Beyond Therapy

- Beyond Therapy -

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?

Chapter Four

She was wrong.

Slytherins were, without a doubt, the worst kind of filth that ever existed.

Hermione could not believe she had allowed herself to be some kind of an information feeder to that Blaise Zabini. It felt traitorous. It was unforgivable. He was not genuinely concerned about her Housemate who got into an accident. As a matter of fact, he knew about the accident.

Not accident, Hermione corrected herself. It was clearly planned. If Dennis' account was any indication, Ginny's plight was definitely the result of the Slytherins' well drawn out operation to sabotage the Gryffindor Quidditch team. They were there at the Gryffindor training. They wanted to injure the Gryffindor players so that the Slytherins would have an advantage during the tournament and so they ...

Those filthy little cockroaches!

But it did not add up, Hermione grudgingly admitted after she had calmed herself down. No matter how good they were, they could not have predicted the human error, and according to the boys, Dennis did hit the Bludger towards Ginny by mistake. Unless the Slytherins had a resident Seer, the incident could only be concluded as an accident. That was, of course, assuming that Dennis Creevey was not bought over. Of course he wasn't, she scolded herself.

One should always be clear about who the enemy was. She knew something was amiss with Blaise Zabini. He was too eager to be nice, and far too interested in Gryffindor's affair. She was just not fast enough to link up the connections. She could not believe that Hermione Granger, the smartest witch in Hogwarts, was outwitted by that filthy, despicable --

"SON OF A BITCH!"

Hermione winced at the outcry.

She had wanted to say 'filthy, despicable, little cockroach' again but decided that Ginny Weasley had articulated the point better than she ever could. Even in the privacy of her mental occupation, under the influence of overwhelming anger, Hermione Granger could not bring herself to be vulgar. Besides, Hermione thought it was a tad unfair to be insulting the culprits' mothers when it was the culprits who truly deserved to be struck by lightning into a pile of very fine ash.

Ginny Weasley, on the other hand, did not seem to have this problem; she was sprouting all sorts of profanity Hermione did not even know existed. Surely she was hearing things wrong, she thought to herself as she peered at the youngest Weasley girl: small heart-shaped face, a light dust of freckles over the bridge of her nose, angelic eyes and cupid bow lips - by all appearance the image of a sweet country girl, kind and warm-hearted, and the anti-thesis of the livid mad woman (there was no other word for it) Hermione was looking at now, who looked like she was going to chop an unfaithful spouse into the consistency of instant oatmeal and finish him off for supper.

Just when Hermione thought Ginny was finally going to stop her string of expletives (surely she would be running out of vulgarities by this time), the latter, looking frustrated that she was starting to fumble over her words, clenched the blanket tightly in her hands before pounding her little fists on the mattress.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHH UGH!"

Everyone in the infirmary flinched when Ginny hit a high note. All the boys, save Harry, had their palms firmly pressed against their ears in a flash. Harry was vaguely reminded of the Herbology class about the Mandrakes as he poked a long finger into his ear to check if the eardrums still worked. As far as he was concerned, Ginny could very well matched up against the Mandrakes. Good grief.

Ron watched his sister's eloquent display of outrage, dumbfounded. It took him a while to realise why he had felt petrified by his sister; she had never resembled their formidable mother as much as she did now.

"Ginny," Ron started to say as he inched slowly back to his sister's bedside.

"WHAT?" she snapped.

Ron paused in mid-movement, then took a step away from his sister for good measure.

"Gin ... Gin, calm down," Ron pacified, moving his hands to pat on his sister's head, the way he used to do for her when she was still drinking milk from a bottle. His teammates observed the siblings' exchange with interest, noting the irony that before Ginny Weasley had awoken, Ron was the one who was ranting about pulling Draco Malfoy's head out of his neck. Now he actually looked like he was trying to save Draco Malfoy's life.

"Ron," Ginny asked in a voice that was spooking even Hermione, "when can I get out of the infirmary?"

"In a day or two, if Madam Pomfrey thinks your recovery is satisfactory," Ron replied and carefully closed the gap between Ginny and himself to sit at the side of her bed. "I think you should stay longer though. Get some good rest. That'll do you good," he said gently, patting his little sister's still tight fist.

"Yes," Ginny agreed, to the surprise of everyone. "I'll make sure I get lots of rest."

"Good!" Ron replied and broke into a grin that soon faded away when he noted the maniacal sparkle in his sister's eyes.

"I need to get my strength back. When I get out of here, I am going to kill him," Ginny said matter-of-factly.

"Mmm," Harry hummed noncommittally only because the silence that followed was getting too awkward for him to bear.

No one in the infirmary dared object Ginny Weasley's announcement. Eventually, after what seemed like hours, Ron swallowed a dry throat and patted his sister's hand again absentmindedly.

"Yes, you do that."

~*~

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco did not hear the professor at first. It was seven o'clock in the morning, he had a bad night that added up to zero hours of sleep and he was barely suppressing his craving for a cup of coffee to calm his nerves.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

The prefect badge he was fiddling with dropped to the floor with a soft, clear thud as he jerked to alertness, his hands clutching the arms of his chair.

"Sorry, Professor," Draco mumbled when he recollected himself, and bent down quickly to pick up his prefect badge.

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips impatiently and adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose.

"I hope you will learn to treat your role as a prefect more seriously, Mr. Malfoy," the professor said curtly, her head tilted slightly to one side. "A prefect badge is hardly a toy to fiddle with. Please pin it to your uniform now."

Draco obeyed the professor quietly, pinning the badge on his robes in as smooth a motion as he could manage. He willed his hands not to tremble under the professor's scrutiny, and when he was done, he looked up to find the professor tapping her fingers on the tabletop, and looking at him over her glasses. The professor's dark eyes were feline and wide-set, a feature that had never failed to unsettle Draco. They were alert as they glanced at him as if to pierce through him to the core of his essence, to crawl off his deceitful surfaces to expose the shell of lies within. Momentarily, Draco was taken aback by how much the Gryffindor Head of House reminded him of his father. They exuded the same aura of the omnipotence, rendering Draco helpless and feeling like a six-year-old over again.

He clasped his hands together and tried to assume a relaxed position. The professors had already gone through a round of questioning with the Slytherin team. Their statements had been flawlessly coordinated, their alibis proven, and their wands examined. Nothing had been found to be out of order. There was no reason to be nervous.

He knew that somewhere else in the castle, Professor Snape was questioning Blaise, and he quietly resented the arrangement, wishing for their positions to be swapped. Draco had no doubt that they were nailed because they were named by Dennise Bloody Creevey. Blaise had been largely nonchalant about the whole incident, and for good reason. He was not the one who sowed the seeds of trouble to begin with. He did not have any rivalry with the Gryffindors, and he was mostly known as the quiet, model of exemplary smartarse student ranking second behind Hermione Mudblood Granger for the past five academic years, and the closest resemblance of a decent person from Slytherin. Of course he had nothing to worry about.

"I hope you realise the seriousness of the matter, Mr. Malfoy."

"Of course, professor," Draco answered.

"And I hope that you have been entirely honest in your reiteration of the events on the day of Ginny Weasley's accident."

"Of course, professor," Draco repeated.

Professor McGonagall was silent as she pursed her lips into a thin line again. As the seconds stretched between them, Draco was agonizingly aware of the slow passing of time, a psychological torture made more difficult to bear by the tickling of the grandfather clock at the corner of the room. The rhythmic tick-tocks punctuated the silence in time with the throbbing in his head. Draco was almost sure if this silent treatment were to continue any longer, he would splinter under the mounting pressure in the office and own up to every crime he had committed since he entered Hogwarts.

At long last, the silence was broken, and Draco's battle was won.

"Very well. Run along now if you do not want to miss your breakfast."

~*~

To his dismay, Draco soon found out that the atmosphere in the Great Hall was no better than that in McGonagall's office.

