All You Need Is Love

Chapter Eight
Gypsies

Draco slept soundly throughout the night. He had expected to toss and turn until dawn, cursing himself for acting like he'd wanted Ginny, for imagining himself pulling her warm body to his and kissing her, so hard it'd take her breath away and she have to lean against him . . . and that was an image he did not need to see. Fortunately, merciful sleep claimed him, and he slept straight until the morning.

Timothy woke him up, cautiously as though Draco might shatter - or worse, explode - if he whispered too loudly. "T-time to ri-rise, Highness," he said quietly, standing near the bedside and looking nervous.

Draco woke slowly, blinking and rising to his elbows. For a minute he was lost in his surroundings; this room was not his at his castle, nor was it at Malfoy Manor. When he did remember where he was the memories from the night before rushed back to him. Right then he wished to God that it'd never happened. He couldn't let a Weasley like Ginny get under his skin and into his blood. He just couldn't. Because once everything was normal again, once they were back in their regular time, he wouldn't feel this way about her anymore. The feelings he had inside him were simply created from the hopelessness and the confusion of the situation. They'd vanish the instant he was back in his house, safe and sound in the year of 1997.

So he needed to forget about how wonderful it felt to feel her flesh touching his. He needed to forget the sensations that resulted when her knuckles grazed his cheek when their lips were near, and how wonderful it felt to brush her silky, fiery hair with his fingertips. He needed to shove it all out of his mind and think negative things about her. Think of how irritating she was when she was angry. Of how young, naive, and innocent she was. Of how totally wrong she was for him.

"H-Highness," Timother sputtered, breaking into Draco's thoughts. "B-breakfast is about t-to be s-served. Wo-would you care m-me to dress you?"

Draco had no other choice. Of course he'd care, but he wouldn't object.

He went down to the dinning hall, Timothy at his heels, thirty minutes later. The only thing on his mind, thankfully, was when he'd be going back to Wales and when he'd be able to visit Dumbledore again; perhaps try to convince him Draco didn't need to Ginny to be with him when they discussed . . . whatever they were going to discuss. He was not, in fact, thinking of a certain red-haired princess in which he'd be married to in less than two weeks . . .

Scowling, he entered the hall and found Elle already seated at the table. Across from her, diagonally, sat Tom.

Draco paused, slowly glancing around the near-empty monstrous room. Where was his father? Ginny's parents? Ginny?

"Come, Draco, the food is getting cold," Elle called. "Do not just stand there . . ."

Draco put on a blank face and sat beside Elle, across from Tom. A moment too late did he realize that once Ginny joined them, if she did, then she'd be forced to sit at the head of the table or look rude; she'd have to sit between him and Tom. And knowing her thoughts on Tom, she would not enjoy it.

Oh well, Draco thought, shrugging and putting it out of his mind.

He snuck a look over at the doctor while he was filling his plate. Tom had a pleasant look on his face, a small smile on his lips, as if he was pleased or satisfied about something. He seemed interested in his food, staring down at the plate, but glanced up suddenly to clash his brilliant blue eyes with Draco's gray ones.

Normally, Draco would've stared right back until Tom looked away first, but something in his gaze chilled Draco. Rarely, if ever, did he feel fear, yet the way Tom held his eyes sent an uneasy chill trickling down into his stomach.

When Tom blinked, Draco looked away quickly, the odd feeling vanishing immediately. Draco then felt foolish, cursing himself inside his head. He had absolutely no reason to be even remotely afraid of him. Just because Tom looked as Lord Voldemort did when he was younger didn't mean he was. There was just no possible way it could be the real Tom Riddle, for Voldemort was dead in the future, and couldn't have sent them back in time.

Draco remembered what Ginny had told him of her dreams the night before. Of course, it would make most sense that Tom was the one murdering the families, because . . . well, it just did. No one else in this time would be brutal enough for it, and even if Tom wasn't Riddle, then maybe he had the same killing instincts of him.

Still, that didn't give Draco a reason to be afraid. He had no proof whatsoever that Tom was anything but a kind and young doctor who managed to heal Ginny remarkably quickly. Parts of him believed that she really did dream of him killing people, but that wasn't a reliable source. Dreams were dreams - it could be just her subconscious mind taking over at night and putting her worst fear into images.

As if on cue, Ginny walked into the hall then. Draco pretended not to notice, poking at his food, and heard her footsteps falter near the doorway, before she slowly started moving again.

Tom, who hadn't made any greetings to Draco whatsoever, looked up as Ginny entered and smiled. "Good morning, Virginia," he called.

Ginny didn't reply as she slid into the seat at the head of the table, between Tom and Draco.

There was a long, almost awkward silence. Draco could barely even hear Elle, who sat at his right, chewing. Even she seemed to realize the tension in the air was thick and kept solemn.

Then Tom found a topic and asked politely, "How did the ball go, Ginny?"

Draco noticed that he only seemed to talk to her. With a glance at her, he saw that she kept her eyes down, biting her lower lip. He knew she wasn't going to reply, so he jumped in. "It was boring," he drawled.

Tom looked over at him, and once again Draco felt a ripple of fear travel through his body. "I am very sorry I could not attend," said Tom.

"So am I," piped up Elle, eager to chat. "But Draco is right - it was awfully boring. I was not allowed to dance because I was the youngest -"

"Did you dance at all, Ginny?" Tom cut in, completely ignoring Elle. Draco noticed the light in her eyes fade as she slumped her shoulders, frowning down at her food.

"Well, my sister was talking to you," he snapped darkly at Tom, feeling the need to defend Elle. "Even if you weren't listening you could've waited until she was done."

Ginny met his eyes, and he could've sworn she gave him a tiny smile.

"I am very sorry, Isabella," Tom said politely, flashing Elle a grin. "Sometimes I am off in my own world and do not notice things. Do continue."

Elle opened her mouth to reply, looking happy again, when Draco jumped in first.

"Don't notice things? You didn't notice she was speaking?" he demanded.

