Downfall

Chapter Two: A Discovery Worth Its Weight in Galleons

I'm arguing with a statue. Oh Merlin, please just end my misery now.

"Well I don't care if you have the passcode, you silly little girl. You are not the Head Boy, you are not on the list of witches and wizards the Head Boy said I am to grant entry to, and your colouring is far too garish for you to be a house elf here to clean."

Ginny eyed the statue of Salazar Slytherin menacingly. "If you don't let me in this instant, I will hex you into oblivion."

"Bah. What do you take me for, a fool? I am school property; if you harm me, you'll be punished most grievously. Now go away."

"Why won't you let me in?" Ginny wailed, frustrated almost to the point of tears."I'm just trying to get clothes for Malfoy. Snape said I have to, and I'm sure if I don't he'll just use it as an excuse to dock Gryffindor more points than we can earn in a month. I already told you. Malfoy was hurt and had to go to the hospital wing, so he can't come here himself. Please?"

"Gryffindor? I should have known." The statue, remarkably, snorted in disgust. "If that is the truth, then why isn't the Head of my house here in young Malfoy's stead?" the statue replied smugly, it's granite face creaking and groaning with the effort required to look so superior.

Heaving a sigh, Ginny retold the entire story of what happened in the Potions classroom, minus Malfoy's 'appreciation' of certain parts of her anatomy. "... and that's why Malfoy isn't here, or Snape, or the Headmaster, or anyone else on your bloody list."

"What's your family name, you impertinent girl?"

"Weasley. But what does that have to do with anything?" Ginny stood against the far wall and glared at the vexing statue, fingers convulsing around her wand.

"Why didn't you say you were a pure-blood, child? I was just ensuring that I did not mistakenly allow the wrong sort into the room. What did you say the passcode was again?"

"Potentium," Ginny ground out.

"Which means what, dear girl?"

"Power."

"Do you understand the lesson I was teaching you?"

"Enlighten me. Please." Ginny thought, I really have to owl Fred and George. I'm sure they'll know a way to destroy a statue without getting caught. She smiled darkly, imagining the ugly old face in thirteen different pieces, each of which she would feed happily to the Giant Squid.

"One is helpless without power. If you do not have it, you must seize it."

And, with a horrible grating noise, the statue shifted to reveal a narrow corridor. She marched through it, pausing to give the middle finger to the offending statue, and came out in a large living area.

Ginny looked round the room sourly.

My payment for being a good person, I suppose. I should have left him there to bleed to death. That's what Ron and Harry would have done. Unless Hermione was there. She would nag them into helping him, I'm sure.

Shaking her head, Ginny took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders a few times for good measure. It helped her to calm down a bit. She pictured fuzzy bunnies, the time Neville was turned into a giant canary, and the bizarre hat Luna had taken to wearing at any quidditch match Gryffindor was playing, except against Ravenclaw, of course. Finally back in a frame of mind that didn't include the demise of anything to do with Salazar Slytherin or Draco Malfoy, she began to laugh. After all, the situation was rather ridiculous.

But still. Why on earth would Draco Malfoy, of the nasty disposition and even more foul prejudices, notice how I look? First he ogles me from very close range, then he has the nerve to announce to everyone in earshot that my breasts are the reason any boy even looks at me. And as my reward for not letting the great prat die, I have the distinguished honour of fetching Draco Malfoy's pants and toothbrush.

She giggled, picturing Ron's face as she told him. Oh yes, Ron, I just rummaged through all his drawers, looking at his pants. That is, right after I had a nice long chat with a statue of Salazar Slytherin. Why? He asked if I was pure-blooded, and, oh. Why I was in Malfoy's room, rifling through his things. Right. Well. In between bleeding all over everyone trying to help him and admiring my breasts- well, I did accidentally stick his face in them... That would most certainly not go over well.

She looked round the room again. It really was rather nice. Very posh.

A big, squashy sofa was situated by the fireplace, a book lying upside down on the floor next to it. Curious, she picked it up and glanced at the gold-lettering on the spine. 'Classical Heroes and the Tragedies That Befell Them'. She snorted loudly in the quiet room. If this was Malfoy's idea of a little light reading before bed, he was a bit more of a weed than he would like anyone to know. She gently laid the book back down and wandered over to the bed. Surprisingly, his bedclothes weren't made of silk. Or even satin. They were the softest cotton she had ever felt. Cool and smooth, they slipped underneath her fingers with the barest of whispers.

The voice in her head gasped in delight. Ooh, I would die to sleep in a bed like this! Wait - this is Malfoy's bed. Yuk. Scratch that.

But it would be so soft! The other voice, her "bad" side, countered. There's one sure way to sleep in this bed, you know. And that part would be over in 20 minutes or so, if Dean was anything to go by...

The first voice screamed in frustration. Shut up! Traitor. That's what you are, a traitor. Dean is a good person. And he was always very sweet and courteous with me. He even waited until I was ready to be intimate; he never pushed. He was just nervous, that's all. He wanted to make it special for me.

All twenty-four times? Come on now; don't lie to yourself, it's bad for one's credibility. It takes me longer to file my nails than it does Dean to, ahem, finish. 'Special', indeed. How many orgasms, hmm? One? Oh yes, that boy's certainly a stud. Now don't go shrieking about this, but I bet Malfoy would make it a whole lot more interesting.

WHAT?

What did I say about the shrieking? Her "bad" voice complained. Anyway, I was just saying.

Ginny, standing over Draco Malfoy's bed, listening to two voices battle it out in her mind, closed her eyes and repeated something she read from a book her father had gotten at a boot sale. "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." I haven't any subconscious motives. Just admiring the material. Really.

She shook her head. Arguing with myself. Speaks highly of my mental stability, I'm sure. With a last longing glance at the bed, Ginny made her way to the wardrobe in the corner. Yanking open the doors, she peered inside. And saw a solid wall of black. Merlin's beard! He has more robes than Lavender and Parvati combined! Pushing the robes and their hangers as far to the side as possible, she found the drawers stacked on the left-hand side. She pulled a set of nightclothes from the top shelf, setting them to the side. After a thorough search of the drawers, she had a button-collared shirt and socks, but no pants.

Well I'll be gored by a graphorn! He hasn't any! Draco Malfoy, it appears, does not wear pants!

Oh, this was priceless.

His toiletry bag sat on a little pedestal by the mirror, next to an extremely large bottle of Sleekeasy's Hair Potion. Mustn't look untidy. Every last hair shellacked in place before he goes up to breakfast. Ginny snickered as she tried to stuff the bottle into his toiletry bag. The stupid thing was too big, so she took it back out. She put both with the pile of clothes, and after a moment's consideration, pulled a pair of trousers and a set of fresh robes from the wardrobe. Since he wouldn't be attending classes the next day, she figured he could do without a clean uniform jumper and necktie.

With a last envious glance round the room, Ginny piled everything in her arms and walked out.