Beyond Therapy

- Beyond Therapy -

Benefit of the Doubt

Chapter Three

While their last encounter had left Ginny wondering if she should perhaps alter her perception of the Malfoy boy a little, for he had after all helped her out of the shed, and had been, by his standards, civil during their shared supper, he had on the other hand taken care that it was a matter rendered impossible. The very next day saw the immediate return to his impossibly snotty, detestable disposition, magnified by at least tenfold, and after a particularly ugly scene at the Quidditch pitch where the Gryffindors and the Slytherins had nearly fought over the training ground, Ginny was resolved that she must have suffered temporary insanity to have once considered the notion that Draco Malfoy could, in any way, be tolerable.

And indeed, any inclination on Ginny's part to revise her impression of Draco was gone when the latter marched on the pitch with his team-mates that evening and demanded that the Gryffindor team switch their scheduled training with Slytherin, just because one of his new chasers could not make it any other day due to detentions. To expect Malfoy to be polite in his request would be madness, but the utter lack of civility on his part, and the provocative manner in which he had waved the note of authorization from his Head of House in front of Harry's face (the new captain for Gryffindor), had made the situation nothing short of a confrontation of epic proportions. Harry had been incensed and had every right to be, and Ginny was none too surprised when her brother lunged at Draco in an attempt to pluck his obnoxious smirk right out of his face with his whole head attached. Harry had grabbed Ron by the elbow and tugged him back, much to everyone's relief. The atmosphere at the training ground, however, continued to thicken as the tension soared, radiating an aura of something that was archetypically masculine.

"What is it? Scared of getting into trouble, Potter?" Draco continued to taunt, his face turning into a wicked sneer.

"Not so much afraid of getting into trouble," Harry replied, his eyes narrowing at the Draco. "I just don't think you are worth getting into trouble for."

Draco whitened: slightly thrown off, and angry at the demeaning implication of his worth. Caught without any retort to shoot back at the Boy Who Lived, the silence stretched on. Blaise was beginning to worry that any misjudgement on his captain's part might land the entire team in trouble, and for one who had already served one detention within the first month of school, any discipline-related trouble should be steered clear of, especially when Draco was also a prefect, of all things. To his distress however, Crabbe and Goyle had chosen to be the morons he knew they were, and went up to Draco's side, posing like a pair of marble pillars, encouraging further the fight that was likely to ensue. It left Blaise with no choice other than to walk up as well and stayed close behind Draco as well, but he had none of the same purpose as Crabbe and Goyle.

Ron looked pleased with a tongue-tied Malfoy. The corner of his mouth curved as he folded his arms, his broom tucked at the hollow of his elbow, his nose sticking a little higher in the air than it usually did.

"What is it, Malfoy? Cat got your tongue?"

Crabbe and Goyle growled and glared at Ron, but the Gryffindor stood his ground. He took a step forward to meet the two, who took a step towards him as well, and he stared down at them as if daring them to start a fight, causing the tension in the air to momentarily spiral to a peak.

Ginny was, for a moment, worried that a fight was going to break out and though she was no novice to the scene of boys tumbling over one another trying to knock the other's teeth out, she was not entirely sure she wanted that to happen in such a public domain. But it seemed inevitable, and she knew well enough that there was something in males that is so stupid and so unreconstructed but powerful nonetheless that simply refused to tolerate anything that might be construed as weakness.

She was therefore glad when Blaise Zabini, unable to restrain his interference any longer, pulled the two goons by the back of their robes, each by one hand, and held them back.

"That's quite enough," Blaise said in a tone that allowed for no objection, just loud enough to not be overheard.

Draco turned sharply to face Blaise, who in turn gave him a warning look. For a moment, Blaise was almost afraid that Draco would ignore him, but at long last, the captain turned to the Gryffindor captain, and with a resolute countenance, repeated Professor Snape's instruction that Slytherin would have the pitch now and declared the matter closed for discussion. Harry, left with no other choice if he were to prevent bloodshed, or worse, a possible suspension from the tournament for fighting, promptly ordered his team to follow him. The Gryffindor training was then taken to the lake as Harry would not hear of cancelling the session, and so Ginny and her team spent the better part of the evening running round the lake while cursing the Slytherins the worst of all ills at the top of their lungs.