No fewer than a dozen pair of eyes watched him as he entered. Ignoring the stares was a feat, especially when he could not shake off the feeling that there were more than one person in the Great Hall trying to stare a hole through the back of his head by sheer determination. All around him, the air sang revenge. When he finally made it to the Slytherin table, it took him all the strength he could muster to not sit at his usual place, and instead picked a seat that allowed him to face the accusing eyes. Most of them were the Gryffindors, but there were also some from the other Houses. The news must have spread then, he thought. Bloody hell.

It was not unfamiliar ground though, and no way in hell was Draco going to cower under the pressure. Draco was used to being stared at, and the whole business of staring back the stares was nothing he could not handle. If anything, he was an expert on it. He would show the world that he craved on attention. That was the only way he knew to retaliate.

Draco was so intent on out-staring his peers that it took him longer than it should have to notice that the dream team and Ginny Weasley were absent. Upon closer look, Draco realised that the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was missing. Against his will, he felt a rising curiosity for Ginny Weasley's well being.

Thwack. A hand slapped on his shoulder and Draco jumped. For a wild moment, he thought his heart might have jumped out of his throat.

But it was only Blaise.

"You alright?" Blaise asked as he sat down beside Draco. "You seem ... a little jumpy."

"Anyone would be jumpy when they get hit out of the blue," Draco replied shortly as he rubbed his face roughly with his right hand, his left hand picking up his coffee at the same time.

Blaise's lips were pressed into a tight lopsided smile, his eyes expressing bitter amusement.

"But I always hit you like that," Blaise commented, and in a backhanded manner, added, "and I thought I told you the Weaslet's alright."

When Draco did not answer, Blaise continued while munching his chicken pie.

"Besides, we are all clear. Everything went according to plan. You should be happy that we ..."

"Shhhhh," Draco warned out of the corner of his mouth.

"Why, do you need the toilet or something?" Blaise continued without missing a beat.

"Tell me," Draco said, irritated, "why do I ever bother talking to you? You have no idea how tiring it is."

"I'll tell you why, Draco, my friend," Blaise said, dragging his words in a deliberate manner. "It's because I'm the only one who can stand you. In exchange, you have to put up with me because I'm the only person available for you to put up with. In this world, we give and take. Can't have everything, you know."

Draco snorted. "I don't want to talk to you ever," he answered and returned his attention to the food in front of him in a determined fashion.

The two boys ate breakfast in silence until Blaise started to whistle softly. When Draco did not react, Blaise dropped his cutlery dramatically only to pick them up again, and drop them again. Draco resisted the urge to tell him to cut it off.

"Come on, you can't stand not talking to me. I know that," Blaise said and elbowed Draco. And Draco tried his hardest not to indulge Blaise in his playful mood. He continued to act as if Blaise was not there, and concentrated his effort in staring back at the people who were still glaring at him. Good Salazar, don't these people ever get tired of staring?

"Hmm, the Gryffindor team's not here," Blaise commented as he scanned the Great Hall in a casual manner. "Wonder why."

"Probably visiting Weasley," Draco replied, then paused and mentally slapped himself.

"Ah ha! You talked."

"I don't know how you can have everyone thinking that you are the quiet goody two shoes of the Slytherin House when you are obviously up against Colin Creevey for the Most Irritating Bastard In Hogwarts," Draco huffed.

"My parents were married," Blaise replied and pulled a face. "Does that mean that I may get disqualified for the title?" he whined.

"Urgh," Draco swore, "fuck me."

"Right now?"

"Arghhhhhhhh." Draco was in obvious agony.

Blaise grinned.

"Do you talk to Professor Snape like that?" Draco asked, pained. "Does anyone else even know you could talk like that?"

"No, and no," Blaise replied thoughtfully. "I think he likes me best when I am at my most studious. You know, all earnest and innocent and vulnerable. I think it turns him on."

"Oh god, no," Draco lamented as Blaise conjured the frightful mental image. "I just ate."

"Seriously though, he was quite pissed off about the whole thing," Blaise said, suddenly business-like.

Not for the first time, Draco had to ask himself how it was ever possible for Blaise to be completely incapable of being serious for one moment and be completely serious in the next. The rapidity in which Blaise moved from one mood into another was something that Draco had never, having known him all his life, managed to understand. It never failed to disorientate him.

"Can you not spring things on me like that?" Draco groaned, feeling out of sync with the conversation.

"What?"

"You," Draco said in an accusatory tone. "One second you are all cheery and irritating, and then you suddenly turn serious. I can't keep up with you like that. It's like trying to pluck dust from the air and arrange them in alphabetical order. Try being more consistent. It's the way normal people behave."

"What?" Blaise said again and left his defence at that. "I just want to let you know that Professor Snape is angry with this continuous trouble with the Gryffindors."

"What continuous trouble with Gryffindors? We always have trouble with Gryffindors. It's a tradition. They are our rival House. They took away our Quidditch Cup. They took away our House Cup. They took away our glory, our honour, our..."

"Glory, honour," Blaise echoed, tossing out the words like discarded apple pits. "He's not referring to all that. House rivalry is fine. Personal rivalry, that's not fine."

"Personal rivalry?" Draco repeated. "I have had personal rivalry with the Gryffindors for the longest time. I don't see what you mean."

"It's this thing you had with Ginny Weasley," Blaise explained. "First you two had each other end up in the infirmary. Then you have her end up in the infirmary. And take my word for it, when she's up and running, you are going to end up in the infirmary. And the cycle continues. It's past petty feuds you had with her brother and Harry Potter. It's too public. Too attention-seeking. See what I mean now? He thinks you should keep yourself in check."

"Keep myself in check?" Draco was outraged at the idea. What was his professor thinking?

"Yes, tone yourself down. You are a prefect, Draco," Blaise said. "This thing with Ginny Weasley is getting you into too much trouble. Not worth your while. I expect he will be speaking to you soon. I only know to tell you this because he was mumbling to himself angrily all the time he was questioning me."

"You must be hallucinating," Draco said, shaking his head. "The professor hates Gryffindors too."

"But the business with Ginny Weasley is too much," Blaise reasoned patiently. "Like I've said, it's all laid out in the spotlight. Everyone knows what happened. He had to answer to the Headmaster. Count your lucky stars Professor Dumbledore is away at the Ministry."

"Count my lucky stars, my arse..."

"Take my words. Keep low if you don't want to end up in the infirmary."

"What makes you think that I am going to end up in the infirmary?"

"When Ginny Weasley gets out, she is going to hunt you down and tear you strip by strip for what happened. Don't assume she doesn't know. They more or less got the picture."

"Then it's not my problem," Draco said stubbornly. "I can try not to look for trouble but I can't stop trouble looking for me. And don't ever think I'll be a sitting target and let her hex the heck out of me. I'm not going to let her make me look stupid."

Blaise had to hammer down the urge to say that messing with Ginny Weasley was the most direct route to looking stupid.

"Keep out of her way is all I'm saying. Lie low for a few weeks, and she should have work off all the ire," Blaise said. "Of course it's entirely up to you. You are the one who has been on the receiving end of her hostility, not me. So you should know better. Try convincing me it's a good idea to continue antagonising Ginny Weasley."

Recollecting how Ginny Weasley was like when she swung a broomstick at him, Draco knew that Blaise had a point but he was not ready to accept the idea without a little resistance.

"It's only Ginny Weasley," Draco said.

"Of course. Only Ginny Weasley," Blaise echoed. "Only Ginny Weasley who has six brothers, two of whom were the legendary troublemakers of Hogwarts. Only Ginny Weasley who had hexed you all the way to the infirmary on two occasions. Only Ginny Weasley who has hexed the balls off Michael Corner, and I mean that literally. Only Gin -"

"She what?"

"What?"

"What you said," Draco said in awe. "What did she do to what's his name?"