Tom looked amused while Elle whined, "Dray-co!"

"I'm not hungry," Ginny suddenly announced, standing abruptly. She hadn't touched food - in fact, her plate remained empty. "I'm going for a walk."

"Allow me to accompany you," Tom offered, hurrying to his feet as well.

Draco didn't even hear the huff of annoyance Elle gave at being forgotten. He was studying Ginny's expression as she stared at Tom. She looked almost frightened.

"No! You don't have to," she insisted before turning and hurrying out of the hall.

Tom stopped in the middle of the room, his eyebrows raised in surprise. He turned to Draco and gave a short shrug. "I do not know why she fears me," he said simply, returning to his seat. "She flees every time I try to be kind to her."

Draco chose not to reply. What could he say?

"Father is in town with Ginny's parents," Elle announced, trying to fill the air with conversation. "Another family was murdered."

Draco tried to see Tom's reaction to this. Tom merely widened his eyes in surprise, looking interested, and said, "That is simply awful. How many families does that make now? Five?"

"Six," Elle said, nodding sadly, though hardly able to contain her happiness that Tom was paying attention to her.

"Do you have any clue as to who's doing it?" Draco said casually, though he knew the question was far from normal.

"Why would I know?" Elle cried.

"Not you, him," Draco snapped a bit too harshly, nodding towards Tom.

“I haven't one guess,” Tom declared.

Draco stared at him for a moment longer, then looked back at his plate. Everything seems to get worse, he thought with a frown, and never any better.

* * *

Ginny stormed out of the hall, trying to calm herself down. She needed to act smooth and cool around Tom, not totally blow up in his face. Letting him know she was terrified of him wouldnÂ’t get her anywhere. It just showed her weakness.

But just the arrogant way he looked at her was enough to drive her insane. Sometimes annoyance peaked through her fear whenever he laid eyes on her, and even though her insides felt icy when he did so, she could feel her face flush darkly with anger. How could he manage to get so many reactions from her? She knew he was evil, and yet . . . she felt mixed up about him; confused.

I need to speak with Draco, she realized, pausing at the end of the corridor. SheÂ’d wait for him to come out of the dining hall. IÂ’ll just have to hope that Tom doesnÂ’t come out first, she added in her mind.

After standing there for two minutes she became utterly bored, so she walked to the window. It took effort to pull the heavy velvet drapes aside, and had to tuck it behind her so it was out of the way. The window was ceiling high, and the glass was cold, since there was a light snow falling once again outside. Being on the first floor, it was hard to see anything but the vast white of the grounds, but still, it was better than looking at the blank gray walls.

She stared out, her mind blank, when she heard footsteps coming from the direction of the dining room. Glancing up, she saw to her relief - and good luck - that it was Draco, who had thankfully come out before Tom. She motioned for him to come to her, and when he was standing before her, she spoke.

“We need to get out of here,” she told him, quietly but urgently.

“Did you just figure that out, Weasley?” he asked with a sneer.

“I’ve been meaning to visit that woman, Alexandria, for the past couple of days,” she went on, ignoring him. “I was hoping . . .” She trailed off, catching herself. She was about to say “I was hoping to go with Harry”, yet Draco did not need to know that. “I reckon that now is as good a time as ever. Plus, it’ll get me away from Tom.”

“Another family was murdered, you know,” Draco told her casually, his eyes blank, his face void of any emotion.

Ginny felt the blood leave her face. “God, that’s where he was last night,” she whispered, her stomach flopping. “That’s why he didn’t attend the ball. Doesn’t anyone in this damn world notice that whenever he’s gone, the murders happen? Can’t they put two and two together?”

“Ginny,” Draco started, a hint of impatience in his tone, “he’s a respected, world-famous doctor. They would sooner suspect you than him. Think about it.”

Her horror slowly melted into fury. For a moment she had a wild vision of Draco being TomÂ’s sidekick. Could it be? she wondered, staring hotly at him as she thought quickly. No, it canÂ’t, he was at the ball last night.

But she hadnÂ’t had a dream last night about the killing that took place during the ball. For all she knew Tom couldÂ’ve been alone this one time.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” she demanded sharply. “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were helping him!”

Immediately she regretted the words, wishing she could take them back. DracoÂ’s eyes widened, then darkened in anger. He paled before reddening slightly in the cheeks. Stepping forward, he placed his face very near hers. Startled, she stepped away from him with a gasp, finding that her back was now pressed up against the cool window.

“You don’t know any better,” he whispered harshly, his face so close their noses were nearly touching; his eyes nearly melted together into one big one. “So don’t make accusations that you don’t know shit about.”

She was more surprised than frightened at his sudden show of rage. She reached up her arms and slid them between the both of them, pressing them against his chest in attempt to push him away. He didnÂ’t budge and continued to glare into her eyes.

“Get . . . away, Draco,” she gasped out, wondering why she found him so irresistible when he was practically threatening her. Feelings that she’d felt only the night before came rushing back to her, swirling around inside her until she found it a difficult task to remain standing. Behind her, the coldness of the glass was seeping through her clothes. But before her, Draco’s heat was pouring into her, as if she wore nothing, as if nothing could block his touch.

Suddenly, without warning, his mouth crashed down on hers, devouring her. Instantly every normal, sensible, rational thought flew from her mind and she kissed him back just as passionately, knowing deep inside her that it was what sheÂ’d wanted all along . . .

He was leaning on to her, pressing her back against the window. He kissed her with such force her head actually thumped the glass, and she barely noticed. She couldnÂ’t feel any of the coldness of the window anymore; it was nothing but fire. Fire in her veins, fire on her skin, fire on her mouth . . . Now she was definitely having a hard time standing.

His hands were gripping her shoulders hard, like he was holding her up on her feet. Suddenly his lips left hers and trailed down off her cheek, and onto her neck. She closed her eyes, wishing that it would never end.

