Well, if there aren't Dementors, there are always dispensable trainee Aurors. Yet another of Fudge's brilliant ideas that are bound to fail sooner or later," came Shu Han's wry reply. "Well, Theodore's visited his father; did I mention that he is now staying at Claire's?"

"No, you did not. I suppose the Notts' mansion was also taken over, just like the Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes," said Shu Han, "Well, Theodore and Claire Moon are a pair, anyway. What with Theodore and his pathetic lack of any outstanding qualities, even in terms of negative ones...unless, of course, you can consider being remarkably unremarkable as a remarkable character trait. And Claire - she thinks herself so intelligent, and so ambitious," Shu Han's tone was dripping with disdain, as she added with another smirk, "She and her delusions of grandeur. She believes herself so cunning; she even goes so far as to think that she can offer herself and Theodore to Voldemort, in order to usurp me. How spectacularly naïve, the girl."

"How did you find out about that?" asked Blaise, the edge of his voice sharp.

"I have my ways, Zabini; if I told them all to you why the hell would you need me?" retorted Shu Han, the smirk gone, her iciness cutting through, pervading the room. Her dark brown eyes were boring into Blaise's dark grey. Shu Han looked away first. "Besides," she continued, in a more diminished tone, "you wouldn't have to worry whether or not I am in Voldemort's fold - I treasure the skin I have on my left forearm more than most."

"I wasn't worrying."

Shu Han was quiet for a while, her eyes having returned to rest on Blaise's. Then, softly, "Of course you would not, Blaise."

There was a moment of silence. Blaise's fingers traced the polished metal panes of the yawning windows.

"Anyway, as we were saying. Draco should be able to visit Azkaban; he's Lucius's closest kin. And I would expect that you would accompany Draco?"

"I suppose so. Draco is too volatile to be left alone."

"He means so much to you, does he not?"

Blaise remained silent, choosing to evade the question.

"Draco is much too innocent, Blaise, you know that. I know you know that."

"And what can I do about that?" Blaise closed his eyes in exhaustion; Merlin, he needed to sleep. Needed an escape, however brief, from Draco's problems, from Shu Han's perception, from his own earthly weight.

"He is Lucius Malfoy's son. You would know that he cannot afford innocence. Do try to knock some sense into him, would you, Blaise?" the question in Shu Han's voice was the first time Blaise had heard it coming from her. The first time she seemed even anywhere close to uncertainty.

He opened his eyes again, only to find Shu Han looking at him again. Weary, Blaise nodded, saying, "I know. I will."

There followed yet another beat of silence. Then Shu Han stood up, as elegantly as she had sat, and without another meaningless word of farewell, Disapparated with a soft 'pop'.

And Blaise, alone again, made his way back to Draco's bed.

~

22^nd July 1990

Nine-year-old Yong Shu Han had always been a straight-backed, refined little girl, with little time and patience for incompetence.

Much like her parents.

It was a hot afternoon, the dreadful sun streaming in merrily in its mock-ignorance of Shu Han's discomfort. At the same time, Shu Han never showed a shred of discomfiture on her face; even as she was made to sit rigidly at the Yongs' traditional Chinese rosewood table, she was still a picture of stoic cool. Across from her, the Malfoy boy - Draco Lucius Isengrim Licinius Xavier Blanc Oigthierna Black Malfoy as he had arrogantly introduced himself - was less successful, his lips were set in what seemed to be a cross between a deliciously indecent smirk and a condescending sneer. Next to him was seated the Zabini family's only son, Blaise Zabini, whom Malfoy had insisted to elaborate upon, following Zabini's brief and even curt introduction of himself, that his full name was Blaise Absalom Valerian Timothy Bres Laurent Desailly-d'Alessandry Zabini. His face was a reflection of Shu Han's own, she observed with somewhat grudging respect. Both boys already seemed well acquainted with one another. Shu Han could tell, of course. She could see it from the way Malfoy glanced at Zabini, how he was oddly, if rather unsubtly proud of being associated with Zabini, and how Zabini leaned in when Malfoy addressed him.

Next to her were her parents. Yong Xia Dracognius-Normandy was dressed in his usual immaculate black robes, his sharp eyes quietly passing down the table. Yong-Tang Xiao Shuang was also dressed in black, her hair as perfect as always, as was her flawless skin. By her parents' side were Malfoy's parents - Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, in tailored synchronization, as were Absalom and Danielle Zabini, who were seated after them, rounding up the large circular table, with its intricate carvings and inlaid mother-of-pearl. The adults were engaged in typical business speak, alienating Shu Han, Malfoy and Zabini with their monetary jargon. Their quiet voices, well trained with time, rose and fell from time to time, intimately impersonal.