"Oh," Blaise replied. "She hexed the balls off Michael Corner. Her ex-boyfriend. The whole school knows. He tried to ..."

"She did what?"

"Where have you been?" Blaise asked disdainfully. "Under the carpet in Timbuktoo? Or is it not really you who was here the whole of the last school term? Hired a polyjuice stand-in, didn't you? I knew it."

"There is no need to be so sarcastic."

"Your lack of awareness is appalling, Draco."

"I am just not as nosy as the lot of you are," Draco insisted, and tried to divert the subject. "That Michael what's his name is a bastard anyway. Stupid Ravenclaw who thinks he's so smart and holier-than-thou..."

"Right," Blaise agreed sarcastically and nodded. "He's holier-than-thou, unlike you, the emblem of humility. Perhaps Ginny Weasley will not hunt you down after all. Heaven knows we can't do without you."

"As if she can."

"Just don't come running to me when she breaks your legs," Blaise replied, and Draco, his sense of humour running thin, decided that the best course of action perhaps, was to not talk to Blaise Zabini anymore. He had more important things to do. Like wondering when those people would stop glaring at him, and how to evade Ginny Weasley.

~*~

As it turned out, Operation Avoid Ginny Weasley was not difficult at all. For the past three days, he had scarcely seen a strand of the girl's red hair. And the only redhead he had been near proximity to was hardly paying him any attention. This had come as a big surprise bigger than the size of England. Surely this was not normal. Did Ronald Weasley hit his head and finally awaken the retardant genes that had lain dormant up to this day, or something?

The lack of action from the rival House had every inch of Draco screaming "False sense of security! Constant vigilance!".

The more he thought about it, the more amiss things seemed to be. Ginny Weasley would not make things so easy for him, would she? Judging by her temperament, she would have hurled angry words at him by now, if not chop him into pieces with the butter knife at breakfast. Thinking of which, the strange thing was, he had not run into her at all in the Great Hall, though that might not be her lack of trying as much as it was Draco's conscientious effort to avoid dinning in the Great Hall whenever possible. He even had her timetable handy, courtesy of Blaise and his meticulous planning. And as much as it was against his will, Draco had taken care to avoid using hallways that his nemesis might use when he went for classes.

"Earth to Draco, earth to Draco, you're going to cut your fingers off if you continue staring off into space," Blaise whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

Blaise's words jolted Draco out of his reverie and he shook his head to clear his mind before focusing on his work again. Looking down at the worktable, he saw what Blaise meant. One more cut of the knife and he would be getting more than chopped asphodel for his Draught of the Living Death. Intellectual curiosity had him, for a moment, wondering what the effect on the draught would be if he were to add in some human flesh and blood. Probably would do nothing more than enhancing the taste of the draught. He would ask Blaise what he thought about his hypothesis after class.

Advanced Potions was held in another dungeon located at the far end of the underground. The class was smaller and the work area more compact than the one Draco was used to in previous years. Unlike past years' arrangements, which had the tables arranged in rows and columns, the work stations in this classroom were arranged to form a circle, the edge of one table touching the other. As a result, every student would be standing next to one another while they were at work, and this had the unfortunate effect of placing Draco next to Ronald Weasley. His other side was Blaise, who shared the same table with him, and next to Blaise was Harry Potter. Professor Snape had personally seen to it that the duo be separated and placed far away from Hermione Granger at the same time. She was directly opposite them in the circle, partnered with Su Li, a quiet Ravenclaw with short black hair and a very small face.

The composition of the class was mostly Ravenclaws, which came to Draco as no surprise. It was not easy to be in an Advanced Potions class. It has a quota of twelve students for every intake. Apart from Blaise and himself, the only other Slytherin was Theodore Nott, who was paired up with Kevin Entwhistle, another Ravenclaw. The trio were the only Gryffindors, a fact that still remained a mystery to Draco. He could expect Hermione Granger to be in Advanced Potions, seeing as she was probably in every other Advanced Magic classes, but Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter? Hogwarts Scandal of the Century.

His eyes swept along the circle as he stirred the potion brewing in the cauldron, nothing the other students in class: Mandy Brocklehurst, Michael what's his name, Padma Patil, Terry Boot - all Ravenclaws. There were no Hufflepuffs, which was only to be expected.

Pop! The professor suddenly appeared in the centre of the room inside the circle of tables and the students immediately became more subdued, the quiet chatters drained away, the only noise in the classroom the sounds of knife chopping ingredients and rod stirring potions. Without a word, Professor Snape made his round, dragging a hand on the tabletop as he went along, drumming his fingers loudly against the tables at regular intervals, stopping only once at Ron Weasley's table to tell him off for not wiping the edge of his cauldron dry when the potion bubbled out of it.

Draco suppressed an insane urge to cackle, and concentrated on his draught.

One swirl clockwise, half a swirl anti-clockwise, repeat until the infusion of wormwood turns green. Set flame low to boil gently. Add ginger, daisy roots, and essence of belladonna. Switch to glass rod. Maintain rapid stirring motion until...

"Very good, Draco," a deep voice commented and he lifted his head to acknowledge the professor. "Have you added the chopped asphodel?"

"No, sir," Draco replied assuredly. "Asphodel loses its effect when the temperature is high, and should be added only after the concoction has cooled."

"Excellent. Twenty points to Slytherin," the professor drawled. "I hope you have paid attention to that, Mr. Weasley."

Draco was certain that he could hear the grinding of teeth from his neighbour, and cut his eyes sideway. Ronald Weasley caught his eyes and glared. Draco smirked and haughtily checked his neighbour's table. No chopped asphodel in sight. Must be in the cauldron already then. Ha. He was going to have to stay back after class to redo his work.

The professor walked passed Draco, went on to check on Blaise, gave an approving nod, and walked on to check on the others.

Maintain rapid stirring motion until, ah, colour drained away.

Draco put the flame out with a swish of his wand and carefully transferred the potion from the cauldron into a clear bowl to cool quickly.

"You should have obtain the basic mixture by now!" the professor bellowed from the other side of the classroom. Draco looked up and saw that the professor was glaring daggers at Michael what's his name. Draco could not help the compulsion to gloat, especially when he saw the look on Harry Potter's face, his mouth opened wide, shifty eyes betraying a hint of panic. His mouth quickly closed again when he caught Draco looking. "Most incompetent," the professor continued to scold. "It's a wonder none of you have blown up my dungeon yet. And let me assure you that I will be most unhappy to have my dungeon walls splattered with your blood. Very tedious to clean. Please spare a thought for our poor house elves," he said and looked at Hermione briefly, a fickle of bitter amusement evident in his eyes. "So," he started again, folding his arms in the way that made his large sleeves hang like curtains down his front, "the last ingredient."

"Er, professor, please," Hermione Granger said, putting her hand up. "The last ingredient..."

"Mr. Zabini," Professor Snape called, ignoring Hermione as if she had not spoken a word. Hermione's hand went down but she continued to look at the professor determinedly.

"Yes, sir," Blaise answered, his hands placed behind him, his posture quietly confident.

"Name the last ingredient."

"Bezoar."

"How much?"

"In equal part with the essence of belladonna."

"Elaborate."

"Bezoar, which comes from the stomach of a goat, neutralises all poison. Adding it last to the potion nullifies the poison in the essence of belladonna to make the draught safe for human consumption."

"Commendable, Mr. Zabini. Another twenty points to Slytherin," the professor said and whirled around, his robe billowing as he turned to address the rest of the class. "All of you," he said with narrowed eyes, "except ... Mr. Zabini, Mr. Malfoy ... and ... Miss. Granger. In other words, the rest of you who obviously have failed to work out the answer ... I expect a detailed write-up about the Draught of the Living Death to be on my desk. Today. Before dinner," he warned. "Your due punishment."

Quiet resentful grunts rippled throughout the room. A detailed write-up about the potion to be done before dinner meant that there would be no lunch break for those affected. And for those who had to redo their brew, it would be a long night camping out in the dungeon. Draco was silently glad he was among the intellectually superior.