Her own arms were around his neck, clinging to him while bringing him closer all the while. He was placing frantic kisses on her throat, on her collarbone, until finally he was at her mouth again.

This is unbelievable, she managed to think, dazedly and drowsily. She was kissing Draco just as fiercely as he was kissing her, and it was beginning to make her feel woozy. No one would believe that at one time we hated each other.

The thought was like a bucket of ice water dumped over her head. Still, it took effort to decide to break off the kiss. Finding that she couldnÂ’t move her head any farther back, she wrenched her face to the side, closing her eyes and lowering her head, causing Draco to suddenly be kissing her cheek. For a moment, neither of them moved - she could feel his nose pressed against the side of her face, his lips barely touching her, his breath hot on her skin. GinnyÂ’s arms slid limply from his shoulders and dropped to her sides, and it took all of her self control not to grab him again.

What am I doing? she wondered. These feelings . . . they canÂ’t be real. I canÂ’t be feeling this way about Draco Malfoy. I hate the slimy git. He hates me. WeÂ’re only acting like this because . . .

Because why? That she wasnÂ’t sure of. Was it because they were in an entirely different world, and thatÂ’s why they felt entirely different about each other? Was there some sort of magic in the air that made him so alluring to her, and she to him? Or was it simply because she felt so alone, and so terrified, that she would eagerly grab at anything familiar, even if it was the vile Draco Malfoy?

HeÂ’s not vile, she corrected herself, almost automatically. Quite the opposite, really. HeÂ’s one of the best kissers IÂ’ve ever experienced. Hell, heÂ’s the best.

Draco’s sharp intake of breath brought her back to reality, and she began to speak as he pulled his face away from hers. “Why are you doing this, Draco?” she asked quietly.

Slowly, she turned her head to meet his eyes, and found him staring at her intensely. Chills ran down her spine - pleasant chills. Why was she suddenly feeling so attracted to him? When had this happened? It seemed to have suddenly appeared overnight.

“Because you let me.” He answered her question through what sounded like gritted teeth.

Her heart seemed to drop down into her stomach briefly before returning to her chest and beating madly beneath her ribs. She couldnÂ’t stare in his eyes any longer, she needed to look away . . . and yet, she couldnÂ’t. This canÂ’t be happening, she thought. This has all got to be some horrible dream. All of it! IÂ’m still asleep in Hogwarts, and when I wake up, everything will be fine . . .

Yet sheÂ’d given up on believing this was a dream the first day sheÂ’d arrived here. This was really happening. And she was really beginning to fall for Draco. For the life of her, she couldnÂ’t stop it any more than she could single-handedly stop Tom from murdering people. She wanted to - God knows she did - but she just couldnÂ’t.

Inhaling shakily, she managed to finally tear her gaze from his and looked above his head, towards the ceiling. “Don’t,” she said dully, her voice sounding forlorn to her ears. “Just . . . don’t.”

She vaguely wondered why she was saying what she didnÂ’t believe in the slightest. Maybe her better sense was taking over for her, and later sheÂ’d be grateful. But now she just felt her mind screaming at her. What are you doing? You donÂ’t know what youÂ’re saying! Quick, tell him to stay . . .

SheÂ’d asked him to stay once, though. And he hadnÂ’t. She did not plan on asking him again.

Finding the courage to look at him again, she only had a brief instant to look into his dark, troubled eyes before he jerked them away and pushed himself off her. He spun and walked, taking long strides, down the hall until he rounded a corner and disappeared.

Ginny released a loud breath, wondering why she was feeling so cold suddenly. Then she remembered she was leaning back against the window and lifted away from it, silently cursing her knees for still feeling so unstable. Then she smoothed the front of her skirt down, trying to slow the beating of her heart, and turned and walked in the opposite direction Draco had taken.

I need to think of something else besides him, she thought. Licking her lips absently, she found that they still tingled from the sensation of his against them. Like how IÂ’m going to get to AlexandriaÂ’s, she added firmly, as though scolding herself for recalling him.

So the first thing she needed to do was find Harry. Since Draco accompanying her was definitely out, he was her second choice. Well, actually, heÂ’d been her first choice all along. But she had thought that maybe it would be better to have Draco around.

Now she thought differently. Now she was positive she wouldnÂ’t know how to act around him. After sheÂ’d angered him, then so much as shoved him away when he kissed her? Not to mention how awkward that conversation had been? There was no way she could sit calmly and casually beside him in a carriage - sheÂ’d be uncomfortable the entire time and blush furiously for no particular reason.

It was best if she just went with Harry, as she originally planned.

Back up in her room, she found Maria and another maid making her bed. “Maria,” she said, “can you please find Harry for me? Tell him that we’re going to see Alexandria immediately. And have a carriage prepared for us.”

She didnÂ’t like commanding people around like she was, partly because in reality they were all equal, and she knew she wouldnÂ’t like it if someone was ordering her about. But Maria gave her an understanding smile and hurried off to do what she requested.

The other maid continued to make the bed. Ginny sat in a chair, slumped backwards most unladylike, and waited for Maria to returned.

* * *

Draco couldnÂ’t get his mind off Ginny. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he paced, he just couldnÂ’t think of anything but her.

WhatÂ’s wrong with me? he thought furiously. This canÂ’t be happening. It really canÂ’t be.

The only thing, he knew, that was keeping him sane was the fact that once he was back in his own time, heÂ’d go back into his normal life and totally forget about her. Every silly little fantasy and warm feeling he had about her would vanish like some bad dream - or better yet, just disappear altogether, and heÂ’d never remember it again.

Because if that didnÂ’t happen, if he continued to think constantly about Ginny Weasley in the time when she had six grown brothers, then thereÂ’d be hell to pay. He refused to let it happen.

As soon as things are normal again, he decided, IÂ’ll go find myself a Veela girlfriend and forget all about plain, freckled, red-haired Ginny.

But sitting there fuming about his feelings for her wasnÂ’t going to make them go away. He needed to do something that would keep his mind and hands busy. For the first time he actually wished he was there to oversee the construction of his new castle, and maybe even help a little. At least it would pass the time.