Shu Han glanced at Malfoy and Zabini, both of whom had abandoned their silence. Malfoy was muttering something to Zabini, his expression having shifted into an entire smirk. Zabini's head was inclined towards Malfoy, a light smile lifting the corners of his mouth. Shu Han took to studying both of them; they did not seem to realise her eyes on them.

Zabini was classically good-looking: his features were boyish and well defined, pronounced. He was thin, but his stature made up for that with his height. Even at ten he was only a few inches shorter than the men, and already he was taller than both his and Shu Han's respective mothers. Malfoy was more effeminate, prettier than Shu Han herself. His white-blonde hair was as immaculate as Shu Han's father's robes, and his light, rather smaller frame was akin to a young girl's, angled, but more slender and delicate in appearance. His silver eyes were hooded by his heavy white lashes, in such a luxuriously complacent way that Shu Han very much felt that smacking him would be entirely satisfactory, just to see those eyes open fully.

As nine-year-old Yong Shu Han continued watching Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy, she would have never known that she would continue watching them both, for more years to come.

~

24^th August 1995

"But Ron - you know I that I don't feel that way about Ginny. And I'm sure - if Ginny did feel anything towards me, she would have told Hermione at least, and Hermione never mentioned any of this to me - "

"And you think that Ginny's as simple as that, Harry?" cut in Ron. "Look, I know her. If there's anybody in the world I know, it's Ginny. I'm far from a bloody mind reader: Occlumens or whatever sodding names they call themselves, but Ginny's always been more secretive than not about stuff like these. Even though she's really obvious sometimes, especially before, well, you know, the Chamber thing. But ever since then - she's changed, she has, Mum's been worried, so have Bill and Charlie, but Ginny's strong, she always was, I remember she used to lose to me in wizard's chess when we were little and I'll dare her to walk through this old marsh in the forest at Ottery St. Catchpole, and she never cried, not once..."

"Ron," said Harry, sounding albeit a tad scandalized, "you got your younger sister to walk through a marsh by herself? How old was she?"

"Well, five," said Ron, completely unperturbed, "Why d'you ask?"

Harry blinked. "Er...never mind," he replied, hastily, "You were saying?"

"And there used to be so many stories about that marsh, and no one else dared to enter by ourselves; Ginny was the only one who ever did. And then there was the time when I - well, remember the time Fred and George Transfigured my teddy bear into a huge spider? Well..." Ron had started going red around the ears again, "guess what Ginny did when she found out? She waited till Fred and George went swimming in the creek beyond the marsh...then she stole their clothes, dunno how she did it, Fred and George have never been the kind to be careless about such things, but in the end the twins never turned up...Ginny never told anybody, you see, and it wasn't until after dinner that Mum forced it out of her, and Ginny sneaked me the clothes and we painted them with yellow polka dots..."

"And how old was Ginny then?" asked Harry, a thoroughly amused expression on his face.

"Er...five as well?" replied Ron. "But anyway - the point is that Ginny has always been the most wicked girl I've known...and you know how much that would mean, I mean, she is my sister and everything..."

"And the thing is, Harry, she's the kind of girl who will, well, stick with you. Just so you know. It isn't always you'll get someone like Ginny around."

~

"What about the starting of the prophecy?" Lupin questioned. His fine brows were drawn together, and if it were possible he looked even more haggard then before. "What about the girl with half a soul...and 'twice protected'? What could that possibly mean?"

"Well...we cannot possibly know, can we?" replied McGonagall, her dark eyes appearing tired. Again, it struck Lupin how she, too, was very much older than he was. Dumbledore had ushered Sybill Trelawney to his own office, when she had revived a few moments earlier; left on their own, Lupin and McGonagall were trying to piece the clues within Trelawney's cryptic prophecy.

The marked one, the one of memory past, and the one between the Dark and the Light...

The second half of the prophecy had been more straightforward. But it was the first lines that dogged Lupin's mind: he knew that he ought to know something, something kept in the far reaches of his memory, but he could not, however he racked his brain, think of it.

"It has to be a girl we know; it has to be a girl from Hogwarts." Lupin paced the room unnecessarily. "But which girl would only have 'half a soul'? Which girl could have went through whatever horrific process it takes to - "

He stopped, because McGonagall had suddenly sat bolt upright, her eyes wide with a certainty that she obviously was shocked with. It took her a few seconds before she turned to Lupin, her face pale.

