Jigsaw

Chapter 8: Know Thine Enemy

"Ron, you best hurry, the train is leaving any moment now."

Ron nods, silencing his mother.

He turns to Ginny. His eyes are warm and glowing with excitement and quiet concern. He puts his hand on her shoulder and she jumps forward, catching him in a tight embrace.

"Promise me you’ll write, Ron?"she says into his neck.

"I promise."

"And . . . Promise me you won’t forget about me."

He pulls back slightly to regard her, pushing a stray red curl out of her eye.

"Never."

Her eyes snap open and she glances around the room. Through the window, the first light of day is streaming into the dormitory. She sighs heavily.

That is the third time this week that I’ve dreamt about him. I just wish I never had to wake up.

She turns onto her back and raises her arm in front of her, pulling back the sleeve of her shirt. She gazes at the healing wounds on her arms with a strange admiration.

"It can tear your world apart. Think about that."

She groans to herself as Draco’s words flash through her head. That, too, has become a most common occurrence.

She hasn’t visited the Muggle Studies classroom in almost two weeks.

She isn’t sure what has stopped her. But she thinks part of it has to do with fear of seeing Malfoy again. Of the way he looks at her, like he knows all of her secrets.

Of the fact that he does, in fact, know her deepest secret.

And seems to understand it more than she can fathom.

--

"Malfoy."

He tears his gaze from the lake in front of him and glances briefly up at her.

"Well, hello, Red. Long time, no see."

"What did you mean?" she asks, placing one hand on her hip and regarding him with narrowed eyes.

"Beg pardon?"

"What you said. To me. What did you mean?"

"I should think that would be obvious. Even to the likes of you."

She sighs, a frustrated sound. "How do you know?"

He takes a cigarette and lighter from the pocket of his black trousers. "Sit down, Red," he says as he puts the cigarette in his mouth and lights it.

She hesitates a moment before doing as he says, automatically drawing her knees up to her chest.

He exhales slowly, emitting a cloud of pale smoke and looks at her. "Why do you always sit like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like that."

"I don’t know. Habit, I guess."

"Hm."

She stretches her legs out in front of her, as if to prove a point. "So, are you going to answer my question?"

He takes another drag off his cigarette. "What question?"

"How do you know about . . . You know."

"Cutting?"

She looks at him in surprise.

"Jesus, Weasley, if you do it, you should be brave enough to call it what it is."

She blushes light pink across her nose, making her freckles even more visible, and he thinks to himself that she is fairly cute that way.

He holds out a cigarette, offering it to her. To the surprise of both of them, she takes it.

"It doesn’t really matter how I know, does it?" he asks, lighting it for her. "All that matters is that I do."

She inhales deeply, coughing as she exhales, and says," You know, I’m getting really tired of these cryptic answers."

He shrugs. "That’s me for you, Red. A man of mystery."

"But you’re good at figuring other people out."

"Yeah, well, that’s Father’s doing. ‘Know your enemies’, he says."

She looks him in the eye. "So, am I your enemy then?"

He finds that her eyes are full of a certain intensity, something that only she possesses, and that seems to be drawing him to her.

"No," he admits, flicking his ashes onto the ground. "I think not."