Rating:: R
House:: Schnoogle
Characters:: Draco Malfoy Ginny Weasley Harry Potter Hermione Granger
Genres:: Romance Angst
Era:: Multiple Eras
Spoilers:: Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:: Published: 10/29/2002

Updated: 12/23/2002

Words: 62,322

Chapters: 13

Hits: 40,651

Our Winter

Jade Okelani

Story Summary:: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has a secret -- deep within its walls, an ancient society of power dwells. Ginny Weasley wants nothing more than membership and all the privilege it ensures. Draco Malfoy holds her future in his hands, provided she adheres to certain terms for one month's time. The end of winter brings with it sorrow, joy, and change.

Our Winter Prologue

Posted:: 10/29/2002

Hits:: 10,010

Author's Note:: This fic has been written to please one person, and one person alone -- my partner in crime, Sarea. It is a work in progress, but I'm hoping to update it with some regularity. (Encouragement from you, the reader, will do wonders for my muse. *g*) If you love it, you have Sarea to thank, and if you hate it, you have Sarea to blame. *eg*

Our Winter

by Jade Okelani

Prologue: Law and Disorder

Hogwarts is unlike any other school, its dark, winding passageways and staircases that re-position themselves throughout the day making it a really easy place to get lost, especially in the dead (do excuse the pun) of night when you're not really supposed to be out of your bed. It's a haunted castle where the ghosts aren't afraid to pop out at you and offer a bit of sage advice, or in the case of Sir Nicholas, makeup tips. (We've learned better than to ask how he became such an expert on makeup; for a dead man, he can certainly blush convincingly.)

Trying not to be seen often makes you more conspicuous than you'd be otherwise, and I've nearly been caught twice, once by Filch, the groundskeeper, and again by Mrs. Norris, Filch's wretched cat. Now I'm stuck here, writing in my dairy, in a small, dark, cramped space, and I'm wondering if I'm claustrophobic and just never noticed. It's almost unbearably hot, though the castle is drafty and cold, and I keep hearing noises when there's nothing there, and I think the backs of my hands are starting to sweat; I didn't even know they could do that.

I haven't kept a diary since that awful business with Tom Riddle during my first year at Hogwarts. Honestly, that sort of thing would put any girl off recording personal thoughts in a journal, but lately I've gotten the most intense desire to commit thought to paper. So here I am, writing in the dark, hoping my incredibly sweaty hands and total inability to see don't horribly smudge the words.

I've never really done anything
wrong before. There were times that I've bent the rules, helped Ron and Harry out of whatever trouble they'd gotten themselves into -- but I was just doing anything a good sister would do; anything a girl madly in love with her brother's best friend would do.
That's overstating things, I suppose. There was certainly a time I thought myself madly in love with Harry Potter, but it passed, like all things do, with time. And, of course, with Harry's total obliviousness. He fancied Cho Chang for nearly an entire year and some of it ebbed away then. What did Cho have, after all, that I didn't? Just because she was older and prettier and better at magic and didn't wear her elder brothers´ old robes because she had the body of a 16-year-old boy -- you know, I don't want to think about Cho anymore. She graduated last year and I haven't the faintest idea what's happened to her. Neither does Harry, as once his crush passed (they always pass) he looked to his left and found Hermione, where she'd always been, sort of hovering around the general area of his heart, and that was that.

And it's really hard to hate Hermione, too, so I had to give up on my infatuation with Harry. It's for the best. I used to tell myself that in the hopes I'd believe it someday; I finally do. So it's not like I'm
in love with Harry or anything like that -- it's just so easy to have a little bit of a crush on him. More like hero worship, really, than anything silly and romantic, and it's one of those things that just won't pass no matter how much you try to let it, no matter how much time goes by.
Luckily, it's also one of the things that´s all right to have stuck with you. Harry's a good friend, ridiculously loyal and stupidly brave, and the more that I think about it, the gladder I am I'm not in love with him. Hermione must have a fright worrying over him all the time.

Here's the thing that bothers me sometimes, though: I always thought Harry never noticed me because I was a bit mousy, my hair never perfect, I had too many freckles, I was more into studying than boys, that sort of thing. Obviously, it was girls like Cho who'd catch his notice, gorgeous girls with big dark eyes and exotic-looking features, long, silky black hair that I've always wanted instead of these bits of straggly carrots hanging from my scalp. But then he went and fell for Hermione, and, I'm not being mean, but Hermione really isn't the prettiest girl in the school.

I think she's beautiful, smart and funny and caring, but she certainly isn't going to win the Miss Broomsticks competition. So if plain old Hermione is good enough for Harry . . . what the bloody hell is wrong with me?!

That's the sort of question I could spend (have spent) hours mulling over, but

Oh my God. Oh my . . . GOD! All right, let me try to pick up right where I left off. So I was mulling . . . something . . . and then, suddenly, the wall I'd been leaning against writing disappeared and I was falling for so long . . . it was an unending chasm of darkness, and I felt just awful, thinking about how Ron was going to have to tell mum that I'd died and it was just going to break her heart.

Turns out 'unending' might have been overstating things a tad, because I did eventually stop falling, but I never did quite land. Instead, I found myself suspended in air, free to move my arms and legs, but unable to get anywhere with it. I couldn't see a thing.

"Hello?"

I'd hoped that would come out a little more self-assured witch-Goddess and a little less terrified-mouse-girl.

"Welcome, Ms. Weasley."

I jumped in mid-air, the melodic voice startling me in the stillness of the room.