"Heavens, Remus: Ginny Weasley."

~

"Charlie!" came the voice of Molly Weasley as soon as Ginny, Charlie, Bill, Ron and Harry stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. Ginny and Charlie had finally managed to drag Bill out of his prolific debate with the Gringotts goblin; after which, on their way down Diagon Alley to get to the Leaky Cauldron, they had met with Ron and Harry, who had seemed to be deep in conversation, but they had immediately stopped discussing whatever they had been discussing as soon as they had seen Ginny, Charlie and Bill. Ron had bombarded Charlie with queries, just as Bill, and before that, Ginny had; as Charlie tried to answer them (and evade those which involved Audrey), Ginny realised that Harry was shifting back slightly, as if trying to let Ron and the others have more space to themselves. Ginny had kept quiet, not wanting Charlie or Bill to come back at her with yet another lecture later, but she shelved that mental note away, just in case it came to any importance in the future.

Ginny tuned out as Molly went through her customary fuss about Charlie; and then Arthur Weasley and the twins entered, and another round of loud chattering ensued. Then finally, finally, everyone settled down to eat lunch: Ginny's impatience was due largely in part of her own hunger.

"So...well, what shall we have?" asked Arthur Weasley, his voice sounding strangely and falsely cheerful. Ginny knew why, of course. A meal for so many people was sure to cost, and she had heard her father telling her mother only the night before that he might be receiving a pay cut: all of them at the Ministry were subject to it.

"I would propose a good meal, wouldn't you, Fred?" remarked George casually, "Especially since we've just signed a contract to market Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to the simply huge market of China..."

"You've broken into China?" burst out Ron and Bill.

"Yes," grinned Fred, "and the contract was worth quite a few thousand Galleons, I tell you..."

"A few thousand Galleons?" repeated Ron in awe. Ginny started grinning as well, and she was about to reach out to hug her twin brothers in congratulations, but before she could, a large tawny owl flew into her lap, dropping an official-looking parchment. Surprised, she gestured for the owl to fly away, which it did, but not before pecking at the checked tablecloth of the table, obviously hungry as well.

"What's that, Ginny?" asked Harry, and everyone else around the table nodded, momentarily distracted from the twins' towering new achievement. Ginny tentatively flipped the letter over: it was sealed with the Hogwarts School seal. She opened the letter and started to read out loud, but then a heavy badge fell out of it into her lap.

Ginny quickly picked it up. Blinking, she realised belatedly what it was, as around her Fred and George had begun to groan loudly, and the others began to congratulate her instead. A Gryffindor Prefect badge.

~

"Draco." It was Blaise's voice again, through the hazy mists that clouded Draco's mind. Struggling with himself, Draco managed to open his eyes, and the strength of the sunlight caused his pupils to dilate painfully.

"What?" Draco knew he sounded irritable, but did not bother. He was in one of those moods: he was defensive for what had happened with Blaise earlier; he was confused and drugged from sleep and dreams that he could not grasp, not for the life of him.

Blaise had taken to standing over him, watching Draco as he pushed himself up from the bed, his upper body leaning against the headboard of the canopy bed. His shirt - Blaise's shirt - was not entirely buttoned, falling over his sides.

"Would you like to visit Lucius at Azkaban, Draco?" Blaise asked the question directly, knowing that Draco, who was propped up in a most languid manner, would immediately be stirred fully awake by it.

Draco did straighten. "Can I - I mean, is it possible?" His voice hardly hid the eagerness in its tone.

Blaise looked away, nodding slightly. "Shu Han mentioned that Theodore Nott had gone to visit his father earlier. According to her, it should be alright for you...I will go prepare the Thestrals now."

And before Draco could say another word, Blaise had left the room, leaving Draco to his own lot again.

~

One week later

1^st September 1995

"Let's see...from Ravenclaw, Kevin Entwhistle, Lisa Turpin's left, no other appointments...we'll have to do without a Ravenclaw sixth-year, then...Muriel Morrison and Malcolm Corner..." Head Girl Patricia Stimpson was muttering as she went through her many lists. Ginny glanced around her: beside her were Hermione (who had thoroughly assured her that her visit to Bulgaria had been superbly uneventful, and who had a very good tan to show for it: according to her, she had spent most of her time reading in the sun whilst Viktor trained with the Bulgarian Quidditch team, most of whom were convinced she was an English spy bent on memorising their Quidditch moves) and Ron, who was fidgeting, as usual. On her right was Colin Creevey, whose wide eyes were practically milking in the foreign surroundings of the prefect carriage. Opposite her were the other prefects from the other houses: something Ginny found immediately lacking was the presence of Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson amongst the Slytherin prefects.