~*~

Every object of the next day fared better for Ginny, and her spirits were in a state for enjoyment. Her brothers, Fred and George, had risen to the occasion magnificently by sending her a new wand after she had appealed to them for help. She had also successfully sworn the twins, Ron, and Harry into secrecy about the event with Draco Malfoy which had resulted in the detention -- which her parents were informed of by the school, though not of all its details. Her letter to her mother explained the incident in the most evasive manner possible, stating that she was merely caught in a moment of insensibility, that it was nothing to call for any worries, and that it would not be repeated again in the course of the school year, taking care not to let loose any slips about the hexing, the infirmary (and she involuntarily coloured at that thought) and her getting trapped in a shed for several hours with a boy of seventeen in the middle of the night. Her mother seemed satisfied with her explanation, for no Howler had made an appearance, and this morning, she had received a letter, with nothing more than a stern advice (not reprimand!) to behave appropriately, which made it all the more a day to be celebrated. Detention served, her wand replaced, and her parents appeased, she was all ready for a fresh beginning devoid of any more misfortune.

The rest of the day proceeded much as she had expected -- splendidly. Classes were great fun if she overlooked the part about homework and upcoming quizzes; Quidditch training was uninterrupted, and the camaraderie of the Gryffindor team (with more than half of the team made up of new players) was found not only to be pronounced, but excellent to the point of instinctive coordination. That allowed one worry to be done away with. She had been concerned with the prospect of having to adapt to the new Chasers and Beaters by their first match, which did not provide as ample amount of time as she would like. But she had found it very easy to work with Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper (both Beaters before, but found to be more suitable for the Chaser position), and the Creevey brothers (who were the new Beaters), who have the same zest her twin brothers had, though none of their suicidal or homicidal tendencies.

And as she had promised herself that it was a day to call for some sort of celebration, she had the Gryffindor girls to stay up late with her when night fell, and over no less than two bottles of Butterbeer each, they bonded over various topics adolescent girls indulged in: gossips, boys, fashion, gossips, and more gossips. Ginny had only had to suffer the one affliction: that Draco Malfoy was a recurring topic amongst a few of her mates, much to her bafflement, but she was otherwise contend to think that the world could not be a better place to live in at the moment and she wished very much that it would continue to be so. With that, she tucked herself into bed, and told herself, with confidence, that nothing would ever get in her way again.

That was, so long as Draco Malfoy stayed well out of her life.

~*~

Perhaps she had wished it a little too well because the next day called for an event so unprecedented she could not be sure if she could ever comprehend it properly without wondering if it might be her own wild imagination.

She was walking along the corridor with her classmates when a call of her name halted her footsteps, and she turned and saw, with surprise, that it was Harry Potter rushing down the corridor towards her. He was in his school robe, his Gryffindor tie skewed after half a day of hectic lessons, his hair in the usual fashion of cowlicks sticking all over the place. He smiled and paused for a while, raking his hair self-consciously before he spoke again.

"Hey, I saw your Muggle Studies project on display in class today," he said as they walked on, Ginny's friends moving a little ahead of them. "The professor said it was a creative work of art, and I think so too."

"Thank you. It's really nice of you to say so," Ginny replied with a smile, and could not help feeling very pleased with herself.

"I didn't know you could draw so well."

"Nah, you gave me too much credit, Harry," she said, "I just like to draw that's all, can't say I'm at all good at it."

"It's really good, Gin," Harry insisted. "And before I forget, know that we have another training session tomorrow afternoon. I managed to snag another booking for the pitch before Malfoy did."

At the news, Ginny paused and took a sharp turn towards her captain, her face tipped up to his, her finger poking at his chest in mocked annoyance.

"You are really ready to train us half to death, aren't you? We had training only yesterday!" Ginny teased.

"No!" Harry cried, and then realising that Ginny was joking, elbowed her. "If you only knew how Oliver was like, you won't be so quick to make a tyrant out of me."

"That is not for you to decide. I am determined to think that you are trying to enslave us all in your quest for the best Quidditch team of the century."

"Indeed I am," Harry replied, his hand in his pocket, smiling so that one side of his mouth was higher than the other. "How bright our Miss Weasley is, I must say, to have seen through my cunning plot."

"Cunning? Hallo, you were never cunning and can never hope to be. And trust me," Ginny said as she pointed to herself, "I know cunning when I see it. I've lived with cunning for the past fifteen years."

"Fred and George."

"You are quite bright yourself, Mr Potter," she replied as they walked on again. "Anyway, where're you heading?"

"Nowhere in particular," Harry started, then paused. "I'll just walk with you if you don't mind. You are not heading to the bathroom, are you?"

"No," she said, amused. "Pray tell though, to what do I owe the honour?"

"Oh, er, it's just...well, it's just, you know..."

"Er, I know?"

She watched Harry quizzically as he rubbed the back of his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable. Then, he chuckled and they ended up laughing at the awkwardness. The way Harry chuckled. It was very cute.

"So..." he said when the laughter finally subsided. "I have been meaning to ask you. About Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" Ginny repeated, confused. "The Hogsmeade weekend just passed, didn't it? I missed it because I was in the infirmary, and then I was in trouble with Malfoy, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," Harry answered patiently.

"Then what about Hogsmeade?"