The darkness faded away some and I found myself in a large chamber. It must've been a mile or so beneath the school, the tall, imposing walls made of rock or slate or something earthy and sturdy. Large crevices have been carved into the sides of the walls and they almost resembled the stands by the Quidditch field. Dozens of robed, masked figures were standing there eerily quiet, almost like Dementors, but a little (a little) less scary. Candles suspended in mid-air explained why I could suddenly make out my surroundings, and as I looked down, I gasped to realize that 'unending' hadn't been overstating things.

Below me, the darkness seemed to stretch on and on and I desperately searched my memory for some kind of floating charm should the magical force currently suspending me somehow give out.

"You will call me Cassandra." The same voice that had spoken before did so again. I saw her then, standing just so in front of the rest of them. "Why do you seek us?"

"To be part of the future in time," I mumbled from memory.

"What do you offer us?"

"I am but a loyal and obedient servant of the Order."

"Belonging is costly. What price are you willing to pay?"

"I am but a loyal and obedient servant of the Order."

My lower lip is raw and bloody from how much I gnawed on it earlier. I wondered if they could hear my heart beating about in my chest like a crazed butterfly on an energy charm. The self-destructing parchment I received several weeks ago had been very clear; once I said that code I was not to utter anything further than 'I am but a loyal and obedient servant of the Order.' But what if I read it wrong? Cassandra was quiet then. Was I supposed to say something else? I had nothing to offer them, really, but my total obedience. That's why I needed them in the first place, isn't it?

I'd heard whispers of them before, of course. By the time girls reach their second year at Hogwarts, they've heard about the Order. As mistrusted as the Death Eaters, more secretive than the Centaurs, possessing power greater than even the Ministry of Magic. That was because the Order had no one to answer to. They were the oldest of all the secret magical societies, and the only one to survive He Who Must Not Be Named.

Every year a new member is chosen, and this year, it's going to be me.

The Order makes sure you never want for anything. They make sure the right people notice you when you graduate Hogwarts, make sure you get the best jobs and the nicest places to live. At least, that's what the other girls whispered about in the halls. I don't have that many friends, really. I chat with the other Gryffindors, but the only people I'm really close with are Ron, Harry, and Hermione. I know they don't really consider me their friend, though. I'm Ron's little sister and I know that Harry and Hermione have started to think of me as a surrogate little sister, given that neither of them have any younger siblings to call their own.

It's just another reason why I want this so much. It'll make everything okay. Mum and Dad won't have to worry about me anymore, I won't have to move back home after school's done, and that insufferable git Percy will be speechless when I get a job that's better than his.

And I'll finally be able to get a new robe that doesn't smell like Charlie's old Potions homework.

But back to where I was floating in mid-air:

"You must prove yourself." Cassandra's voice resounded throughout the chamber, and I took a deep breath, more committed than ever to seeing this through.

"I am but a loyal and obedient servant of the Order."

"Your willingness will be tested, along with your obedience," Cassandra declared vaguely. "You are in Gryffindor House. Which House do you find most repugnant, Ms. Weasley?"

I tasted blood in my mouth and released my lip. That was a direct question. Surely she must have meant for me to answer without using that phrase . . .

"Well?" Cassandra asked, impatient. "Speak up, girl."

"Slytherin!" I blurted out, a tad louder than I'd intended.

"Ah. Honesty is necessary behind these walls," Cassandra told me.

I felt absurdly pleased with myself to have passed such a simple test.

"And of all the Slytherin students, whom do you find the most loathsome?"

I thought immediately of Pansy Parkinson and the way she always seems to make me feel like something that crawled out of Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures class. Then of Crabbe and Goyle with their overhanging brows and mindless adherence to making my brother's life miserable. Thoughts of Crabbe and Goyle naturally turn toward their keeper, and my hands curled into fists.

"I see you've thought of someone." I could hear something like a smile in Cassandra's voice.

"Draco Malfoy," I spat out, remembering all the times the stupid prat had made trouble for the people I love the most, trying to get Harry expelled, calling Hermione a Mudblood, starting fights with Ron when everyone knows Ron hasn't got the sense to walk away from a fight.

Malfoy, with his horrible smirk and silky hair that would be beautiful if his heart weren't so black; eyes like the sky on a cloudy day, eyes that hid a soul full of pettiness and malice. Yes, it's fair to say that I loathe Malfoy, Cassandra.

"Draco Malfoy," Cassandra said aloud, "holds your place with the Order. You will go to him and you will offer yourself to him for one month. You will be as willing and obedient toward this boy that you loathe, as you will be to we who you will cherish. You will prove yourself this way."

Prove myself? I couldn't even breathe. She couldn't mean -- she just couldn't. But she does. I can tell by the silence in the room. Silence except for that damn butterfly inside my chest that decided it needed to take another hit of acceleration dust.

Everything. They can't mean everything, can they? And . . . offer myself? That can't really mean what I think it does. They wouldn't actually want me to -- no, I'm just going to be fetching his slippers and cutting his meat, things like that, demeaning things, not . . . demeaning things. And what if -- Oh, God, what if I do it, I go up to him and he--

"What if he refuses?" I blurted out before I can stop myself. I wished I could see Cassandra's eyes. I'm almost certain they were pitying. It's not like I'm a wet dream fantasy here. Draco Malfoy's family has more money than I've ever seen in my life. They could buy him a servant if he wanted one. They could buy him a bloody concubine if he wanted one!

"A member of the Order will not be refused," Cassandra explained with more patience than I'd thought her capable. "It is your duty to see that he fulfills his part in your future. Do you understand?"

This was the most unthinkable thing they could have asked of me, and I hate myself, because as horrid as it was, even then, I already knew what my answer would be.

"I am but a loyal and obedient servant of the Order."