"Seal the draught for my inspection when you've finished," the professor said and Apparated, appearing at the door with a pop. "Class dismissed."

~*~

Hermione glared hard and long at the dark boy opposite, not quite able to live down yet another humiliating dismissal from the potion master. She knew the answer to the question and was positive that she could provide a better explanation than Blaise Zabini had. How dare he came off as being smarter than she was, she grumbled bitterly.

Blaise added the final ingredient to the draught and watched the bezoar sizzle and disappeared into the colourless concoction. He picked up a glass rod and gave the potion a slight stir. Without turning his head, he reached out his left hand to pick up the funnel he knew should be there. When his hand felt the empty tabletop, he turned to find Draco already a step ahead of him, holding the funnel they shared in his hand but not using it yet. He was about to reason with Draco when he paused, noticing that Hermione was glaring at him. She had been glaring at him on and off for the entire lesson. He wondered what he had done to offend the Gryffindor prefect, but drew a blank. Shrugging it off, he took a step towards Draco and plucked the funnel out of his hand.

"Hey, I got it first," Draco protested.

"You are not using it, prick," Blaise said and then gaped at Draco indignantly when the other boy snatched the funnel back.

"I am going to," Draco said.

"You are not," Blaise replied and snagged the funnel, but Draco reached out in time and they were in a tug of war. They pulled at the funnel, dragging it to and fro along the tabletop, neither willing to give in.

Great Salazar, this is childish, Blaise thought. But hell, he wants the funnel and he is going to get it. Holding a firm grip on the funnel as he was jerked sideway by Draco's pull on it, he reached around with his other hand and felt about the table blindly. Quills, parchments, dropper, rods, sweet wrappers ... ah, the knife, and ... the pestle. Hmm, pestle or the knife?

Hermione watched the two Slytherins with dry incredulity. Good gracious! What are they doing? She looked around the room, seeking affirmation, but no one seemed to notice what they were doing.

Blaise's hand closed on the handle of the knife, brought it gliding through the air and made a stab for Draco's hand. Draco gasped and withdrew his hand immediately.

Blaise took the opportunity, grabbed the funnel, and with swift, sure movements, empty the contents into the vessel with the label for the draught before tossing the funnel back to Draco. Draco caught it by reflex, and stared at Blaise.

"You tried to stab me," Draco said.

Hermione's eyes went wide and nearly screamed if she could find her voice. The Slytherins have no morals at all, Hermione thought to herself. Then she wondered why she was worrying herself over Draco Malfoy's hand. But still, the thing remained to be said was, the Slytherins were a weird bunch of immoral people.

"I was just trying to divert your attention," Blaise replied, sealing off the vessel. He brought the vessel up to his eye level, inspecting it closely before shaking the contents smilingly. "Done."

"You tried to stab me," Draco said again, his voice coming out in a squeak.

"Don't be ridiculous," Blaise said, narrowing his eyes with mirth, and walked off to the back of the room, slotted his vessel into the compartment in the crate that bore his name, and returned to his seat. He picked up the sweet wrappers, stuffed them into his pocket, and cleared up the cluttered table, packing his belongings at the same time.

"Hurry up, won't you?" he said to Draco, shooing him in the direction of the crate. "I'm famished." He swung his bag over his shoulder and walked off to the door. He pulled the heavy dungeon door open -- it emitted a noisy creak the sound of rusting metal, and the thick chains scratched the stone floor, ringing -- only to close it again. Draco looked at Blaise, puzzled when he saw him calmly turned and leaned against the door, looking at Draco with a strange expression on his face. Draco picked up his bag and walked up to Blaise.

"What?"

"Your friend is waiting for you outside."

Draco arched one eyebrow, question marks running through his head. "What friend, who?"

"There's someone outside who looks like she is really going to stab you," Blaise said.

"You mean..."

"Hang on a minute," Blaise said and dragged the door open to peer out at the corridor. Draco saw him frown, and waited nervously. "Weird. She was there a minute ago."

"So she's not there now?" Draco asked hopefully and leaned close to look. There is no one in the corridor. Is Blaise playing a trick on him?

"Hmm," Blaise hummed and stepped out of the dungeon. "I am sure I saw her."

"Maybe you saw it wrong," Draco said and followed, pulling the door close. "She shouldn't even be here. No one comes here except students in Advanced Potions."

"Her brother's in Advanced Potions," Blaise replied. "You are in Advanced Potions," he added.

Draco laughed nervously. "You can't be suggesting that she ... Ha, as if she can get me. She's just a little - " Weasley girl. The sentence broke off abruptly when Ginny Weasley suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor, holding a wand, and looking absolutely murderous.

Draco knew he was going to hate himself for it later but he could not help it. He turned and bolted in the opposite direction.

"Draco Malfoy!" He heard her screeched. It was the last thing he heard before he took off in a flash up the staircases.

~*~

"Draco Malfoy!"

Ginny broke into a run, determined to get hold of her nemesis.

Blaise went forward quickly and planted himself in her way. She swerved and continued briskly, her Chaser agility evident in her moves. Blaise turned to check on Draco, noted that he had fled to the other exit, and heaved a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was buy his friend some time. Without hesitation, Blaise moved and collided into Ginny Weasley. The impact knocked them off each other, and Blaise deliberately let his bag fell, his belongings scattering on the stone floor in a mess.

"Whoops, I'm sorry," Blaise said, and meant it in more ways than one.

"Get out of my way!" Ginny screamed, and screamed again when she tripped over the items scattered on the stone floor.

"Careful," he said as he broke her fall.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Ginny swore and struggled to stand properly while trying to shake Blaise off.

Wow, Blaise thought. First meeting, we haven't been introduced and she's already calling me bastard.

"Did you hear what I said? I said get OUT OF MY WAY!" she screamed again and shoved him off. Then, she looked torn between picking up her belongings and running after Draco.

"Let me help you with those," Blaise said and smiled inwardly. He bent down to pick up the girl's bag, books, quills, and parchments when she unexpectedly swept the things out of his hands. The stationery and books settled on the floor with a clatter.

"You did that on purpose!" Ginny yelled. "You are helping him!"

"I don't know what you are saying. Who are you referring to?"

"Listen," Ginny said and seized the front of his robes. "Don't act stupid with me, Blaise Zabini. I know you are best friend with Draco Malfoy."

"Whoa, calm down, lady," Blaise said, barely masking his surprise at the girl's directness. If she weren't so small in stature, she would have made a formidable sparring partner.

"Calm down, my arse," Ginny swore again, and Blaise thought distractedly that he had heard something similar not so long ago. Oh, he suddenly made the connection. She sounded like Draco. They swore the same way.

"Look, Miss, get your hands off me first, then we can talk like civilised people," Blaise said and tried to pry her fists off his robes but she had freakish strength for a girl. "Ouch!" Blaise yelped when Ginny dug her fingernails into his hand as they struggled with each other.

They were so absorbed in each other that they did not hear the massive dungeon door creaked open and closed again. Hermione stood rooted at the door, shocked at what she was seeing.

"What is going on?" Hermione demanded and rushed to Ginny's aid. "What do you want, Blaise Zabini?" she shouted, her voice laced with rancour.

"I knocked into her is all," Blaise explained plainly.

Hermione was overcome with dry incredulity for the second time in a day.

"You don't believe me," Blaise said.

"Don't listen to him, Hermione," Ginny said. "He's with Draco Malfoy!"

"You let go of her," Hermione said to Blaise and joined in the tussle.

"Hey, I'll be more than happy to let go of her," Blaise said, exasperated, and pulled at both Ginny and Hermione's hands, "if she would just let go of me."

"Stop twisting the facts, Blaise Zabini. I had enough of your rubbish," Hermione said and pulled at Blaise's hands, which were pulling at Ginny's hands.

