Ginny Weasley and the Heirs of Darkness

No, she reminded himself. It was his handwriting. He sent that note. He set me up. Ginny opened her mouth to tell Ron to mind his own business when the compartment door flew open again. Laurana slipped out and, utterly ignoring Harry, Ron, and Hermione, she flung her arm around Ginny's shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, Gin," she said apologetically. "It was thoughtless of me. I should have asked you about it first."

Ginny shrugged Laurana's arm off. "I don't want to discuss it," she snapped, glancing pointedly at her brother and his friends. She pulled away from all four of them. "I'm going to find a compartment by myself, if possible. I'll see you on the platform at King's Cross."

After Ginny had disappeared down the corridor, Laurana just shrugged and rejoined her brother and his friends; Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a three-way glance.

"Not yet, Harry," Hermione said softly, reading his very thoughts in his eyes. "But there's some hope, hmm?"

Harry smiled, and he seemed happier than either Hermione or Ron had seen him look in weeks. "Hope, indeed," he replied. "Christmas has come a few days early this year."

***

The only quiet compartment Ginny could find was occupied by Luna Lovegood, a spacey fifth-year Ravenclaw whom Ginny, like most of the other fifth-years, privately thought of as "Loony." She knew it was a cruel nickname, but it was just so... appropriate.

"Luna, do you mind if I sit here?"

The pale-haired girl looked up from the parchment she was scribbling on; it appeared to be some sort of convoluted star chart for a distant galaxy. The only words Ginny could read were the page's label: "Spiralling Black Hole Vortex Number Seventy-three and One Third Clearly Proven to be Portal to Small Garden in Kent!"

"You have lovely red hair," Luna replied, the expression in her eyes utterly vacant. "Just like your brother's."

"Yes, it's astonishing how much we look alike," Ginny replied sarcastically, not in the mood for Luna's eccentricities.

"Not really," Luna said. "Siblings generally look very similar."

Ginny rolled her eyes and pulled out a book, and after a few moments of tugging absently at one of her odd, radish-shaped earrings, Luna returned to her scribbling.

The two girls had ridden in silence for about twenty minutes when the door to the compartment flew open. "Ginny!" Bronwen cried, bursting in with Fiona fast on her heels. "What happened? You have to tell us everything!"

Ignoring Luna, Fiona and Bronwen deposited themselves in the compartment's vacant seats. Ginny sighed. "There's nothing to tell, except that Malfoy and I are finished."

"He loves you," Luna interrupted.

Ginny, Bronwen, and Fiona all turned to stare at Luna. "Oh, be quiet, Loony," Bronwen snapped. "It's not your business."

Fiona frowned at her housemate. "What do you mean, 'he loves her?'"

"Just that," Luna replied simply. "He loves her."

"Oh, how would you know," Bronwen said exasperatedly.

"Because I watch him," Luna said dreamily.

"You watch him?" Ginny echoed. "Why are you watching my boyf- er, my ex-boyfriend?"

Luna shrugged. "He's interesting. Almost as interesting as your brother." She turned to meet Ginny's eyes, her expression now shrewd instead of vapid. "Isn't it fascinating, the depth of emotion they possess?"

Ginny floundered for some kind of proper response; she was absolutely floored by Luna's strange comments. Recovering her equilibrium, she replied harshly, "I would hardly call tricking me, making a fool out of me, and nearly getting me expelled 'love.' In fact, the only words I can think of that truly fit the situation are 'abject cruelty.'"

"Suit yourself," Luna murmured, returning to her parchment.

"He what?" Bronwen demanded, her voice full of incredulity.

"He tricked me," Ginny repeated tonelessly. "He was never really interested, it was all just a cruel farce."

Bronwen and Fiona shared a glance. They had never seen Ginny look so dejected. "I don't believe it," Bronwen said firmly.

"Well you ought," Ginny replied, her eyes fixed on the scenery that was flickering past outside her window. "It's the truth."

"He wouldn't do that to you, Gin," Bronwen continued firmly. "Not even if he'd gotten tired of you, which he hasn't. He didn't drop Pansy so callously, and he didn't even like her."

"But Pansy's a Slytherin, Bron," Ginny said, still refusing to make eye contact with her friends. The Scottish countryside was apparently fascinating. "Malfoy saves his particularly nasty tricks for silly, empty-headed Gryffindors."

"Ginny, you are neither silly nor empty-headed," Fiona said emphatically. "Now, we're not leaving until you tell the whole story, so you might as well just spill it now."