"And Gryffindor...Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Colin Creevey...all here, very good...Hufflepuff: Hannah Abbott, Ernie Macmillan, Gareth Cauldwell, Andrea Goldstein...all here as well. Slytherin: er, Claire Moon, Derek Perks...Pansy Parkinson's family has went goodness knows where...and where is Draco Malfoy?" Patricia's voice became sharp. "Has anyone seen him around?"

Everybody shook his or her head. Patricia's lips pinched together, and Head Boy Geraint Stebbins hastily stepped in. "Well...let's see...er, Patricia, why don't we send one of the younger Prefects along to go find him whilst the rest of us commence with our meeting, so as to save time?"

Patricia was still frowning, but she nodded in agreement. With a sweeping glance at the fifth-year prefects, her eyes settled on her fellow housemate.

"Ginny Weasley. Go find Malfoy, please."

~

"Shu Han and I were discussing you the other day." Blaise's voice was casual, as if he were commenting about the weather. But Draco was not fooled - he knew full well that when Blaise spoke like this it carried more weight than his tone would suggest.

"What about me? And where is Shu Han, anyway?" Draco deliberately kept his tone light, as well. Next to him Meric, his eagle owl, was silent in his wrought-silver cage, a powerful wing tucked over his head.

"Shu Han is going to Hogwarts with her parents...something about Snape wanting to see her father before term started. And we were talking about how...innocent you can be, Draco."

"I'm not innocent; I am Lucius Malfoy's son, I - "

"It is precisely," interrupted Blaise, "that you are Lucius Malfoy's son that you have to be less innocent than you are. You cannot afford to show your loyalties on your face, Draco. You cannot afford to show what you think on your face. You cannot afford to exhibit your heart on your sleeve." Blaise's eyes were hard as he looked right into Draco's defensive silver ones.

Draco could not answer.

"That has always been your greatest weakness, Draco. You are too vulnerable," Blaise said softly, "You are too much like Potter himself."

"I am nothing like Potter!"

"Then tell me why anything I say, and anything that happens to you, provokes in you such a violent outward response, Draco!" expostulated Blaise. "Or are you going to tell me that you are not enough of a Malfoy, and not enough of a Slytherin, to even see what you are doing to yourself? To even see what you might end up doing to yourself?"

"I am a Malfoy. And I am a Slytherin. Just as much as you are." Draco's voice was quiet. His skin was tight against his cheekbones.

"Then prove it, Draco. Prove it."

~

"Malfoy, there you are, get your sorry self to the prefect carriage...I've been long enough looking around for you," scowled Ginny, as she came to the last carriage, where she had finally found Draco Malfoy and another black-haired sixth-year Slytherin whom she recognized but whose name she could not recall.

Malfoy turned around to sneer at her; his face turned frostily feral as he did. "Why, is the filthy little Weasley a Prefect as well? Potter must be feeling left out."

"I really do wonder at how every word that comes out of your mouth seems to be centred on Harry," retorted Ginny, her eyes narrowed. "Leaves a lot to question, don't you think?"

Malfoy's sneer became, if it were remotely possible, even more unpleasant. Then abruptly he turned away again, determinedly looking out of the carriage window.

"Draco." It was the Slytherin boy who spoke; his voice was clear, a slight lilt of French in it. Ginny privately wondered why she had never before heard of him, then realised that that was because the only Slytherin she came into regular contact with was Malfoy himself. And that for reasons that were more annoying than not.

Draco's silver pupils slid over to the boy. Somehow, as much as Ginny did not know of their relationship, but she could fathom that it was deeper than she would have thought: the tension in the air was palpable. Uncomfortable, she felt a certain draught of nervousness pass through herself.

The boy was staring back at Draco, grey eyes dark. Their silence was discomfiting, and Ginny felt yet another lurch of irrational nervousness, more panicked this time. She licked her dry lips.

"Well...Malfoy, would you hurry up?" she tried to force irritation into her voice.

Much to Ginny's own bewilderment, and also to her relief, Malfoy almost automatically obeyed her this time, still absolutely silent. He walked down to her, then, glancing at her with an expression that was amazingly lacking in spite, drawled, "Weasley, I thought we were in a hurry?"

"Er...yeah, right, er..." stammered Ginny, struggling to come to terms with everything that was happening, She forced a look of contempt. "Obviously I wouldn't be thick enough to walk before you - you would definitely throw a good couple of hexes at me..."