Maybe heÂ’d go find Elle. She surely knew what to do for fun around dull, boring castles. SheÂ’d keep him active for a few hours.

He went to her room, not bothering to knock and barged in. She wasnÂ’t there, which shouldnÂ’t have been a surprise, because why would a bubbly, energetic seven-year-old want to lie around her bedroom all day?

ElleÂ’s room was perhaps the brightest heÂ’d seen in the entire castle, because sheÂ’d had the drapes pulled to the side of the two large windows. Though it was an overcast, gray day out, it definitely lit the area considerably.

Draco turned to leave when he heard the neigh of a horse outside one of the windows. He wondered if perhaps his father was back. If he was, then theyÂ’d probably be leaving for home soon, which Draco found himself looking forward to.

Crossing the room, he glanced out the window that overlooked the front of the castle. Near the main road, he saw a dark carriage. The color was unidentifiable from such a distance, but the splendor and sleekness of it was visible, and Draco wondered why the stagecoach he rode in wasnÂ’t as grand. Four horses, so white they blended in with the snow, were hitched to the front, and about a dozen knights stood guard around the door.

Well, of course itÂ’s better looking than my transportation, Draco realized. The king and queen are probably in there -

That theory was quickly forgotten when one of the knights opened the door, and no one came out. Instead, someone went in. Draco couldnÂ’t see who it was, for he was too far away, but a moment later, a figure with bright red hair followed, ducking into the carriage. A moment later, the knight shut the stagecoach door.

ThatÂ’s Ginny, he recognized, scowling. Where did she think she was going? And who was with her?

Draco watched, sulking, as a few knights clambered onto the outside of the coach, clearly holding on to some sort of handle and placing their feet on some sort of footrest. The driver whistled sharply, so loudly Draco heard it, and the horses began trotting on to the snow-covered road, heading towards the village.

Where is she going? he wondered, before the answer suddenly popped in his mind. Of course. She was going to see Alexandria. SheÂ’d tried to ask him to join her, but he was a total idiot and kissed her, most likely giving her a reason to get as far from him as possible.

Still, as stupid as it made him feel, he also felt a little spark of vehemence. She needed him to go with her. Did she really expect to get them to their own time herself? Of course not. Plus, if Alexandria had a way to transport them into the future, he needed to be present, didnÂ’t he? SheÂ’d told him she wouldnÂ’t leave without him.

Frustrated now, he spun from the window with a snarl. Well, he was going to follow her. He wasnÂ’t going to let her go ahead to their regular time all herself.

There was no time to prepare a carriage for himself, so heÂ’d just ride a horse. Of course, heÂ’d only ridden a horse once, back when he was nine years old and his mother had insisted he go to a horseback riding camp. That was the summer his father had been away on an important mission with his fellow Death Eaters, and hadnÂ’t known about the camp until he returned. When he found out that his son had been sent to a Muggle camp to learn to ride a horse, heÂ’d screamed at Narcissa, before hitting Draco several times for allowing himself to go. It had been one of the worst summers of DracoÂ’s life. And what had he gotten out of the camp? Nothing. HeÂ’d only ridden a horse once, and it had reared up and heÂ’d fallen off, scraping his elbows something awful. So basically, it was pointless to have even gone, because he didnÂ’t even learn how to ride.

But that was ten years ago, and horses didnÂ’t seem as big as they had when heÂ’d been nine. Not to mention he really didnÂ’t have any other choice. If he had to ride a horse to get back to his own time, then heÂ’d do it.

There was a stable girl, cleaning out a stall in the stables, when Draco strode in. Surprised to see a scrawny female bent over, scraping out horse manure, heÂ’d watched her for a moment before clearing his throat to announce his presence.

She turned to him, and hurriedly propped the rake-like thing sheÂ’d been using against the stall wall and straightening. She looked about fifteen, with wiry light brown hair pulled back, and a brown dress that looked like a burlap bag. Her skin was streaked with dirt - or perhaps even dung - and she looked like she ate a pea for every meal she had.

“Yes, Highness?” She sounded breathless, either from the excitement of being near him or from her labor.

“Can you get me a horse?” he asked quickly.

“Of course,” she replied. “Which would you be requiring?”

“Whatever’s the quickest to saddle up . . . or whatever,” he told her.

“Well, their Majesties have a fine selection of fast and fine horses,” the girl explained. “Nearly a dozen stallions, some of the fastest in England -”

Draco felt impatience start to settle in. The more they chatted, the farther away Ginny’s carriage got. As it was, he would have a hard time catching up with them, if he could find them at all. “Just pick one you like,” he muttered. He could care less about what breed it was. But then he added, “A fast one, preferably.”

The girl dared a smile, looking thrilled that he’d told her to pick one that she enjoyed. She scampered over to a nearby stall - Draco noticed she didn’t wear any shoes, and it was the middle of winter - and patted the nose of a black horse fondly. “This is Jack. He is one of the fastest. Used to be His Majesty’s war horse, until His Majesty stopped taking part of the wars. He -”

“Fine, fine,” Draco interrupted. “Just hurry, will you?”

“Yes, Highness,” the girl said with a slight curtsy.

It took a good ten minutes before Jack was ready to be ridden. Mumbling a thanks to the girl, Draco led the horse to the other side of the barn where he could attempt to mount it away from anyoneÂ’s eyes. He knew he was going to look ridiculous.

Fortunately, he managed to get up on the saddle without much trouble. Once he was, though, he glanced down at the ground uncertainly. Surely the horse couldnÂ’t be that tall.

Scolding himself for feeling uneasy, he gripped the reins and dug his heels into JackÂ’s flanks. He hoped that was the way to get the horse moving, and when Jack began to clop along, he found that he was right.