With a sigh, Ginny told her friends and the eavesdropping Luna an abbreviated version of the sordid tale. "And that's all there is," she finished with a humorless smile. "I left him standing in the corridor, and we haven't spoken since."

Bronwen rose from her seat. "I'm going to go talk to him," she said, expression grim.

"You are not!" Ginny exclaimed forcefully. "Bron, what he did to me was humiliating enough, please don't make it any worse." For the first time, the faintest sheen of tears was visible in her eyes. "He's already laughing at me with his friends, and I don't need you to make it worse." Ginny closed her eyes, willing the tears away and trying not to envision the horrid lies Draco might be telling the other Slytherin boys. It turned her stomach just to think of it.

"In fact," Ginny continued, "this topic is closed. No, not just closed. Locked."

Bronwen and Fiona shared another significant glance, but they wisely didn't pursue the issue.

The rest of the train ride passed in relative silence, with Luna absorbed in her star chart, Ginny staring listlessly out the window, and Bronwen and Fiona sitting uncomfortably, trying hard not to squirm. Ginny wouldn't have admitted it, but it was nice just to have her friends there, a human barrier against Draco, should he decide to come pester her.

The reality of her break-up still hadn't really settled in. With Harry, she'd been debating about ending the relationship for several days, but with Draco, everything had happened so suddenly. Was it really only a few days ago that they were curled up together in the chilly Charms classroom discussing Christmas presents?

Ginny scowled. Christmas gifts- the Fetchkey. At the time, she'd assumed Draco had gotten her something extravagant and expensive, and she'd actually been a bit embarrassed by that thought. But now she wondered. An additional insult of some kind, most assuredly, she thought. Stupid Malfoy.

"Next stop, Platform Nine and Three Quarters," called the conductor. Ginny jumped, startled out of her reverie. Where had all the time gone?

"Time to go!" Fiona said in an overly cheerful voice.

Ginny nodded. "If I don't see you during the break, have a Happy Christmas," she said, trying to sound sincere. She didn't wish her friends any ill will, and they really were dears; her heart just wasn't in it this year.

Bronwen and Fiona both nodded. "You, too, Gin!" they said in unison, probably more forcefully than they'd intended.

"Thanks," Ginny replied. "Er, Happy Christmas to you as well, Luna."

"I don't celebrate Christmas," Luna replied loftily. "My family doesn't believe in silly superstitions." At this, the other three girls shared an incredulous look. "However," she continued, "thank you for the well-wishes, and same to you."

As the train ground to a halt, Ginny offered one last parting wave to her two best friends, trying to ignore the looks of sympathy they both wore. Weaving her way through the mass of loud, chattering students, Ginny found her trunk and dragged it to the edge of the crowd, wondering which of her family members had been appointed as "Hogwarts Welcoming Committee" this year. Scanning for the familiar red hair, she finally spotted one tall redhead on the far end of the platform.

"Great," she muttered. "Bill would have to be all the way down there." Casting a Levitation Charm on her heavy trunk, Ginny fought her way against the crush of pushing and shoving students. In the confusion, she lost sight of Bill for a moment, and it took her a second to spot him again. It was then that her stomach lurched; standing only a few yards from Bill, and receiving cautious covert glances from the eldest Weasley brother, was Lucius Malfoy.

"Just my luck," Ginny muttered.

Before she could subtly attract his attention and move him in the opposite direction, Bill spotted her. "Gin-gin!" he called, causing Ginny to grit her teeth. She hated the silly nickname, and only her brothers could get away with calling her that.

Lucius's head turned at the sound, and Ginny could feel his eyes boring into her. His gray eyes were so familiar, but there was a dangerous knowledge hidden in their depths that Draco's eyes had yet to acquire.

Ignoring the unpleasant looks Bill shot his way, Mr. Malfoy strode toward the two siblings. "Miss Weasley," he said, favoring her with a evilly saccharine smile. "Happy holidays to you. Where's Draco? I assumed you'd be together."

"I'm here, Father," said a voice from behind Ginny, the one voice she had hoped to avoid that day. She turned to meet Draco's gaze, and by silent mutual consent, they agreed to pretend that there was nothing wrong with their relationship. Ginny didn't want to do anything to make Draco's life easier, but she couldn't risk having Lucius find out that she and Draco had broken up. Not yet, anyway. Not when she had no idea of how he might react to the news.