"Right," he said, more to himself than anyone else. "I know this is a bit early, but I thought I should ask now before someone else does. I thought, maybe, if you don't have other engagements...and if you don't mind, we can hang out together for the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"Oh," was all Ginny could manage to say as colour was starting to show on her fair skin.

"I mean..." Harry fumbled, "I, erm, I wanted some help, you know, to, err ... picka presentforyourmother," he finally finished saying.

"Present for my mother?"

"Yes. Present for your mother," Harry answered, his embarrassment evident in his discomposure. "I mean, your mother has been very kind to me and I haven't gotten her anything really nice for the past Christmases and I thought it would be good if you are with me to help me pick something, you being her daughter and all."

"Christmas present? In September? Isn't that a bit early?"

"Well..."

"All right then," Ginny answered, deciding not to torment the poor boy any longer. If he said it was just to pick a present for her mother, then so be it.

"Great," he said, breaking into a grin again. "All right then, I just recalled that I have promised Ron to help him train right about now," he said and touched her shoulder lightly. "I'll see you later." And in a movement so fast and surprising that Ginny had no time to react, he bent down and kissed her cheek quickly before he started a run off to the pitch.

Ginny's mouth was gapping in surprise as she reached a hand to touch where Harry had kissed her.

Now, what was that all about?

~*~

There seemed to be some universal truth that when one part of your life started getting better, another part of your life would start to fall spectacularly apart.

Draco had been most relieved that the Weasley Incident was over, and could not wait to move on from that, but the incident in the infirmary had proved quite difficult to forget, and every time he saw Ginny Weasley in the Great Hall, he would have trouble stopping the scene from resurfacing in his mind's eye. And every time it did, it still felt bizarre, and if he were to be honest enough to admit it, a little embarrassing, but it was not entirely a very bad experience in itself. This was easily solved by sitting with his back facing the rest of the Great Hall during meals, and really, it was the least of his worries now.

Apparently, according to his spies, the new Gryffindor team was a very strong one. This had taken him by surprise, seeing that the Gryffindor team, like the Slytherin, with most of the players graduating last year, had half of their team formed by inexperienced players, which was bound to result in some major structural changes, and those were hardly favourable conditions. He had yet to witness it himself, and neither had he need to, since he was expecting Harry Potter to have the same problems he had with his team, but now it seemed inevitable. He had to see it for himself, and the main question was, how?

There was no written rule that spying was not allowed, but the general consensus almost forbid it as a crime tenable to breaking a school rule. It was like a moral code of conduct, but more in the style of the Gryffindorish fairness, the Hufflepuffish dumbness, the Ravenclawish no-mind-of-their-owness, and none of the Slytheriness. His team-mates were more than ready to break this unwritten rule, but it would not be advisable to set themselves against the other three Houses too explicitly. A careful plan was in order. One that would not be found out, and if the plan permitted, it would be a bonus to throw in some sabotage in the midst of spying too.

It was for this reason that Draco had deliberately lost the race against Harry Potter to Madam Hooch's office for the booking of the pitch. As usual, they had hurried out of the Potions class they shared, for the sixth consecutive year, and broken into a run once they reached the main corridor. Students who had witnessed their first scramble for the booking record book had learnt to get out of their way, opening an aisle in the middle of the noisy lunch crowd to let them through if they did not want to be collided into. Draco had been leading at first, then after a turn, Harry caught up with him and they were neck to neck. To avoid any suspicions Harry might have had -- not that Draco ever thought the boy smart enough to spot a plot dancing right in front of his face singing Hallelujah -- he made sure to keep up with the Gryffindor captain until the very last moment when he slowed down a little after they made a dash into the office and allowed the other to make a quick grab for the record book. Harry had been smug and did not waste any time signing his name for the earliest available slot for the very next day, which Draco had known he would. Little did Harry know that it would also provide Draco with the earliest spying opportunity available.

After Harry left the office, Draco took his own sweet time signing for his team's training sessions, all the while memorizing the dates the Gryffindors would be down for training. The next step would be a finalization of the operation with the rest of his team-mates and making sure that Crabbe and Goyle would not be around to mess anything up.

~*~

"Hey Gin, over here!" Jack yelled before he tossed the Quaffle over, ducking a Bludger at the same time.

"Did you leave your eyes back at home, Creevey?" Harry, who was observing from the sideline, yelled out.

"Sorry, captain!" the older Creevey answered, and as eager to please as he was before, sped off after Ginny Weasley immediately.

"If I didn't know you better, Harry," Jack yelled jokingly as he flew low and swept past above Harry's head, "I would think you were trying to instigate murder!" The captain laughed and with his right hand, patted his hair where Jack had taken the opportunity to mess it up, before turning to observe Ginny, who was about to throw another goal.