"Whilst on the other hand you wouldn't, would you?" retorted Malfoy flatly, but there was still something lacking in his remark. A good deal of snarky attitude, realised Ginny. Before Ginny could say a word, he swept past her, marching out into the corridor.

The other Slytherin boy was still gazing in the direction of his housemate, his expression as inscrutable, if not more, as Malfoy's had been, and Ginny, suddenly feeling the re-emergence of her previous nervousness, almost slammed the carriage door in her rush to get away.

~

Blaise had known that mentioning Potter would evoke an immediate reaction from Draco; it was not going to last long, Draco's control, but Blaise knew that at least it was a step in a certain direction. He couldn't say himself that it was the right direction.

But Shu Han was seldom wrong. And for all his nonchalance towards her, Blaise took her words to heart more often than not. And Blaise also knew that Shu Han knew that.

Blaise knew that he had also to keep himself in check. What had happened a week before when Blaise had went to Azkaban Fortress with Draco was a less than satisfactory display of control.

Blaise closed his eyes, letting the strain of consciousness slowly ebb away.

Everything was going to smooth over, he knew. It was only a matter of time - and then Blaise could allow himself to fade back into oblivion again.

~

"Well, this is what Tonks and I have researched over the week; I can't say there is much, though...most of the best records would likely only be found in the actual families' libraries themselves, and we couldn't possibly search those, save for the Malfoy Mansion's...but that's been under Fudge's personal care," said Lupin, as he lifted a large stack of old books and parchment onto Dumbledore's desk, Tonks by his side. Dumbledore glanced at the pile, and then turned his attention to Fawkes, who was appearing a tad worse for wear, his once-brilliant red-gold feathers appearing to have blackened into a dusky, dirty colour.

"In terms of the heiress of the Dracognius-Normandy family: it's been confirmed - her full name is," Lupin paused as he looked at a document, "Yong Shu Han Tang Dracognius-Normandy, although normally she simply goes by the name of Yong Shu Han. Born 17^th December 1980, she is a sixth-year Slytherin, with excellent academic results only second to Hermione's. Her father is Yong Xia Dracognius-Normandy, who is a member of the Wizengamot, and also the director of the Yong family wizarding companies across Europe and especially in Asia. Her mother is Yong-Tang Xiao Shuang, second daughter of the Tang family of Harbin. Her only cousin from either side is also a girl, a September Titus Stratton Lee Dracognius-Normandy, currently a fourth-year in Beauxbatons."

"As for the Desailly-d'Alessandrys...the last Desailly-d'Alessandry was Danielle Delacour Delamater Desailly-d'Alessandry. She married Absalom Zabini in 1978; gave birth to the Zabini heir, Blaise Zabini, full name Blaise Absalom Valerian Timothy Bres Laurent Desailly-d'Alessandry Zabini on 7^th September 1980. Zabini is also a sixth-year Slytherin, and has also been a consistently excellent pupil, especially gifted in Potions. However, he seems to rather much of a recluse; hardly talks to anyone, never participates actively..." Tonks squinted at another document, her voice trailing off.

"And then, there are the Malfoys, our favourite family," remarked Lupin dryly, "And the last Malfoy so far is Draco Malfoy, full name being Draco Lucius Isengrim Licinius Xavier Blanc Oigthierna Black Malfoy, born 21^st December 1980. His father, as we all know, is Lucius Malfoy, confirmed Death Eater, and his mother Narcissa Black-Malfoy, currently a fugitive, whereabouts unknown, suspected to be hiding out in Monaco...Malfoy does have two cousins as well, twin boys who have both just turned eighteen this year, and graduates of Beauxbatons, Philippe and Luca Delamater-Bres. However, they are on Narcissa's side of the family, and are thus not accountable as heirs of the Malfoy line. Draco Malfoy, as we all know, is a sixth-year Slytherin, with above-average academic results, Slytherin Quidditch team Seeker, and Slytherin House Prefect."

"And finally," continued Tonks, "there is the Oigthierna line itself. The last recorded Oigthierna is Clíona Aisling Halkiopoulos Oigthierna. She was in Ravenclaw in her years as a student in Hogwarts from 1919 to 1926. She was eighteen years old in the year 1927, when she left the Oigthierna family, apparently due to her parents being unable to accept her Muggle-born lover. After which details of her have been extremely hazy; her father Marvolo Tierney Oigthierna pretty much disowned her. It is believed tha she passed away not too long after that from childbirth; then again, no one knows for sure. Well," said Tonks, "if she did give birth to a child, he would likely have been in England, considering that the last time anyone saw her was when she was in a small town named - " Tonks shuffled through a few more parchments, "Little Hangleton."