It took him a few minutes to get Jack to canter, but he managed to, and finally they were making speed. HeÂ’d forgotten how he hated to be on a horse. The bouncing was worse than inside a carriage, and a bit more painful. He found he had to stand slightly in the stirrups, and lift up off the saddle, to be entirely comfortable. After a while, his calf muscles began to hurt, because his legs were at an odd angle.

Forcing himself to ignore everything that was going wrong on the blasted horse, he concentrated instead on the direction GinnyÂ’s stagecoach had taken. There was the direct road that took them to the village, through about twenty minutes of forest. Hopefully, if he hurried, he could catch up with them while they were still in the woods, and not loose them in the hustle of the town.

This is really uncomfortable, Draco thought with a deep frown, trying to bounce along with the horse. He was going to kill Ginny once he caught up with her. He couldÂ’ve been inside the carriage with her, but no. He had to be riding a horse, a horse that seemed to land on the ground so heavily each time it lifted one of its hooves that it felt like a metal pole being rammed between DracoÂ’s legs.

The woods were eerily silent, and everything seemed white. The leaves of trees and shrubs were covered with a layer of snow, and there was at least six inches of it on the ground. Even JackÂ’s clomping hooves were muffled. But Draco was concentrating too hard on keeping off the saddle to pay any attention to the serenity.

The road twisted and wound through the forest, so it was impossible to see the carriage. Draco prayed that heÂ’d find them before they reached the village, so everyone wouldnÂ’t see him riding a horse like a stiff freak. Even Jack seemed to notice how rigid he was, and slowed slightly, as though trying to take softer steps.

“Come on, go faster,” Draco hissed under his breath. The faster they went, the sooner they’d catch up with the stagecoach.

Because if they didnÂ’t get there soon, he would probably give up on Jack and just sprint on his own.

* * *

Ginny attempted several times to engage Harry in conversation. But he kept replying in one-word sentences, clearly not wanting to speak with her.

“Were you born as one of our servants?” she asked as politely as she could, even though it was an awkward question.

“Yes,” he muttered, staring at the floor darkly.

“Do you enjoy it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you ever get vacations?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Really.” His tone was sarcastic.

“Well, I think you and your father deserve a vacation, then,” she said with false brightness. “As soon as we get back, I’ll talk to Richard and have him excuse you and your dad for a couple of weeks. I’ll even talk my parents into paying for your trip. You can go anywhere you please. How’s that?”

He fixed her with such a cold stare she could feel her eyes tear up. “Stupid,” he snapped. “That’s stupid. I don’t want anything from your parents. Neither does my father. Just leave us alone, all right?”

“A - all right,” she mumbled, looking down and blinking the tears away. What could she say to have him trust her?

With a shaky sigh, she decided to end attempting conversation. At least until she had a way for him to actually speak with her. She straightened, feeling the corset pinching her middle. If she didnÂ’t sit absolutely upright, she felt like the air was being squeezed from her.

Suddenly, there came the loud whinnying of the horses, and the carriage jerked to a stop. Harry nearly tumbled from his seat, though somehow managed to stay put. Ginny, who was seated with her back to the front of the stagecoach, threw him an alarmed, wide-eyed look before rising to her feet. The cab was cramped, and she had to bend at the waist to be able to stand. She moved a little to stand between the two benches. The window on the door was covered with cloth, so she attempted to push it aside to see why theyÂ’d stopped. She found that it was sewn to the door, and let out a little humph of frustration.

“What’s going on?” she asked, glancing at Harry.

Outside the carriage, she could hear the knights calling to one another in gruff, urgent voices. It frustrated her further that she couldnÂ’t even understand what they were saying. The clanking sound of their armor rubbing together as they moved, the noises their swords made as they were pulled into the air, was the only clue as to something was wrong.

Her heart was beginning to pick up speed, and she pressed her hand over it, willing it to slow. ItÂ’s probably just a wild animal of some sort, she thought. The knights will take care of it.

Reassured only slightly, she sat back down. Harry didnÂ’t look frightened - in fact, he looked a bit angry. His eyes were narrowed slightly, and other than that his face was stony and blank.

After about another moment of shouting and the clash of metal, Ginny let out a groan of impatience and gave up on waiting around. Just as she reached for the door handle, one of the knights seemed to know what she was going to, and called out, “Stay in the carriage, Highness!”

Alarmed a bit more, she glanced at Harry again, whose narrowed eyes revealed that he was now a bit curious. “Do you know what’s happening, Harry?” she asked him, though she knew he didn’t.

He didnÂ’t even bother to answer. She didnÂ’t pause long for him to reply, either; she leaned forward and grabbed the cloth covering the window and started to tug. It made a ripping noise, but after that it was silent, not yielding to her yanks.

“Here,” Harry said abruptly, as though remembering something. Ginny stopped to look at him as he reached under his tunic to the waist of his trousers. A moment later, he pulled his hand away, a knife gripped firmly in his fingers. “I shall cut it.”

Ginny felt her entire body harden, frozen into a gigantic block of icy fear. Slowly she leaned back against her seat, her heart beating so madly she was afraid it would jump from her chest. Absently she pressed her hand over it, her eyes glued to the knife in HarryÂ’s hand.

He didnÂ’t notice her distress. Gripping the cloth in one hand, he tore through the top part of the cloth like it was mere tissue paper. A moment later, he repeated the process to the bottom part.

“Oh God,” Ginny said under her breath. The carriage seemed to be spinning, whirling around in her head, and the sounds outside fading. Everything seemed to be in slow motion . . . everything except her heart.

The knife Harry held looked like an ordinary dagger. It had a plain black handles, and a silver blade about the length of GinnyÂ’s arm from elbow to wrist. But she would know that knife anywhere.

It was the very same knife Tom had used when he murdered his victims.

Are you sure? she asked herself, forcing her lungs to take deep, even breaths. She was on the verge of gasping and crying hysterically, both from fear and from shock. Are you sure it was Tom who murdered those people? Maybe it wasnÂ’t. Maybe you were so busy thinking - praying - that it was Tom, when it was really Harry all along. Maybe you wanted to see Tom as a murderer to badly you didnÂ’t realize it wasnÂ’t him. Maybe Tom is a nice person . . . and HarryÂ’s the one youÂ’re supposed to be afraid of.