"WOOHOO!" Dennis Creevey cheered, waving his bat in the air when Ginny's throw went through the hoop. "Good job!" he went on to said as he hit a high five with the redhead.

"Five more minutes, guy! Buck up!" Harry called.

The team bellowed their response and the game returned to its intense, competitive atmosphere.

Perhaps they were too engrossed in their game, because none of them had noticed the figure standing on the edge of the pitch, silhouetted against a row of trees near the Quidditch shed, watching them with an intent interest.

"They are good," a voice commented from behind the door of the shed, out of sight, where another figure was observing the Gryffindor team through the gap in the frame, and using the very door whose knob Draco had torn off some time before to conceal his position.

"Shut up, they are not," Draco answered.

"You. Shut up. They are. And come back here. Unless you want to be found out," Blaise answered.

"They won't. Unless Potter's got an eye on his arse."

"Are you looking at his arse?"

"Hell, no. Shut up, Zabini."

"Are you sure you are looking carefully enough at his arse? Because for all we know, he might have. He had a scar on his forehead, having an extra eye on the arse wouldn't be too out of the ordinary."

"It would be out of the ordinary, Blaise," Pansy said, coming close behind him, her hands resting on his back for support, trying to lean in for a better look.

"That's his style then, isn't it?" Blaise turned and replied before he turned again and said, "He's not supposed to be ordinary. Now Draco, look carefully at his arse ..."

"Enough about his arse!"

"Shuuuuuuuuuush!" Pansy and Blaise warned in unison.

"Urgh," Draco grunted and turned at them, sending them a death glare.

Blaise shrugged and went back into the shed where the rest of the Slytherin team except Crabbe and Goyle were, and sat with them on the bench. Pansy took his place, and Draco remained where he was, utterly occupied.

Ginny flew recklessly in the sky, speeding up to intercept the Quaffle currently held by Andrew. It was a three-on-three and there were no Seekers or Keepers. Five more minutes and the time would be up. The game now stood at 200:220 to Ginny's team. She picked up speed again and was side by side with Andrew, who was in turn about to make his last shoot through the hoop. Ginny reached out to intercept the Quaffle but was interrupted by an approaching Bludger. Both of them were forced off their trail and Andrew dropped the Quaffle to Ron. Ginny dived straight down without consideration for the dangerous angle she was in, in an attempt to grab hold of the Quaffle again, lest the other team should make a last minute goal. Andrew and Ron sped up behind her and when Ginny got hold of the Quaffle again and shot back up, her brother followed closely behind her. They flew like shooting arrows arcing in the sky, speeding towards the right side of the pitch.

I am going to win this game, Ginny thought to herself as she flew, the cool wind whipping fiercely across her face. As she neared the goal post, her mouth curved as she felt a surge of victorious satisfaction, but the sensation was shortly interrupted when her opponents did a Parkin's Pincer, charging at her from two different directions. Ginny swerved sharply sideways and dipped, before making a roundabout turn to shake Andrew off her trail. Andrew ducked the broom tail just in time but was subsequently threw off course, watching Ginny head for the post. Her brother continued to race her, and Dennis, anxious to clear the way for his Chaser, hit a Bludger towards Ron but missed. The Bludger went for Ginny instead.

She was ready to throw her last shot, her hand pulled back and with her concentration only on the goal post, and she did not realize the Bludger was heading for her until it hit her broom tail and sent her swirling out of control. She dropped the Quaffle to hold on to her broom but it was no use. She was spinning too quickly. She could vaguely hear her team-mate's panic, and briefly recalled seeing her brother anxiously reaching for her before she lost her grip, and with a sharp jolt in her stomach, realized that she was falling.

Draco's eyes widened as he witnessed the scene before him. By instinct, he took out his wand, although he was not sure what he wanted to do with it. The rest of his team rushed to the door at the sound of the commotion outside but only Blaise took a few steps beyond of the safety of the hiding place to stand beside Draco. Everything was happening very quickly and with the wand still in his hand, Draco was out of ideas for a moment before a cursory glance noted that there was also a wand in Harry Potter's hand.

The first logical conclusion was that Harry Potter was going to stop the fall, or at the very least, slow the fall down to reduce the impact. The successive thoughts that rapidly flitted through Draco's mind were a little more complicated. First was the conclusion that if Ginny Weasley were to fall directly from the skies to the ground, she would most definitely be splat on the grass like a bloody Impressionist painting. Second came the verdict that Ginny Weasley was the best Chaser in her team. Connecting the two points led to the third point: If Ginny Weasley fell, Gryffindor would need a new Chaser and that would indubitably give Slytherin an advantage. So did he want to see her become a creative artwork?

Maybe that would be a little too much. Damn the conscience.

As he snapped out of his reverie and returned his attention to the pitch all in the manner of that few seconds, he saw that Potter had already cast the spell to slow down the Weasley's fall. Her team-mates seemed to be relief that the spell had worked and were gathering near the point where she would land.