"Just as I suspected," remarked Dumbledore. He had returned to his armchair again, his fingers crossed over his desk. "Her son, Tonks, Lupin, is none other than Tom Marvolo Riddle."

~

You are too vulnerable.

You are too much like Potter himself.

Blaise's words echoed in Draco's mind, refusing to go away, haunting him. And somehow, somehow, Draco knew that Blaise was right - Blaise had never said anything that he was not certain of. And Draco, strange as it might seem, trusted Blaise.

Even after what had happened a week ago at Azkaban. Draco never suspected - but then Blaise never said anything, and again it was just like Blaise not to.

Presently there was a knot in Draco's mind, heart...a complicated knot refusing to undo itself, hanging his thoughts and emotions in suspension. Trying to quench the discomfiture he was experiencing, he clenched his fingers into his palms tightly, the nails digging into his flesh, focusing on what was going on around him. Behind him he could hear the soft footsteps of the Weasley girl - he remembered full well the Bat-Bogey Hex that the brat had applied on him less than a year before, the snivelling little Harry Potter tagalong that she was.

From the corner of his eye he spied her flyaway copper hair, so typically Weasley that he automatically abhorred it. He had never looked at her very carefully, but he assumed she had the same common-looking freckles, the same pasty skin, the same loud, irritating and utterly graceless manner that her Weasel of a brother adopted.

Unconsciously the corners of Draco's mouth lifted into another sneer.

He would do as Blaise said - but one of these days, just one of these days, he would get his back.

~

It took Lupin and Tonks a few moments to recover. "What?!" expostulated both Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks at the same time.

"It would tie in very well with the prophecy," remarked Dumbledore calmly, seemingly unfazed by Lupin and Tonks's reaction. "Especially with the first part of it, should Minerva's deduction that the girl central of the key players within Sybill's new prophecy is Ginny Weasley."

"Professor Dumbledore - " started Tonks uncertainly, "why didn't you tell Molly and Arthur about Professor McGonagall's suspicions about Ginny? Wouldn't they want to know if their daughter was in any sort of potential danger?"

"Well," replied Dumbledore, "I would have, should I have thought it wise." He paused, smiling a small, wry smile. "But as much as I can no longer ascertain how wise my choices are, I would think that Minerva's decision that it would be better just to keep an eye on Miss Weasley before informing Arthur and Molly is one that would, hopefully, ensure the least damage."

"But - what about the three that Ginny will become involved in?" asked Tonks, and beside her Lupin nodded.

"Actually, I would think that she is already involved the first, and that she was involved the second," replied Dumbledore, leaning back into his chair, one long arm stretched out towards the dismal-looking Fawkes. "Do hurry up now, Fawkes, you are looking most out of sorts," and Fawkes made a weak, tired noise in return.

"What do you mean, Professor?" asked Lupin.

"What I mean, Remus, is that Ginny already has been in close contact with the both of them," said Dumbledore vaguely, "For they are none other than Harry Potter and Tom Riddle themselves."

~

Ginny watched Malfoy cautiously as she followed him down the corridor, her fingers clenched tightly around her wand. Somehow Malfoy in his non insult-happy, hex-throwing state was even more sinister than his normally insult-happy, hex-throwing state, and Ginny knew full well than to let down her guard.

Ginny had been exceedingly uncomfortable throughout the silent exchange - she was sure that as much as there was no verbal exchange, there was surely some kind of exchange between Malfoy and the Slytherin boy - the intensity of the way the both of them had stared at each other was nothing short of frightening and downright unsettling. The only time Ginny had ever seen that kind of depth of emotion in Malfoy's eyes was when Malfoy had stared at Harry - with pure hatred. And since Ginny had never seen any sort of variation in expression on Malfoy's face besides contempt, disdain, malice, hatred...it was something that was utterly disconcerting. As disconcerting as how Harry had opened up to her on their last night at Grimmauld Place. As disconcerting as how she had ached to hold Harry for as long as she could when he had first leaned onto her...his brilliant green eyes closed, against her shoulder...

She was not going to revisit that again, feeling the blush coming up from behind her neck. It was all in the heat of the moment - she had gotten emotional over Riddle, her personal ghost; Harry had gotten emotional over Sirius, his dead godfather. They had not been themselves: anyway, it had all been a set-up...she had sworn that she would get back at Fred and George; she had already Hexed Ron.