I can't believe I'm stuck in a fight with two women, Blaise thought as he was overpowered by the two girls, not so much by their joint power, but rather by his reluctance to use force on the girls. They are females, after all.

"Okay, look, just let go, and ... hey!" Blaise tried to reason. "You are ruining my shirt."

"Shut up!" Ginny screamed.

"Yeah, you filthy little cockroach!" Hermione joined in, getting a little affected by Ginny.

Good lord, Blaise thought. What a kinky situation, two girls pressing themselves on me. And filthy little cockroach? Hmm ... who says that?

"Right, I'm sorry, but I had to ..." Blaise trailed off as he used more strength on the girls. He took hold of Hermione's wrist and twisted it slightly, enough to induce pain so that she would let go but not too much to cause injury.

"Ouch," Hermione complained and saw red. She struggled with Blaise's grip as she tried her best to defend her friend. "You don't touch her!" she screamed.

Blaise ignored Hermione and with one hand holding her off, he tried to detach Ginny from himself.

"Don't you touch her!" Hermione screamed like a mad woman.

"I'm not touching her!" Blaise screamed back.

"Let go of me! Let go!" Hermione flailed her hands about to fight off Blaise Zabini. The situation became a wild thrusting of limbs that threatened to poke his eyes out.

"Fucking lord of hell, can you just stay still and not -"

A hand sailed through the air.

Slap.

And hit Blaise across the cheek. The sound of the slap echoed along the corridor. Suddenly, everything came to a standstill. Ginny let go of Blaise and looked as if she was the one who had been slapped to her senses.

"Oh, no" Hermione said weakly, her hands flew to her mouth in shock. I've hit him, she thought, and was washed over with guilt. "I'm ... I'm so ..."

She never had the chance to say she was sorry because Blaise shook both of them off roughly and stood up. He looked very angry. It was the first time Hermione had ever seen him angry, and it made him looked like a different person altogether.

She stood up as well and was determined to apologise but the boy threw them a dirty look and strode off in a huff, leaving his things behind.

~*~

BANG!

The dormitory door slammed close and Draco watched Blaise marched into their room in angry strides. He went directly to his trunk, kicked it open as he shrugged off his robes violently, yanked off his tie, and flung them across the room.

"What..."

"Honestly, the things I do for you!" Blaise bellowed, and Draco shut his mouth. What the hell did Ginny Weasley do? Draco wondered.

He sat on his bed and continued to watch Blaise as he stormed about, kicking off his shoes, rummaged through his trunk before slamming it shut again without taking anything from it. Draco had never seen Blaise in a rage in a very long time. The last time it happened, Draco recollected, Blaise threw a bedside table off the fourth storey of his mansion. He was fourteen, and his parents were going through a separation. Draco darted his eyes around the room. Okay, no windows in the dungeon.

He peered at Blaise who was tugging at the buttons on his shirt, fumbled with the last one, and with one furious pull, tore the button off. The button flew through the air and hit Draco on his face.

"Ow," Draco said and pressed his hand to his forehead.

"Fucking fuck it off to fucking hell." Blaise continued storming in circles, working on his cufflinks and threw them at Draco. The metal articles hit Draco again: one got his right eye; the other got the side of his mouth.

Draco felt violated, but reasoned that Blaise had every right to abuse him in exchange for getting abused by Ginny Weasley. He pulled a face at Blaise, attempting rapport, but the boy was not looking at him. He had stopped pacing about, and was standing in the centre of their room, the front of his shirt opened and tucked out, his hands rigidly rested at his sides, breathing heavily. His chest rose and fell in time with the stir of his long fringe, which moved with the angry breaths he was expelling. He blinked angrily and stared at Draco, a scornful look unhidden on his face.

"For all your trouble," Blaise spat with venom, "I get all the abuses."

Draco lowered his eyes and felt deeply apologetic. He was suddenly very small, and Blaise, like an elder sibling waving a very big stick, towered over his very insignificant existence.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, sounding the most earnest he had ever been.

"Sorry?" Blaise repeated, and the word sounded like ridiculous muck rolling off his tongue. "Sorry?" he said again and shook his head. Draco dared a look at him and saw the marks on his hands: red scratches, the imprints of Ginny Weasley's nails.

Blaise saw what Draco was looking at, and thrust his hands at his face. "This is not all. This," he said and pointed at the side of his face, still slightly red from the slap, "this ..." Blaise did not look like he could continue.

"She slapped you?" Draco asked dreamily. "That bitch actually hit you? But she was after me."

"No," Blaise laughed without mirth. "Not Ginny Weasley. Hermione Granger."

"Mudblood Granger?" Draco echoed. This was getting more and more complicated. What was Granger doing in the picture?

"Long story," Blaise said and took a few steps again to work off his ire. "Actually, not a very long story," he said later. "She saw me holding off Ginny Weasley, and for some bizarre reason, thought I was trying to harm her. The ridiculous imagination of the female mind, encoded into the combination of double x-chromosomes."

Draco listened and looked blank. Blaise sighed with feeling and explained with academic professionalism. "X-chromosomes," he said. "Medical Magic, last year, chapter one." And when Draco continued to look confused, Blaise scolded, "The first chapter! Basic understanding of the human body, the scientific perspective! The x-chromosomes, rod-like structure in living cells containing the chemical patterns ... oh what's the use," he said and threw his arms in the air dramatically. "Anyway, it was a confusing situation."

"Yes, it is. You can't blame me for not remembering what the x-chromo-what is."

"No! I'm not talking about the," Blaise said and took a deep breath.

Draco had the grace to look sheepish.

"Weasley was grabbing at my shirt," Blaise continued. "I think she was just venting her anger on me because I helped you get away. There was some misunderstanding. Granger thought, wait, I already told you that. In a nutshell, I got slapped in the midst of it."

"That Mudblood!" Draco cursed.

"It has nothing to do with pureblood or not," Blaise said coolly.

"Whatever," Draco said and stood up. "Listen, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have run, but I can't help it. I don't know what came over me." Draco shut his eyes, pained. "Merlin, it is humiliating."

Blaise looked at Draco and crossed his arms over his chest.

"No, it's a smart thing," Blaise said. "Ginny Weasley is a nut case. I'll run for the hills the next time I see her."

"You know, I won't be able to live this down. I ran away at the sight of a girl a year younger than me who barely reached my shoulder. Oh gods." Draco buried his face in his hands.

"Well, we are never known to be brave," Blaise said reasonably. "Or we would be in Gryffindor. We have sharp survival instinct though." He shrugged off his shirt, seeming less angry than before, and pulled a fresh, dark blue jersey on. The back of the long-sleeved shirt read "10", "Mullet Goodwin", and "Puddlemere United" in white, and there was a picture of two crossed gold bulrushes enchanted to fade in and out with the words at alternative intervals.

Draco blinked and looked confused again.

"Why are you changing out of your uniform?" he asked.

"I'm skipping class," Blaise said and flopped onto his bed, a hand behind his head, and started to read a book. Draco could not see what book it was, but could tell from the constellation design on the cover that it had something to do with Divination. It could not be Astronomy. Blaise always fell asleep on his telescope during Astronomy.

"I'm going to class alone?"

Blaise looked at Draco over the top of his book.

"Draco, you are old enough to go to class without my escorting you."

"You said you are hungry," Draco said.

"Not anymore," Blaise said and turned a page. "Very full with rage now."

"Come on," Draco urged, "I want to eat lunch. I'm hungry."

"Then go eat," Blaise spoke from behind his book.

"Come oooooooooon," Draco wailed.

Blaise put down his book but did not sit up.

"Look, I can't go to the Great Hall like this," he said and spread his arms wide for effect. "It just screams 'I am going to skip class today'."

"But I don't want to eat alone."

"Don't be silly. There are cartloads of people eating in the Great Hall now. You won't be eating alone Draco Prince of Slytherin," Blaise said, and Draco was resentful at the slight sarcasm.