Draco held on to his wand tightly. The best course of action, he knew, had to be decided instantly, and once concluded, had to be executed without hesitation or the moment would be lost. He twisted his rigid wrist and gnawed his inner cheek as he struggled with the formation of the mental plan that was conceiving itself in his head faster than he could follow. She was about twenty feet from the ground, Draco calculated in his mind as he pointed his wand at the girl. And then eighteen, fifteen ...

"Finite Incantatum."

The spell that Harry cast became abruptly undone.

~*~

"Ginny!"

The collective clamour of voices calling her name was the last thing she heard before her world started whirling in a mess of blue and green once again. She was at a loss as to what was happening. She thought she was going to be all right when she felt a weightlessness sensation overcome her in mid-fall, and knew that she was no longer falling as fast as she was before. But all of a sudden, the charm wore off and she started plunging again. She vaguely registered the fear in her team-mates' cries and could almost imagine their frenetic desperation to do something to help her. The situation felt so surreal, and it was nauseating.

She waited. The end of the fall never seemed to come. She briefly wondered if she was going to die. But she did not want to die this way. She always thought that when she died, it would be of old age, or even from some sort of ailment, and in whichever case, she would die whole, and would have been prepared for whatever comes after death. Never had she thought that she might die losing any limbs, or having brains oozing out of her head, which was what she imagined would happen to her now. It was not fair. She was not prepared to die. Please, she prayed to whatever deity was there to hear her, please don't let me die. And she shut her eyes tightly, her fists clenched against her chest and she waited.

The moment came fast enough and when it did, it was nothing like she had expected. There was no pain and no fear, just a thud, a loud crack and the next moment was darkness.

~*~

"Ouch!" Blaise winced as he heard the loud thud when Ginny Weasley hit the ground. He was not expecting Draco to execute something like this, and when it happened, there was no way to undo it. Not even the famous Harry Potter was able to react fast enough to the sudden turn of events. Blaise did not blame him. Who would have expected an evil psychopathic maniac to be lurking around undoing other people's spells when they were trying to stop an accident from happening? He certainly would not have. And poor Weasley, the fall was going to cause her at least a broken limb or two.

He turned to Draco and was about to give him a piece of his mind but shut his mouth when he took in Draco's appearance. His captain had paled significantly, and was breaking into cold sweat. Blaise was glad to know that his friend was not exactly unfeeling. In fact, he was surprised that Draco had acted so swiftly to the opportunity that had presented itself. While Blaise was not sure if he agreed to such a plan, he had to admit that, from the Slytherin point of view, it was one hell of a strategic move, and was probably the best Draco had ever performed in the course of his career as the resident evil-doer.

Now that the trouble was sown, Blaise wondered what the next step should be. He waited for a second more and when Draco still did not move an inch, he reached over and tapped his captain on the shoulder.

"Draco..."

"Shush! Don't say anything."

The rest of their team-mates stood rooted to the ground with open-mouth expressions. "Oh Merlin ... is she dead?" Pansy asked.

"The way you said it," Blaise answered, an eyebrow raised, "I couldn't decide if you're going to be pleased or upset when I tell you that she is --"

"Shush," Draco warned again.

"Anyway, that's not what we should be worried about. Draco...we have to..." Blaise started.

"Shush!"

And Blaise did, standing quietly beside his friend, witnessing the chaotic situation playing before them.

On the other side of the field, the Gryffindor boys were rushing towards the unconscious Ginny Weasley.

"Ginny!"

"Is she all right? Is she breathing? Check her pulse, Ron!"

"Yes, but it's weak. We need to carry her to the infirmary now!"

"No! Don't touch her!"

"What!"

"You don't know if she's broken anything!"

"Of course she's broken something. It was at least fifteen feet!"

"Then the more you shouldn't move her, idiot!"

"I'll get Madam Pomfrey!"

Dennis turned and broke into a run. And then he stopped. Squinting his eyes into the distance, his expression went through a change from that of anxiety to murderous agitation.

"Draco..." Blaise said again upon recognizing that they had been discovered. "Can we run now?"

He did not wait for Draco to answer. With one quick pull, he dragged Draco with him and beckoned the others to run. The others did not need to be told twice and had already scuttled via the denser part of the route, through the trees and up the greenhouse. Blaise and Draco had more trouble. They had already been seen, and it was not wise that they all run in the same direction. Blaise and Draco made a sprint for the main path that led to the castle gate from the pitch. They could not have cared less that the path was too open to the public eye, nor did it matter that it was a much longer route compared to any other. They ran at full pelt all the way to the castle entrance, bolted for the staircase down to the dungeon and did not stop except to call the password. Blaise could not imagine how they managed not to tumble down the stairs in that frenzy, but they did. When the Slytherin door clicked shut, they dashed directly for their dormitory, ignoring the strange stares they were getting in the common room. They slammed the door shut and locked it, turning around only to find the rest of the team already assembled in their room.