Harry had treated her exactly as he always had the following morning; she had responded likewise. Her brothers were observing her face at every turn: well, she was very well ready for them, and they had certainly been disappointed, and showed their disappointment very obviously (but not obviously enough to arouse the suspicion of Molly Weasley). Ron, as much as he had been peeved that Ginny had fixed him with a superb Bat-Bogey Hex, had even went so far as to pull her aside to interrogate her about the night spent alone with Harry. Luckily (well, that was also quite subjective) for Ginny, Ron and Ginny's scuffling had accidentally sent the portrait of Sirius's mother to fly off the handle and start screaming at the top of her decidedly unpleasant voice.

But, Ginny had to admit, that she was almost somewhat disappointed that she had to go off to the prefects' carriage with Ron and Hermione and Colin, instead of staying in the empty carriage Harry had found for themselves; somehow, she had seen something in Harry yesterday that she had never seen before, and she had wanted to examine it.

But now Malfoy was walking in front of her, just inches away. Ginny pushed aside her thoughts of Harry; the matter at hand was what was important. Ginny's brown eyes stared into Malfoy's back, as if just by doing so she would be able to understand just what had happened in the carriage earlier. Malfoy was dressed in an expensive looking pair of dark grey trousers, with a long, thin black belt fastened around his waist. He wore a black long-sleeved sweater, making his pallor more apparent. It was strange, because as much as the clothes were undoubtedly dear (very likely having cost the same amount as a couple of meals at the Weasley table, Ginny thought wryly), Ginny did not remember ever seeing them on Malfoy. Not that Ginny was an expert on the clothes worn by Malfoy, but still...they distinctively looked as if they belonged to someone else. Somehow the cutting was too long, too broad around the shoulders, and too much as if it better suited the physique of...

Ginny stopped short. The Slytherin boy. He was taller than Malfoy, and as much as he had been slender, he was still broader than him. But why - why would Malfoy be wearing his clothes?

Then Ginny remembered. The Malfoy Mansion had been raided two weeks earlier; Malfoy must have gone to seek refuge at his housemate's home. Which was all well and good if it were someone else - but this was Malfoy.

It was ridiculous, that she should make such a difference between other people - normal people, a voice in Ginny's mind interjected - and Malfoy. But then she supposed she had never seen him as anyone else but that: Malfoy. This was the Malfoy who was supposed to be cowardly, but too proud to ever admit that; the Malfoy who was supposed to be the bane of any first to third-year's existence, the Malfoy who was the son of Lucius Malfoy, confirmed Death Eater, and who had very nonchalantly left Ginny to die in the hands of his psychotic Master in sixteen-year-old form. Somehow the idea that Malfoy would need and depend on someone, just as anyone else needed and depended on someone, was as disconcerting as Harry seeking solace - however accidentally - on Ginny Weasley's shoulder.

Actually, yet another voice in Ginny's mind said, it was more accurate to say that Harry Potter was seeking solace in Ginny Weasley's arms, which were embracing him in a way that would have sent Ron and Fred and George and Charlie and Bill to seventh heaven, but of course we need not go into that.

Ginny was determinedly trying not to blush: even if Malfoy couldn't see her blushing, goodness knows what anyone else would think, should they happen to see Ginny Weasley marching after Draco Malfoy with her face on fire.

Merlin, what was wrong with the way her brain was working today?

~

"So what are you proposing, Minerva? That I aid you in keeping an eye on my three best students?" Snape's voice was deceptively smooth. "And I would suppose that Professor Dumbledore himself required this of me?"

"You know very well that he did, Severus, or I would not be here," came the sharp reply from McGonagall's caustic tongue. "Yong Shu Han I have never trusted; she knows more than we give credit to her. Blaise Zabini is the same: having taught him for five years I must say that I have never heard his voice. As for Draco Malfoy -" McGonagall paused, her face very frankly displaying her dislike for the boy.

"He is very much like me, Minerva. Please do not judge what you do not know." Snape made no effort to conceal the hardness of his tone. He looked the older woman straight in the eye. "He has seen some hidden, undesirable sides of people you think you know inside out."

McGonagall opened her mouth slightly in the vein of saying something, but stopped. Snape was still staring at her, his expression kept remarkably blank, save for the disdain that was apparent in his black eyes. McGonagall held his gaze for a few more moments, then, seeing that there was no more left to say, she left the room as discreetly as she had entered, somehow feeling that she had been wrong about something that Snape had gotten right.

~

Harry Potter was trying his darnedest not to think of what had happened between him and Ginny Weasley.