But . . . but Harry? It couldnÂ’t be. She refused to believe that in either world, normal or screwed up, that he would kill innocent people. He was The Boy Who Lived, not The Boy Who Took Lives.

Yet there he was, tucking that dagger back away under his tunic. She watched, as though it were a dream and she was watching from a misty distance, as he leaned forward and peered out the now cleared window, instantly frowning.

“Gypsies,” he commented vaguely.

Was she absolutely positive that he had used the exact dagger? There are many daggers with plain black hilts, she thought.

“Highness, did you hear me? We are being attacked by gypsies . . .”

It was possible that it was a different knife altogether. But for some reason, she knew deep down inside her that it was the very same blade. HarryÂ’s the killer, she thought, her blood turning cold at the realization. It wasnÂ’t Tom. It was Harry.

She continued to stare at the place where heÂ’d tucked the knife away. Closing her eyes for a moment, she remembered a flash from her dream. Tom - or perhaps not Tom, but a skinny black-haired boy - reached for the black hilt tucked away under his tunic, which seemed colorless in the darkness of the night. With is free hand he yanked out to grasp a handful of hair, belonging to some whimpering little girl . . .

She felt like she was going to be violently sick. Her throat closed up, and her eyes flew open, tears filling them instantly. Oh God, she thought, clutching her stomach. IÂ’m in a carriage with a murderer. Harry murdered those people . . . he murdered . . . murdered . . .

By now Harry was looking at her with confusion. “Highness - ?” he started.

“You killed them, didn’t you?” she whispered, her voice ragged. She was surprised she could even talk.

“Killed who? The gypsies?” Now there was a tinkle of amusement in Harry’s eyes - those green eyes she once thought were the most beautiful on earth. Now she just wanted to scratch them out, repay him just a little for the pain he’d caused all those families.

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, you little shit,” she hissed, her hand scrambling for the handle. She felt the wall, not daring to take her gaze from Harry lest he make a move for his knife again. She had trouble finding it, her hand patted the inside door madly - oh, where was that knob?

The amusement vanished from Harry’s face, and his eyes turned rock hard, his face a cold mask. “I do not, Highness. I do not know why I agreed to come with you; I should have known you would just insu -”

“I had dreams about it, you know,” she whispered, swallowing hard, as her fingers wrapped gratefully around the handle. All she needed to do was give it a little yank, push out the door, jump to the ground, and sprint as fast as she could. If she needed to, she could rip most of her skirts off so it would be easier to run. For some reason, though, she delayed, and continued talking. “I thought it was Tom.” She didn’t add that she still wished with all her being that it was Tom. A little part of her was screaming at her for actually considering that Harry would harm another person.

But he did, the wiser part told her sadly. He has the knife. He has that very knife . . .

“I do not know what you are speaking of, Highness,” Harry told her coolly.

“Of course you do!” she shrieked so suddenly and with such force Harry started. “You murdered each and every one of those families! I saw you do it! You have the exact same knife -”

“Murder?” Harry’s coldness then evaporated into disbelief, and he sat up straighter. “You think that I murdered all those people?”

“I don’t think - I know!” she shouted. She closed her eyes briefly again, wondering why she was when he could, at any time, grab his dagger and stab at her. This time, when she thought of her dreams, she replaced Harry’s features with Tom’s. In her nightmares, his face had always been dark, shaded by blackness - and she realized it was probably her subconscious’s way of hiding the real murderer from her.

She was then overcome with so much fear she found it hard to breath. I need to get out of here! she thought frantically. I canÂ’t stay another minute. She felt as though she would burst into frenzied sobs at any second.

She tugged on the handle and leaped from her seat, using her shoulder to push the door. It swung open, and she stumbled out, just barely managing to remain on her feet as she landed in the snow.

Blinded by tears, already too numb with absolute terror to feel the biting cold, she stumbled a few steps away from the carriage. Her many skirts, the gigantically annoying things, felt ten times heavier now that she was standing. She wouldnÂ’t have time to stop and rip them off. The only way to rid herself of them was to remove the bodices as well.

Oh, forget clothes! her mind ordered. I just need to get the hell out of here!

Wiping at her eyes, - for they were clogging her vision so badly it was hard to see more than two feet ahead of her - she lifted her leg and prepared to run as fast as she possibly could, deep into the woods to loose Harry. Perhaps sheÂ’d find her way back to the castle, or find a peasant on a different road who would take her there. Either way, she just needed to get as far from the stagecoach as possible.

SheÂ’d taken only a total of three steps when her foot caught under something, and she sprawled flat onto her face into the snow. The ice stung her cheeks, which were already wet from tears, but she couldnÂ’t dwell on it. She had to get up and get away. Placing both palms on the ground, she hurriedly tucked her legs underneath her in a crouch, preparing to propel into a standing position. But she happened to look back momentarily to see what sheÂ’d tripped on in the first place.

A scream seemed to die in her mouth. Her heart began pounding so fiercely she could feel it in her throat.

A knight, complete with silver armor, was sprawled on his back, unmoving and stiff. Blood was seeping from some wound beneath the breastplate, turning the snow a dark, dark red. Ginny had had her knees placed in the sticky blood only a moment ago and, glancing down, she saw her pale skirt was stained with it.

This canÂ’t be happening, she thought, trying to calm herself. Though at that moment, she didnÂ’t feel as if sheÂ’d ever be calm again. IÂ’m back at the castle, and IÂ’m having another nightmare. This is all one big dream. Harry simply canÂ’t be a murderer . . .

“Highness!” Harry’s voice called on cue. “Where are you going? Gypsies are attacking!”

Ginny tore her eyes from the unfortunate knight to glance back over at the carriage. Harry was beginning to step down from it, his frown clearly visible.