"Holy cow, that was close," Montague commented, breaking the silence in the room.

"Did they see you two?" Pansy asked.

"They ... they ... they ..."

"They what? Did they see you or not?" Pansy asked again.

"Give ... me ... one ... minute," Blaise said, pointing one finger at Pansy.

Draco did not bother to answer. He leaned his entire weight against his bedroom door, panting, and after a while, slid down the door to sit on the floor.

Blaise turned to Draco, his eyes intent on the blond boy. Perspiration was fast forming at his temples, with beads rolling along the skin there. Some were caught at his eyelashes, and when he blinked, they irritated his eyes. He dragged the back of his hand against the side of his eye, wiping them off.

"Draco, your wand, give it here."

"What?" Draco snapped back at his friend. He had both his arms supported on his knees, his pulse yet to return to its usual rhythm.

"Your wand, Draco, just give it here."

The blond conceded, even though he did not know why Blaise would want his wand. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out and with a quick hand, tossed it over to Blaise.

Blaise caught it and flicked it once in the air.

"Lumos."

"What are you doing?"

"Nox," Blaise continued before answering Draco. "Destroying evidence."

"Please," Draco responded impatiently. "Finite Incantatum is a common enough spell."

"You don't want any unnecessary nitty-gritty against you now," Blaise replied. "Finite Incantatum is common enough, true, but wouldn't it be strange that the last spell left in your wand happens to be that one, hours after lessons? Think."

"Blaise's right," Warrington said and stood from the trunk he had been sitting on. "It would be too suspicious for you to have last used that particular spell. Knowing you, Malfoy, you would have used it to pack your bag, smooth your hair or even Summon something by now."

"Oh, yes, Summon," Blaise mumbled to himself. "Accio broom. Accio kit. Accio parchments. Accio quill." With all the items to juggle in his arms, anyone else would have looked silly, Blaise managed to perform it with style. After he was satisfied the number of items Summoned was enough to make as if Draco had been polishing his broom and writing a letter since lessons ended, he Banished the items back to their original positions.

Pansy nodded in affirmation. "It would be less suspicious if the wand could indicate some form of common activity after lessons. After all, we almost only use Finite Incantatum in class."

"Okay, fine," Draco said, and finally gathered himself together. "Pansy," he called and pointed, "you, Montague, and Warrington had been studying together all afternoon, all right?"

The three members nodded their agreement.

"Blaise, we can't deny that we were near the pitch just now, since Creevey had already seen us. Do you think the other twits saw us too?"

Blaise shook his head.

"I don't think so. They were all absorbed with Weasley."

"Okay, good," Draco heaved a sigh of relief. "Then we can say that we were there to pick up something. Hand guards we left in the shed after our last training."

"But why would you two be running away when he saw you?" Pansy asked. "Everyone in the common room will say that they saw you two dashing in when the professors question them."

"Fuck," Draco swore, and ran a hand through his hair before hitting his fist on the floor loudly.

"Blaise," Pansy turned to the dark boy, her eyebrow arched questioningly.

Blaise shrugged. "We were playing catching?"

Pansy snorted. "Okay, look. Say you are late for something."

"Late for what?" Draco asked obnoxiously. "What can you be late for after school hours?"

"Dinner? No, it's hardly dinnertime yet..."

"Girls," Draco said suddenly. "We were late for our dates with girls."

"Ah, Pansy," Blaise addressed quickly. "I'm so regretfully sorry that I was late for our date."

"Hey," Draco protested.

"Nah uh, too late, mate. I don't want to end up dating Montague or Warrington here."

"You will have to ask someone else to be an alibi for you, if you don't want Warrington or Montague," Pansy said. "Ask Millicent. She will agree."

"Millicent?"

"You can't afford to be picky now."

"I am a Malfoy," Draco said, "There's nothing I can't afford, if I do say so myself."

"All right then, buy yourself an alibi, or you will have to make do with Warrington or Montague."

"I'll ask Daphne. She's safe enough," Draco said, ignoring the sarcasm from Pansy.

"Okay, now all settled?" Blaise asked. "We are all occupied all afternoon and know none of what happened at the pitch."

Everyone in the room nodded and muttered their response.

"Good, now out of the room," Draco said. "I'm tired."

All of them, save for Blaise, exited the room. When the door was closed again, Draco looked at his friend and asked.

"Do you think she's all right?"

"Isn't it a bit late to be worried about her well-being?"

"I'm not worried about her well-being. What I did, it was precisely to make sure that she would not be well enough to play in the game."