Especially not with Neville Longbottom sitting across from him, asking why Harry had such a 'strange look' on his face, and with Luna Lovegood seated next to Neville Longbottom. Even if Luna Lovegood was paying seemingly zero attention to Harry's 'strange' looks, and was thoroughly preoccupied with yet another upside-down copy of the Quibbler.

Harry knew full well that it had been an entire set-up: he had spied Ron, Fred and George slinking around just moments before he had found himself pummelled into the drawing room of Grimmauld Place along with an extremely hacked off Ginny. Before either of them could even respond, they had had their wands expelled from their grasp, and the heavy door very resolutely locked.

Harry remembered vaguely admonishing himself for having taught them to use the Expelliarmus spell.

And in the end, he and Ginny had given up trying to escape; they couldn't possibly try to climb out from the windows, because that would surely invite too much unnecessary attention, and it was impossible trying to pick the complicated multi-locking keyhole of the drawing room. The both of them had eventually sat themselves down in the large armchairs, and had begun talking.

The conversation had been as normal as an embarrassing confession to Ginny on Harry's suspicions as to why the both of them had been locked in together could be. Very fortunately, Ginny had taken it in her stride, flippantly rolling her eyes and commenting on the lack of any subtlety on the part of her older brothers, and soon the both of them began to concoct all sorts of nefarious schemes to get back at Ron and Fred and George.

And then why, why had the topic of the conversation morph into a mutual sharing of emotional wounds? Harry couldn't even remember how it had started; somehow Ginny had just started talking about Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets, and then that had gotten Harry started, and then suddenly the both of them were hanging on to each other for dear life.

No, thought Harry, certainly there had been much more emotional baggage being exchanged throughout the entire process, but how in the world that had winded up with him with his upper body pressed against his best friend's younger sister he could not understand.

Perhaps - perhaps it had been that weird spell that the assumption that he and Ginny were kindred spirits had cast on him at that point in time. It had just seemed so appropriate, at that time, to hold her, and to let her hold him. Perhaps it was how vulnerable she seemed to look.

And perhaps I'm going mad, thinking of such things, said a voice in Harry's head, and in a sudden fit of self-irritation, Harry forced himself to come out of his reverie to attempt at some kind of sane conversation of Neville and Luna.

"Hey, erm, Neville...thanks for the birthday card you sent me, along with the Quidditch book," said Harry, "It was really nice of you; I really liked it. Did you get the Remembrall I got Ron to send you?"

"Yeah, sure, thanks, Harry," beamed Neville. Harry had been surprised to find a present from him when he had retrieved his usual loot from Hermione, Ron and Hagrid earlier on his birthday. Harry, unable to let it go that Neville had given him a present whilst he hadn't given Neville a present, had had no other choice but to write to Ron - since Hermione was off in Bulgaria - and ask him to send Neville a birthday present in his place. "It's extremely useful. I bring it with me everywhere, 'cos I lost the last one Gran had sent me and all," Neville reached into his trouser pocket, and pulled out a large Remembrall. "And anyway, Ron and Ginny both got me presents, too...well, it's the first time I've received anything from Ron - he gave me a packet of Bertie Bott's beans - but then Ginny's been giving me presents ever since our fourth year. You know," said Neville thoughtfully, "Ginny's awfully nice when she wants to be. Like it was obvious that there was no reason for her to agree to going to the Yule Ball with me, but she went, anyway. And even when that Corner person came up, she actually chose to stick with me first before I told her to go off with him, even though I kept stepping on her toes and she was trying not to make it look too obvious that it hurt."

Harry grinned, and then asked, "Well, if you like her, why didn't you just allow her to stick with you?"

Neville looked at Harry for a few seconds, seeming to ponder upon it, and then replied, matter-of-factly, "Because it would have been selfish of me. And anyway, if Ginny wasn't happy dancing with me, I couldn't possibly be very happy either, could I? At least when I saw her dancing with Corner, having fun with him and everything, I felt happy for her."

The grin slid off Harry's face, and he leaned back, gazing at Neville. Somehow he had always wondered why Ginny had stood up for Neville the way she did when he was most self-deprecating at times, and why Neville had tried to defend Ginny when the Inquisitional Squad had tried to drag her off to Umbridge's office earlier in the year. And now he had the answer: Ginny and Neville were the way they were, because of how well they understood each other, and cared for each other, more so than they did for themselves, even.

Very much like the way Ginny could possibly be caring for Harry himself now.

Harry turned away again, staring out into the open scenery.

~