"Yes, I know," Draco replied. "Cartloads of people ... like, Ginny Weasley." He immediately regretted saying the last bit. Oh gods, he had sunk so low.

He had gone through a gloomy introspection of the event when he was alone in his room, and knew that what happened was not because he was afraid of Ginny Weasley. Okay, maybe that played a small part, but it was not the whole story. He was sorry for what he did to her, that much he would readily admit, only to himself. He was not sure if he wanted to be forced into a situation where he had to exchange hexes with the girl again. Either way he would lose out: fight back, get into more trouble and risk his prefect badge (the acting Headmistress had made that point clear) or refused to fight and be hexed into oblivion.

"She won't pounce on you in public," Blaise said, though he did not sound convinced.

"Do you think I should risk that?" Draco asked.

Blaise looked calculative, gazing at the ceiling of his bed. Then he chortled at the image of Ginny Weasley crawling over the lunch on their House table to reach for Draco's neck. He looked over at Draco and shook his head slightly.

"No. Better not."

"Ah," Draco reacted. "Shall I just live on chewing wood off the bedpost then?" he asked and knocked the bedpost three times.

"It is a feasible plan," Blaise commented, glancing at Draco's bed. "Sturdy craftsmanship. Good quality oak. Will last till seventh year. Might chip off your teeth though."

"Be serious now, can you?" Draco said. "I'm really hungry, and I need to eat."

"Why don't you ask someone to get the food out of the Great Hall?"

"Why not go straight to the kitchens?"

"Good thinking. You do that," Blaise said and went back to his book.

"You really don't want food?" Draco asked, sounding hopeful.

Blaise's stomach growled, and he slapped the book, still opened, on his abdomen.

Draco grinned.

"Get up," he said to Blaise, and proceeded to pull him up, throwing his book carelessly aside. "We can bring some food for Theodore, and we'll eat in the classroom. No Ginny Weasley there."

"Are you really afraid of Ginny Weasley?" Blaise asked as he swung his legs over the bed to put on his shoes.

Draco glanced at Blaise briefly, vacillating between pride and the urge to confess.

"Between you, me and the bedpost ... yes. I am afraid of Ginny Weasley," Draco answered and glanced abstractly upward. "Just ... a little bit."

~*~

"Oh, Harry, it's roots of asphodel, not aconite," Hermione sighed and quickly stopped Harry before he chopped and wasted the wrong ingredient.

"Can't tell the difference," Ron said. Harry gave a wry smile and took the correct ingredient Hermione passed to him.

"Ron, honestly," Hermione scolded, "if you want to get out of this classroom before nightfall, you had better ... RON! Don't eat with your hands when you are brewing potions!"

"Oh gracious," Ginny said from where she was seated, swinging her legs from side to side, "how stupid can you get, eating with the hands you use to touch the ingredients? Essence of belladonna is poisonous, you know? So is aconite."

Harry hurriedly retracted his hand from the plate of sandwiches.

"Yeah, right," Ron retorted. "Since when did you learn to sound all smartarsey like ..." He broke off at the look on Hermione's face. "I'm not talking about you!" he defended himself.

"Come, here," Hermione said, and held the sandwich for Ron, of which he dutifully took a bite. "Now you, Harry," she said, and fed Harry the same sandwich. "I don't want any one of you poisoned to death in my presence."

"We're not stupid, you know," Ron said as he munched his food. "I use the left hand to do work and the right hand to eat."

"Really?" Ginny asked. "How did you chop the asphodel then? I didn't know mum gave you an extra limb."

The siblings broke into a friendly banter. Hermione sighed and brushed away the stray strands of hair that had escaped from the bun she had tightly screwed at the back of her head with a quill. As she did so, she turned slightly, and her eyes fell on the dark grey bag lying on an empty table.

She had picked up Blaise's belongings after he marched off. Ginny had wanted to help, feeling as guilty as Hermione had been, but she shooed her off to get some food for Harry and Ron, both of whom had to miss lunch to finish their work.

She wondered about the things she had learnt from assembling his possessions. Most items were common enough: quills new and old, unused parchments neatly rolled and fastened together with a black velvet string that had a single bead knotted in the middle (unusual for a boy), textbooks that had seen loads of readings, pages dog-eared and scribbled (would be unpopular with Madam Pinch), a bag of sherbet lemons (either sweet-tooth or fell asleep easily), a locked diary, and bits and pieces of paper.

Hermione had not meant to peek, but it was hard to miss the big scrawls on the upper right side of the sheets. 120. Ancient Runes. 120. Advanced Transfiguration (Hermione always thought she was the only one getting 120 from Professor McGonagall). 120. Muggle Studies.

Intrigued, she had flipped the paper over to look at his attempted thesis.

Investigating Muggle and Magical Medical Procedures

-- Assimilating Approaches.

Focused subject: Respiratory Ailments.

The theory was quite carefully worked out -- impressive. She had wanted to read more but it did not seem the right thing to do without the writer's permission. Not that she was expecting to have a chance anyway, after what had happened. Reluctantly, Hermione had arranged the papers neatly before slotting them into the bag along with the other items.

One of the items that had surprised Hermione the most was a stack of index cards, cut out from parchments, bound together with a detachable ring, the type commonly used in the Muggle world. Hermione could not remember seeing anyone use it in the Wizarding world, not even the Muggle-borns in Hogwarts. Where did Blaise Zabini get hold of one of these?

Then, there were pencils and an eraser. Wizards do not use pencils and erasers when they can remove ink mistakes easily with a flick of the wand.

He is very strange for a Slytherin, Hermione thought; and as if he had heard her thinking about him, he walked into the classroom, chattering noisily with a companion.

Hermione sat up straight, self-conscious in his presence. She felt a need to look occupied, and quickly busied herself with the crushing of scarab beetles, even though they were not needed for the Draught of the Living Death.

Blaise paused when he saw the group of Gryffindors. Draco knocked into him from behind and stood shell-shocked.

Ginny Weasley.

Okay, don't panic, he told himself. You've run away once, you're not going to do it again. Not twice in one day. Not in front of Potty and Weasel.

Shoring up his courage, he walked round Blaise and hurried to Theodore's table, avoiding the eyes of anyone else in the room. Blaise followed, and sat down at the table with Theodore, who had gratefully taken the lunch they brought for him. He scanned the classroom briefly, taking in the students at work.

Other than the Gryffindors, there were four other Ravenclaws. Su Li's head was bent over her parchment, writing away studiously. The table next to hers was empty except for ... his bag. Blaise looked briefly at Hermione, who avoided his eyes. He turned his attention away. Kevin Entwhistle, Theodore's partner, was also writing his essay. Padma Patil, the pretty Indian girl, was still working on her brew. Michael Corner, technically in the room, his presence marked only by his brewing cauldron; the boy himself was nowhere to be seen.

"Kevin, have some of these," Blaise said and tossed a packed sandwich to the boy. It fell in front of him.

"Thanks," Kevin replied, and removed the cling film, taking a bite of the food. "A lot," he said with food in his mouth. Theodore laughed.

Blaise shrugged one shoulder and smiled, a gesture that Hermione registered. She had never noticed before, but Blaise shared an easy camaraderie with other people. And apparently, so did Draco Malfoy. The boys had settled into a light chatter.

For Draco, the chitchat helped distract him from Ginny Weasley. He was relieved that he had made it to one side of the classroom safely, but was still aware of her staring at him from across the room. He refused to look in her direction.

"Psst," Blaise leaned over and whispered in his ear. "I thought the plan was to run for the hills?"

"Change of plan," Draco whispered back. "No hills to run to."

"Ah," Blaise answered knowingly. "But it's rather dangerous here, don't you think? Knives and pestles. Imagine if she threw the mortar over."

Draco shook his head. "No, too heavy."

"Look, she reaching for the knife."