"Then I suppose it worked. That was a loud thud I heard."

Draco winced involuntarily.

"Will she die from it?"

"Isn't this a question you should have asked before you undid Potter's spell?"

"There wasn't time to think," Draco insisted. "It came up after I saw her fall."

"You are always a careless one with details. To think that you stood there all that time. We should have left as soon as you cast Finite Incantatum."

"I wanted to see if she made it."

"She'll make it. It's fifteen feet, not fifty."

"Did she fall on her head or her side?"

"Side, I think. Doesn't mean it didn't hit her head."

"Are you trying to scare me?"

"Yes. If she becomes a moron due to some head injury or other, you will have to be responsible for her for the rest of your life."

"I am not going to be responsible for anything."

"Then what are you worried about now?"

"Nothing. I worry about nothing."

Blaise flopped down on his bed and watched as the other boy paced about the room.

"It's quite an ... uncalled for thing to do, seeing as she once helped you," Blaise finally said, correctly interpreting part of the unmentioned tension hanging over Draco.

"She didn't."

"She did. It may not seem a big deal, but to think that a girl her size took the trouble to drag you to the infirmary when she's not obliged to do so, that's quite something," Blaise said. "Actually, come to think of it, maybe she felt obliged. It's the strange Gryffindor psyche. I can safely say that if it's any other person, say, Pansy, she'll leave you there to rot."

Oh, that, Draco thought. For a moment, he forgot that Blaise was not aware of what happened before the second incident. Damn, so now Ginny Weasley had helped him twice. Draco refused to let that thought get to him.

"Okay, so she did. But I got her out of the bloody shed. We're square."

"It's not ..."

"It's not what? Not nice? I don't care about nice, and I don't care that she didn't deserve it. I don't care if she's helped me before and frankly, it doesn't matter. I just don't care. Since when do we care about what's right and what's wrong?"

"Well, officially speaking, we don't. But we do care about the state of our physical and mental health. It is lamentable that conscience isn't sold separately when we are made, or you may have requested to come to this world without any. You are feeling bad about it, aren't you?"

"No."

Blaise sighed. "Come on, you obviously are getting your knickers in a twist about it. Maybe you wanted to sabotage Gryffindor, and that was a good sabotage, by the way. But you regret it. You didn't think it would seriously harm her, but then you misjudge. You misjudge all the time. Look at what happened to Potter third year."

"You said fifteen feet isn't going to kill her."

"Maybe, maybe not. It's not an easy calculation to make. Fifteen feet can break someone's skull too if they fall headfirst."

"She didn't fall headfirst."

"I don't think she did."

"Maybe she only broke her arm, or her leg ..."

"Or both?"

"In any case, it's not fatal."

"That settles it. Does that make you feel better?"

"I am not ... Okay, end of conversation. I'm going to take a shower."

"And I'm going to date Pansy now."

"Good, go ahead."

"Remember your date with Daphne."

"Mmm," Draco replied before leaving the room with his towel and change of clothes.

~*~

"What do you mean Malfoy? What Malfoy?"

"Malfoy, Ron," Dennis repeated with exasperation. "Tall, blond, obnoxious, kind of evil ... always laughs at your hair?"

"I know who Malfoy is, you prick!" Ron answered agitatedly. "I mean, what do you mean Malfoy was there? What was he doing there?"

"I wish I knew!" Dennis replied. "But he's definitely up to something. He ran the moment he realized I saw him. And that Zabini. They ran for the hills when they saw me."

"Why didn't you say so earlier? Why didn't you tell us!" Ron ranted. "We could have gotten him then. I would have shoved the Quaffle down his throat!"

"Ron! Your sister was in danger! Which is more important? Save your sister, or kill Malfoy?"

"How about both?"

"Hey, hey," Harry was separating the two boys, trying to instil some sort of order in the waiting area. "Stop it now, please. We don't need more noise than there already is. It's driving me nuts."

"But ..." Ron turned to his friend. "Dennis said Malfoy ..."

"He was probably there to spy on our training."

"And to kill my sister," Ron added.

"Probably," Harry sighed, running both hands through his hair, making it messier than it was before.

"That's it," Andrew suddenly said. "That's why the spell didn't work. It worked for a moment, then it ..."

"It wore off," Harry continued. "Maybe it just wasn't strong enough, or I didn't do it right..."

"Or Malfoy undid it," Jack finished the statement.

"I am going to kill him," Ron roared and took a leap for the door. But it opened before he touched the knob.

"How is she?" Hermione asked breathlessly, as if she had been running. "I heard that Gin ... oh, tell me she's all right."

"She is," Harry said calmly. "It looked ugly at first, but she's okay. She broke her arm and had some scratches here and there. Otherwise ..."

"Nothing that can't be fixed," Andrew continued and smiled.