Jerking her head to the side, she noticed another body and had to smother a cry. She fell backwards on her hands, absently feeling the snow on her skin, but not caring. Slumped on the ground, near the horses, was the driver. He was not moving, and red pooled on the road around him.

Looking around frantically, trembling like a leaf, she saw the other four knights, all on the ground, either on the muddy road or collapsed in the snow on the edge of the woods. Did Harry just kill them all? she thought wildly, every rational way of thinking flying from her brain. While I wasnÂ’t looking, is that what he did? Oh, God, IÂ’m stuck here with him!

Harry stepped to the edge of the road, scowling darkly. Ginny hurried backwards on the heels of her hands and her feet. She wasnÂ’t sure if she could stand; her knees felt far too weak. Yet even if she could get to her feet, there was no way she could possibly outrun him. He wasnÂ’t wearing fifty skirts and flimsy little girlie shoes like she was. Plus, if he really wanted to stop her, all he had to do was throw the knife at her retreating back, which would be sure to slow her down even more.

I canÂ’t believe IÂ’d ever live to see the day when I was absolutely terrified of Harry Potter, Ginny thought, trying to suppress a helpless whimper. This world definitely isnÂ’t sane.

He wasnÂ’t attempting to come any closer, but still Ginny felt petrified on the spot. Just when she was building the courage to jump up and start running, movement distracted her, and she tore her eyes from Harry for a split second to glance up. Someone had climbed on top of the carriage behind him silently, and, without warning, jumped down just behind Harry. The intruder managed to grab him from behind by draping an arm across the front of HarryÂ’s chest, and the force of his fall caused the man to drop to the ground. He dragged Harry down with him; Harry only had time to release a grunt of surprise before he was suddenly stretched backwards on top of him.

For an instant, Ginny watched him struggle with the man, letting sudden relief seep into her bones. She could hardly believe her luck. She would be sure to pay her rescuer handsomely once she found out who he was. HeÂ’d saved her life and helped catch a criminal in the process.

Oh thank God, she thought, allowing muscles to relax and lowering herself back into the snow. IÂ’ll have Harry imprisoned the moment we get back to the castle -

Unexpectedly, strong hands seized her by the shoulders and hauled her to her feet in the blink of an eye, silencing her thoughts. She didnÂ’t have the chance to glance over her shoulder to see who it was; immediately, a dirty hand clamped over her mouth, sealing off any startled questions or cries she mightÂ’ve let out. All at once terror struck her heart, and she wondered if it was possible for her to have a heart attack, or perhaps die of fright. Certainly it was a miracle in itself she hadnÂ’t wet herself yet.

She twisted furiously to get away from the manÂ’s hand over her mouth, but before she could achieve any sort of distance, he reached with his other hand and managed to grab both of her arms. SheÂ’d been trying to peel his fingers off her face, and somehow heÂ’d gotten hold of both of her wrists with only one of his hands, pulling them back behind her and crunching them together forcefully. Releasing a small yelp of pain, she tried to squirm out of his grasp. It didnÂ’t seem to do any good. Whoever it was just pulled her against him tightly, digging his fingernails deep into her flesh.

Ginny suddenly remembered the man who had always been in the shadows while Tom - or, rather, Harry - had been killing. Is this him? she thought. I forgot all about his bloody sidekick! I shouldÂ’ve known before jumping out of the carriage! Regretting her actions now, she realized she probably shouldÂ’ve tried to unhook one of the horses from the front of the cab and ridden off on it.

Too late now. Still, she wouldnÂ’t let herself die like this. She refused to be killed by Harry Potter.

“Well, look at this,” a raspy voice murmured in her ear. The man pulled on the hand he had over her mouth, tilting her head back onto his shoulder. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek, could feel the scratchy hair of his beard on her flesh. She tried to see his face, but he head her face pointed towards the sky, and it was impossible to get a clear view of him. All she could tell was he had dark hair, bad breath, and about a day’s stubble on his face. “A real treasure,” he continued to whisper.

Then he turned his head away from her, removing his hand from her lips and moving his arm down around her neck, allowing her head to slide down so it was no longer pressed back against his shoulder. She seemed to have lost her voice, and couldnÂ’t scream out in the hope that someone would overhear and save her. Then, she remembered the man who had trapped Harry to the ground. Of course! He had to be there to save her . . . right?

“Look what we have here, men!” shouted her captor, her ear ringing from his loud voice. “The princess!”

GinnyÂ’s eyes were drawn to the spot where the man who was rescuing her had crashed to the ground with Harry. He was still there, on his feet now, with Harry in his clutches, struggling to keep him still. She wondered for a brief instant why he wasnÂ’t coming to save her, but then figured he couldnÂ’t - he had to keep a hold on Harry. I can take care of this man behind me, she thought with a lot more courage than she felt. If my rescuer can keep Harry in check, then I can be sure to get out of -

Just then, the trees seemed to be moving. Shocked, Ginny whipped her head around, and felt the manÂ’s arm tighten around her neck as though to keep her still. A moment later she saw it wasnÂ’t the trees - it was men who were moving. All of them were dressed in brown tunics that looked as if theyÂ’d been worn nonstop for the past year.

Was it possible that Ginny had passed out from fright by now? Maybe she really was having a horrible nightmare. The situation kept getting so much worse, it was almost ironic. But she was acutely aware that she was wide awake; for she knew that sheÂ’d never felt fear like this before. It invaded her body, heated her to the point where beads of sweat were rolling down her forehead, despite the cold day. Her joints seemed to freeze in place, and she no longer struggled with the man who held her. There were at least two dozen more, closing in around them in a sloppy circle, all who looked just as ratty as this man smelled.

Gypsies. Ginny suddenly remembered what Harry had been telling her as sheÂ’d tried to run. Of course, it made more sense - the gypsies had killed the knights and driver - Harry hadnÂ’t. It was the only logical explanation, one that she was glad to believe, for she cringed at the thought of Harry killing anyone. Besides, it was impossible for him to have killed them anyway, considering sheÂ’d been either with him or watching him the entire time.