Draco looked over nervously and saw what she was doing. She took the knife and some daisy roots, her glare on him unbroken. She lifted the knife and pointed at him deliberately before she brought it down with a thud, chopping the daisy roots with vim. Draco swallowed a dry throat.

"Nut case," Blaise whispered. "You can see what she is thinking. Draco Malfoy, chop, chop. Draco Malfoy, chop, chop. She thinks she's chopping your vital organs for supper."

"She wouldn't do anything here," Draco hissed. "This is a classroom."

"Snape keeps a bottle of Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Removal in the cabinet. Comes in handy during murders. Effectively removes blood."

CHOP. Ginny Weasley delivered another merciless cut on the chopping board. It felt like a blow to his stomach by the end of a log. Draco had the inclination to run again.

CHOP. CHOP. CHOP.

Blaise started whistling, uneasy, and drummed his fingers on the table to a random tune -- 'Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf'.

"Who's afraid of the bad big wolf, the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf," Kevin sang softly as he writes. "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf? Tra la la la la."

Draco wanted to stuff the cauldron into his mouth.

"Long ago there were three pigs. Little handsome piggy-wigs. For the big, bad very big very bad wolf. They didn't give three figs," Kevin continued.

"Number one was very gay. And he built his house of hay. With a hey hey toot. He blew on his flute. And he played around all day," Blaise joined in, still drumming the beat on the tabletop. "Number two was fond of jigs. And so he built his house with twigs. Heigh diddle-diddle. He played on his fiddle. And danced with lady pigs."

"Number three said 'Nix on tricks. I will build my house with bricks'. He had no chance. To sing and dance. 'Cause work and play don't mix. Ha ha ha! The two little pigs just winked and laugh, ha ha!"

Blaise cut in again mischievously.

"Who's afraid of the chop, chop, chop, the chop, chop, chop, the chop, chop, chop? Who's afraid of the chop, chop, chop? Tra la la la la!"

Theodore and Kevin joined Blaise in the revised lyrics, singing louder and louder.

"Who's afraid of the chop, chop, chop, the chop, chop, chop, the chop, chop, chop? Who's afraid of the chop, chop, chop? Tra la la la la!"

Su Li and Padma were looking at them, smiling.

"It will sound better on the piano," Blaise told them.

"You don't sound too bad," Padma replied, giggling.

Blaise did a mock bow from where he was seated.

"And that's so funny. Chop, chop, chop. That's not the original, is it?"

"Nope, it's not."

"How does the rest of it go?" Su Li asked, curious.

"You've never heard of the story of the three little pigs?" Kevin asked.

Su Li shook her head. Kevin beckoned her over. Padma went over too. The larger group surrounded the table, and to Draco's distress, continued the rest of the song together. All Draco could hear was 'chop, chop, chop, the chop, chop, chop, the chop, chop, chop' in his head for the rest of the day.

~*~

Chop, chop, chop. Chop, chop, chop. Ginny had to suppress the compulsion to giggle when she was chopping the daisy roots. She was boiling with steam coming out of her ears when she saw Draco Malfoy. And she took great delight in pointing the knife at him and witnessing the colour drained out of his face, but Blaise Zabini was too much; too funny. Who's Afraid of the Chop, Chop, Chop. She almost sang along with them.

Thinking of Blaise Zabini made her feel awful. She didn't know what came over her. Fury had blinded her. Now that she was less agitated, she realised she should not have abused Blaise Zabini when her real target was Draco Malfoy. True, he got into her way, but he was helping his friend. It did not matter that his friend was Draco Malfoy. Ginny Weasley admired a person for going all out for his friend.

She stopped chopping the daisy roots and put down the knife. With a deep breath, she pushed herself off the stool and walked towards the empty table. She had time to note that Draco Malfoy was looking at her with suspicion, and she took the opportunity to throw him a dirty look while she picked up the bag and continued her way to the group of people gathered at Kevin Entwhistle's table. Everyone at the table stopped their chatter and looked at her. Blaise Zabini eyed her cautiously, looking at the bag and back to her again.

She stopped in front of Blaise (and a feet away from Draco), took another deep breath and braced herself before she thrust the bag at Blaise.

"Look," she said and gestured for Blaise to take the bag, "I apologise for what happened just now. Don't blame Hermione. She didn't know. I was the mad woman."

Blaise had to hand it to her. She was forthright in a way Blaise had hitherto only associated to the male way of communication. Draco looked gobsmacked. The rest were merely confused.

"What happened just now?" Kevin asked, curious.

Ginny ignored Kevin's question and looked directly at Blaise. He looked back, his face devoid of expression. When he still did not reach for the bag, Ginny licked her lips nervously and bit her lower lip.

"Listen," she went on to say, "I may be mad, and I was mad at you, but it didn't justify my behaviour. You were civil enough ..." she trailed off, thinking before she continued. "Like I said, I apologise. Here's your bag." And she looked at him again, her eyes pleading him to take the bag.

She looked so sincere Blaise decided that the bag probably did not hold any explosives (not that he would not check).

. Ginny released the breath she had been holding.

Blaise checked his bag briefly, confirmed that there were no sabotages and turned to Ginny.

"You tore my shirt collar," he said to her.

"I'll pay for a new one."

He smiled, but was still guarded. "That would not be necessary. I have plenty of shirts," he said, his earlier resentment diminished. "And thank you," he gestured with the bag.

"No, it wasn't me. It was Hermione," Ginny said and waved a hand in Hermione's direction. Blaise followed the line of her hand and looked across the room, caught Hermione's eyes but did not get to say anything because Ginny motioned for his attention, and he turned back to her.

"I don't like to owe other people anything, so I'll offer you a deal," Ginny said in a tone that told Blaise this was the way she was used to talking to her brothers. It explained her unusual hint of boyishness. "I'll let him off for today," she said and jabbed a finger at Draco, two millimetres away from his nose, "on your account. But tomorrow, I'll play the game my way. It's between him and me, you understand."

Blaise was amused, and exchanged a glance with Draco.

He nodded. "Fair enough."

Ginny held out a hand, business-like, and Blaise took it. They shook hands formally and she took a step back.

"Well, that's all I have to say," she said and turned to walk away.

Blaise looked at her retreating back admiringly, and finally understood why Ginny Weasley had half the boys in Hogwarts arse backward infatuated with her.

"That is one hell of a girl," he said to Draco. "Nut case, but still, one hell of a girl."

~*~

"What happened?" Ron asked, his brows furrowed. He looked very unhappy to hear there had been something going on between his sister and the Slytherins that he was unaware of. The last time it happened, his sister killed chickens, Petrified students, and nearly died.

He remembered his promise to his sister. "Leave Draco Malfoy to me," she had said, "And mind your own business." It was impossible to reason with her when she had her mind set on something. It did not mean he had to like it though.

It was on occasions like this that he wished he had listened to his mother. "Be a good boy. Set a good example for your sister," his mother always said. If he had taken heed, he would not be finding himself in a position where his sister could override his arguments by citing his past antics. An elder brother without authority. Nothing could be worse than that.

"Ginny," Ron said again when Ginny seated herself, "what happened?"

Ginny waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing of interest to you," she said.

"Who are you to decide if it would interest me or not?" Ron said hotly.

Ginny's eyes widened, sensing her brother's sudden change of mood. This was delicate ground. She had to tread carefully.

Hermione shot her a look, and shook her head slightly, a desperate look in her eyes. The last thing she needed was for Ron and Harry to know that she had acted like a crazy woman without their help. They would not leave her alone about it if they knew.

Ginny returned the gesture with subtle eye movements, and turned to her brother, placing her hands on his arm, assumed her innocent little sister persona, before she looked up at him.

"It's ..." she started and her mind searched for ideas, "... really nothing interesting," she said lamely.

Holy cow, you have to do better than this, Ginny Weasley.

"Nothing?" Ron repeated. "You expect me to believe that?" he said fiercely.