Hermione sighed gratefully, letting out the breath she had been holding since she heard the news.

"Is she still inside?" she asked.

"Madam Pomfrey won't let us in," Colin said.

"Does your parents know?" Hermione turned to ask Ron.

"Not yet, I haven't had the time to write."

"I'll do it then," Hermione replied. "I'll write to the twins too."

Ron nodded. "Thank you, Hermione," he said and touched her shoulder lightly.

"Don't mention it," she replied as she turned to leave. "Let Ginny know that I will come by later, after I send the letters."

"I will."

Hermione nodded and turned to the door that Ron had opened for her.

She was jogging down the corridor towards the stairs leading to Gryffindor Tower when suddenly a tall figure rounded at the corner and ran into her.

"Oh, sorry!" Hermione exclaimed, her face colouring when she realized that she was face to chest with the other person.

"I'm sorry, Granger. Didn't see you there," the other voice said with a hint of amusement.

She tipped her face up and with a start, tried to back away but could not move far. The other boy had his hands at her elbows and had not quite let go.

"Whoa, steady, Granger," Blaise said lightly. "I didn't know I looked that repulsive," he said as he finally let go of the girl.

"I'm sorry," Hermione responded, and then wondered what she was sorry for.

"Where are you hurrying to?" Blaise asked casually, with one hand in his pocket. "I saw you coming from the infirmary. Is somebody hurt? A friend of yours?"

Hermione looked at him in surprise and could not help feeling a slight suspicion about the boy even though he had not given her any reason to feel that way.

"You ask a lot of questions," she finally said.

He smiled and leaned against the wall, his arms folded, looking at her from under his lashes.

"Just curious," he said with a light shrug. "You are not up to no good with your friends again, are you? You are a prefect."

"I know perfectly well that I am a prefect," she answered.

"So," he continued slowly, "You came from the infirmary. Either Potter's fallen off his broom again or the Weasley did. Or were you there to get something from Madam Pomfrey?" he asked, arching one eyebrow.

"No!" she replied, the colour in her face rising once more when she realized what the other boy was implying.

He chuckled.

"Relax, Granger. Are you usually this uptight?"

Hermione pursed her lips, annoyed. Then she wondered why she was still standing there exposing herself to such teasing from someone she hardly knew.

"I'm going now," she said and side stepped to walk away.

Blaise moved accordingly and blocked Hermione's route. When she moved further to the side, he followed.

"What do you want?" she asked, irritated.

"You haven't answered my question."

"I don't see a need to."

"You will see a need to now, if you want to pass."

She glared. He was unaffected. After a few more tries to manoeuvre her way pass the Slytherin boy, which failed, she became exasperated. Silently disgruntled about the way her petite frame always seemed to short-change her in a situation with the other boy, she folded her arms and gave in.

"One of our housemates had an accident during training."

"Ouch, I'm sorry to hear that."

Hermione was so surprised at the cordiality she was receiving from the Slytherin boy that she did not quite know how to respond.

"Well, she's fine, I'm told."

"Really?" the boy asked, a sparkle in his eyes animating his face. If Hermione had found his reaction strange, she did not show it, nor did she question the boy about it outright.

"She broke her arm, and there are some cuts, I think, but otherwise she is not in danger," Hermione could not help saying. Supplying more information was the only way she knew how to react in the situation since there was really nothing else to say.

"That's great," Blaise said.

"Yes, it is," Hermione replied, keeping her tone neutral. "I am going to write to her family. Can I pass now?"

"Oh sure, I shouldn't be bothering you then," he said pleasantly, almost bouncing on his feet, and moved aside. He let her walk along first, following behind. It was not until they reached the stairs did they depart with a nod and Blaise rushed down the stairs back to the Slytherin dungeon, itching to inform his housemates of the news.

The exchange with Blaise plagued Hermione like a burdensome allergy: You don't pay it any attention until it hits you, and each time it happens, it never ceases to be momentarily, inexorably pressing on the mind. She was not sure what she should think about the boy. Blaise Zabini was certainly strange, and one of the most impenetrable personalities she had ever encountered. He was not distinctly nefarious but she would not rule out the possibility of him being machiavellian. In fact, he seemed pleasant most of the time it did not inspire trust at all. He was in no way as loathsome as his friend, but Hermione was sure that there was something to be said about someone who attached himself to a questionable character such as Draco Malfoy.

Despite all this, Hermione could not help wondering if she might be wrong. Could she have been unfairly prejudiced against Blaise Zabini because of the House he came from? She had often pride herself for being freed of such narrow-mindedness, so to think that she could fall into such a trap of misjudgement bothered her. Maybe, she thought to herself as she muttered the password to the Fat Lady, she should give the boy a benefit of the doubt.

Maybe, Slytherins were not all that bad.

~*~