SheÂ’d always imagined gypsies as tall, willowy ladies with curly black hair, their bodies clad with bright oranges, purples, and reds, dancing in the street for money. And sheÂ’d guessed that her perception was always wrong, because she read about them in fairy tale books. But she realized that there were men gypsies, who moved in clans

“Quick,” the man said, his voice ragged and loud so close to her head. “Tie that idiot boy up. We shall leave him here for the king’s forces to find, and he can tell everyone that we have her.” He jutted his elbow upwards, causing Ginny to raise her chin. She figured he was trying to gesture that she was the “her” he was speaking about.

Numbly, she watched her rescuer drag Harry towards a thick tree, joined by four other gypsies. In an instant she realized - he wasnÂ’t there to rescue her! He was a gypsy as well! Oh, how stupid was she? If he had come to save her, he wouldÂ’ve told her so. He wouldÂ’ve shouted out that he would get her safely to the castle once he was through with Harry.

But he wasnÂ’t there to help her. He was there to raid the carriage, and now he was there to kidnap her as well.

Any hope of being saved seemed to soak from her mind, and she slackened in despair. She wasnÂ’t going to die, at least not by HarryÂ’s hand, and not yet. She was going to be kidnapped - held for ransom. Somehow that seemed even worse. Who knew what these men would do to her? Rape her, starve her, beat her? Possibly many more things her limited imagination couldnÂ’t comprehend.

But they would be certain to keep her alive, she knew, which wasnÂ’t very much of a comfort. In fact, it seemed to frighten her even more, which she hadnÂ’t thought achievable. She was beyond feeling - her entire body was numb and seemed to be incredibly stiff. She was perspiring, but her skin had goose pimples. Her short, fast breaths were coming out in little clouds. She was too frozen to even tremble.

After a few loud curses of frustration, the five men stepped away from the tree. Harry was tied to it, the rope wrapped around him and the trunk several times, pinning his arms at his sides. He was jerking hard, trying to get free, but it was pointless. He was bound so tightly to the tree it almost looked as though he were glued to it. The only thing he could do was kick backwards and smack the bottom of the trunk with his heels, and that would get him nowhere.

Kill him, Ginny said in her mind drowsily, feeling detached from her body. DonÂ’t let him live. HeÂ’ll just kill more people.

A second later she found that she didnÂ’t want Harry killed, no matter what he had done. Just the image of him dying made her heart wrench. It was still next to impossible to believe that Harry had done those horrible murders. It was just too . . . impossible.

But he had the knife, she reminded herself. Her legs started to give away, and the man had to take his arm from her throat and grab her shoulder, trying to keep her upright. He had the knife I saw in my dreams. It was him, as much as I donÂ’t want to believe it . . .

“Here, take her,” the man who held her said gruffly, shoving her towards a couple of gypsies nearby.

She stumbled, nearly falling both from weak legs and her poofy skirts. But the two guys caught her, hauling her straight up, grasping her upper arms tightly and painfully. Their fingers were like ice, the cold seeping through her sleeves, and they felt like iron grips.

The man who released her, who was most obviously the leader of the gypsies, strode over to Harry in two steps. Harry, who had been fighting violently to get out from the ropes, paused a moment to look at him. The leader snatched a handful of his hair and held his head up, so heÂ’d be forced to look at him.

Harry gave him a dark look through narrowed eyes and clenched his teeth, looking him straight in the eye. For a minute, Ginny thought he actually might spit on the leader. But he didnÂ’t.

“You tell the king we have his daughter,” the man commanded, almost angrily. “Reckon you can handle that?”

Harry was silent for a long moment. Then he opened his mouth and said slowly, “Let her go.”

The leader threw his head back and laughed. He roared like it was the funniest thing heÂ’d ever heard. Ginny flinched at the sound of it, wondering how he could find anything amusing in this entire situation. Then he patted HarryÂ’s head, as though he were a little child, and turned and walked back over to the rest of the gypsies standing to the side. Ginny, and the two holding her, stood apart from them.

She couldnÂ’t hear a word the leader was saying to his men, and it was bothering her immensely. She wasnÂ’t even trying to escape now; she felt far too fatigued, and the effort seemed too great. Once she was able to rest a little, and perhaps have some food - then she would attempt to get away.

The gypsy leader spoke to his men for what seemed like ages, but it couldn’t have been more than three minutes. Finally, he spun to face Ginny - or, rather, those keeping a hold on her. “Tie her hands,” he said quickly, tossing them some rope. Then he glanced at Ginny, and gave her a terrible smile, one that revealed his yellowing teeth. He was absolutely disgusting to look at - greasy hair, oily skin, revolting clothes; he clearly hadn’t bathed in months. He most likely had fleas or some sort of head parasite. Ginny prayed that not all the gypsies were as nasty as he. “I shall allow you to walk without anyone touching you, Princess,” he sneered, bowing slightly, “if you do not attempt to run away. But if you do, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you myself. Do you understand?”

Ginny somehow nodded, even though sheÂ’d thought she was too deadened to move.

In minutes, the gypsies had unhitched the horses from the carriage and led them through the forest by ropes theyÂ’d tied around their necks. Ginny mistily thought that if the horses wanted to run away, then they could easily rear up and make the man holding their rope lose his grip and gallop away. But the horses walked along willingly, having no idea that what they were doing was wrong.

Ginny was forced to walk in the middle of the clan, directly behind the horses. As they began to travel into the woods, away from Harry and the carriage, she hoped the horses wouldnÂ’t go to the bathroom. TheyÂ’d somehow manage to get it on her, she knew it.

Of course, she knew it was silly to fear what the horses would do to her when she was now taken captive by a band of wild, unclean men. She was dreading what was to come, of what they might do to her. After a few moments of picturing it, she forced her mind to shut down, not wanting to think about it anymore.

Whatever was to happen, it would not be enjoyable.