Ginny's hands on her brother tightened involuntarily at that. Catching herself, she released her grip and switched tact, patting her brother's arm in a childlike manner.

"I, er," she paused, found inspiration to be lacking, and decided to be spontaneous. "I came to see you," she lied, "and I was waiting outside the dungeon, and ... oh, before I forget, there was this huge mouse running around, it was disgusting! Remind me to ask Hermione the spell to make the mice go away. And, also remind me Seamus wanted me to find Harry because there was something wrong with his broom and did I mention that Seamus had a brilliant idea for the team? It's so brilliant, you have to hear it. And oh, where was I? Oh, back to the story, I was just walking along the corridor and Blaise Zabini came out of the classroom and dropped his bag, just like that! And I, er ..." She lost track of her ramble. "The things flew all over! There were so many things! Quills, books, parchments everywhere! It's so bizarre, I threw some tantrums, said he was stupid, and I had to apologise to him. No big deal."

Ron went cross-eyed as he listened, and was not sure if he had caught the entire picture -- it was very messy, like an Impressionist painting, quite impossible to understand.

"Can you," Ron said, "Can you repeat yourself?"

"Urgh," Ginny said, and continued to ramble her way. "Why are you always like this? You are always like this! You all are the same, always treat me like this!"

"Like what?" Ron reacted, indignant.

"Like this! You never listen to me carefully when I talk. I hate you, I hate you!"

"Ginny, don't think you can -"

"What, now it is my fault?" Ginny wailed and blinked her huge eyes at Ron. "It's not fair. You all always take advantage of me because I am the youngest! I am going to tell mum and dad, and you are going to be sorry for this!"

"Ginny ..."

"Don't Ginny-Ginny me!" she continued wailing. "I am not going to be afraid of you!"

Ron was certain that the person being taken advantage of here was he himself. Ginny's habit of rambling herself out of trouble had to be curbed.

"Ginny ..." he warned. "Stop ..."

"Wahhhhhhh," she announced dramatically. "I'm not going to talk to you," she said and quickly grabbed her bag. "I don't want to talk to you ever again!" she said, turned, and flounced off, leaving her brother in the room.

Harry watched the siblings with interest. "Does she always do that?" he asked, amused.

"All the bloody time," Ron replied.

Hermione was flabbergasted. Ginny was ... There was no word invented to describe her feat. Ginny was just fantastically impossible.

"Don't you have anything to say to that?" Ron said to Hermione. "You girls hang around so much, she's half yours. Take her in hand, won't you?"

"She's your sister," Hermione replied, suppressing the desire to giggle as she thought back on what had taken place.

"It's ridiculous she got out of responsibility like that all the time," Ron complained as he chopped the ginger roots. "It's just like what Fred and George do, only more absurd, less logical, and completely without consistency. No one knows what she was going on about when she does that."

"Runs in the family?" Harry asked.

" From my dad's side, mum always says," Ron replied. "Not true, if you asked me. Maybe Bill can be like that, but at least he speaks like a normal person," he said, drawing circles in the air with his knife, "Charlie, very rarely, Percy not at all, Fred and George do it the most. And Ginny? Learned it all from them."

"You forgot to mention yourself," Hermione said.

"I'm not like that!" Ron retorted. "Hey, don't give me that look," he said and pointed his knife at Hermione. "I'm not!"

Harry's shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter, and he turned his face to one side. Hermione lifted her eyebrows, looking unimpressed.

"Fine," Ron said. "So I do ... sometimes. But at least, my story fits. Any one of you understood what she was going on just now? I bet you don't. I can't even remember anything except it being a very weak excuse. It's a swiss-cheese excuse full of holes I can drive a cart through."

"Maybe you can coach her on it then," Hermione said airily. "Give her some pointers."

"I'm not going to ..." Ron said and stopped. "Anyway, what's the next step?" he asked, closing off the subject.

Hermione leaned over the table to check on the cauldron. She sighed.

"The next step," she said as she took the cauldron off the fire and emptied it despite Ron's protest, "is to start over. I told you not to add the asphodel before the mixture is cooled." She plonked the cauldron over the stand again. "Honestly!"

~*~

"So what are you going to do?" Blaise asked Draco when they were alone again, walking back to their dormitory after dinner. True to her words, Ginny Weasley had not given Draco any trouble for the rest of the day. She did not even look at him again. It was like he had never existed.

"I don't know," Draco said as they waited for the moving staircases. "Nothing, I suppose."

The truth was, even as the weight of the day receded with the setting of the sun, Draco's heart remained heavy with dread. The game starts tomorrow, he thought, and looked out of the castle windows they passed along the walk. The sky was burnished silver-blue, the night silent and unmoving beneath its horizontal collapse of skyline. A sill of silver had begun to push above the horizon. Everything was deceptively peaceful and in distinct contrast to the way he was feeling inside.

It was as if he had been climbing a dangerous peak he should not have ventured, and now he was stuck in between the climb, neither moving upward nor moving downward. He could feel the precarious hold his feet had on the rocky slope as he tried to plan the next step. A careless slip, and he would fall to his death. That was how it was with Ginny Weasley.

But he couldn't back out now, could he? To stay in place was to give her the wand to Avada Kedavra him. To continue on would mean to fall deeper into this trouble pit that he could see no end of. To back down, no, that had already proven itself to be too hard to bear. He was doomed. There was no way out of the situation.

"A galleon for your thoughts?"

Draco turned and shrugged.

"No plans at all?" Blaise questioned, eyebrow arched. "Unusual for a Slytherin, isn't it?"

"Too many kinks to iron out," Draco said.

"Indeed," Blaise answered. "Very stubborn kinks. Very tricky."

"We will see how it goes tomorrow," Draco replied, and tried not to sound too bothered.

"We?" Blaise echoed. "Not we. You. You'll see how it goes tomorrow."

"Deserting me already?" Draco asked.

"It's between you and she," Blaise said. "I gave my word."

"Very noble of you," Draco said acidly.

"Hey," Blaise replied, "I already took a slap for you. What more do you want?"

Draco growled inwardly, and then halted in his step, his forehead creased with concentration.

"What?" Blaise asked as he observed Draco. He looked like he was in a trance. Then he turned his head slowly to look at Blaise, and broke into a gradual grin that made Blaise want to run away from him. "What?" Blaise asked again with a feeling of foreboding.

"There is something else you can do for me."

"What? A slap is not enough for you?"

"No, I don't mean that. But if you had already come this far, you might as well help me once more. Just one more time," Draco said.

Blaise looked sceptical. "Can you just spit out what it is you are thinking? It's making me nervous," he said and then held off Draco when the latter opened his mouth. "Let us get one thing clear before you speak. If your idea has anything to do with me having to go back on my word and get involved the next time she chases you down the hallway, then perhaps it's better you don't tell me."

"No, no," Draco replied immediately, "... well, not exactly."

"What is it then?"

"Do you think she's a pretty girl?" Draco asked, and caught Blaise by surprise.

"What has this got to do with ..."

"Just answer me."

"Well, she is," Blaise said hesitantly, unsure where this conversation was heading.

"Don't you think she rather likes you?" Draco probed.

"You will have to ask her that," Blaise replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I think she does," Draco answered confidently.

"So what if she does?" Blaise questioned, pretending not to know where this was heading.

"Say you'll do this for me," Draco said, sounding desperate. "It might be the only thing that will work."

"No!" Blaise exclaimed. "Whatever it is, my answer is no."

"You don't even know what it is," Draco said, injured.

"Okay, what is it?"

"Say you'll do it first," Draco said. "Please."

"What?" Blaise asked, properly alarmed now. "What is it?"

"Say you'll do it!"

"Okay, okay, I'll do it!" Blaise finally conceded. "Can you tell me what it is now?"

Draco grinned, and Blaise immediately regretted going against his Slytherin instinct.

"I want you to make Ginny Weasley your new girlfriend."

~*~