"Well, Draco," Lucius said, slipping into the jovial faux-paternal role, "make your good-byes. You'll see Miss Weasley again soon." He turned to Ginny. "We will be seeing you at Malfoy Manor for the New Year's celebration, yes?"

"I don't know yet, sir," Ginny said as she emphatically thought, "No." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Bill tapping his foot impatiently. "Well, Bill and I need to find Ron, Harry, and Hermione," she continued pointedly. "I guess we'd better go."

"Of course," Lucius replied, inclining his head regally. "Draco, I'll wait for you by the Portkey Hub. Goodbye, Miss Weasley."

"Goodbye, Mr. Malfoy," Ginny managed, praying Bill wouldn't leave her alone with Draco.

Which meant, of course, that for the first time in her life, one of her brothers actually respected her privacy. Bill, who must have heard about Ginny and Draco from Charlie, scooted an appropriate distance away; he was close enough that he could keep an eye on his baby sister, but far enough as to not seem like he was eavesdropping.

Draco and Ginny stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment. Ginny had no idea what to say or do, and she was pleased to note that even the unshakable Draco seemed a bit discomfited. She was also gratified to see the faint purplish bruise his cheek bore from her slap, though he deserved worse, the bastard.

"I want to know why, Weasley," Draco said quietly, finally breaking the strained silence.

Ginny graced him with the coldest glare she could muster. "If you genuinely don't know why, then you're not as smart as I've always given you credit for, Malfoy," she snapped, letting the venom from all her poisonous thoughts ooze into her tone. "What I don't understand is why you're still bothering. Do you really think I'm that stupid? Or is there one more punchline to your nasty little joke?"

Draco's brow creased into a scowl. "My nasty little joke?" he demanded. "If there's a would-be comedian here, Weasley, it's certainly not me."

"I'm not discussing this with you," Ginny said tightly. "I have to go."

She turned to leave, but Draco reached out and grabbed her by the elbow. "Wait, we're not finished."

Ginny's gaze was frigid. "Oh, but we are finished, Malfoy. We're so finished it's almost like we never began." She tried to wrench her arm away, but his grip was too strong.

"Ginny." His voice was nearly emotionless, but the word was still somehow resonant. It hung in the air between them for a moment.

"Let. Me. Go," she finally hissed, refusing to let him toy with her any further. The initial hurt of what he'd done to her was bad enough, but this was just sick; like pulling the wings from a wounded butterfly.

Bill must have noticed his sister's posture and the way she radiated anger; he strode up to the two teenagers, a forced smile on his face. "Looks like your good-byes are nearly finished, and if I'm not mistaken, there's Ron, Hermione, and Harry right there. So we'd best be going, Gin," he said lightly. "Have a nice holiday- Draco, was it?"

Draco nodded curtly. "You, too," he said, his insincerity plain. He dropped his voice so that only Ginny could hear. "And especially you, Weasley. I hope you and Potter have a wonderful time." His mouth twisted into a bitter smile, and Ginny backed away, bumping into Bill. The sheer fury in Draco's eyes.... Before she could think of a response, Draco had spun on his heel, stalking off in the direction of the Portkey Hub.

"Gin?" Bill said gently. "What just happened?"

"I ended our relationship a few days ago," Ginny said tonelessly, her mind still reeling. Draco had been so angry- shouldn't he be gloating, taunting her for being so stupid? Self-doubt started to gnaw at her, but she resolutely pushed it away. She and Malfoy were finished, end of story.

"Yes, I rather guessed," Bill said wryly. "But why?"

Ginny just shook her head; the Trio was within hearing range, and the last thing she needed was Ron running after Draco and starting a fight. "Can we just go home?" she asked wearily.

"Best idea I've heard all day, Gin," Ron said. He beamed at her, clearly still euphoric about the news of her break-up. Harry looked more chipper than Ginny'd seen him in quite awhile, too.

Bill nodded. "Mum was busy making quite the meal when I left this afternoon," he said. "Corned beef, I think."

Ron groaned loudly, and though Ginny hated corned beef, too, the prospect of one of Molly Weasley's dinners sounded wonderful. It would be so good to be home.

***

Her room was nearly as she'd left it in September; her blanket was even still draped over the foot of her bed, covering the spots she'd caused with the freckle-removing spell. The shelves were laden with dust, and the pile of dirty laundry she'd left had miraculously disappeared, but things were otherwise the same.

"Finite Incantatem," Ginny murmured, ending the Levitation Spell on her trunk. It clattered to the floor, crowding Ginny's already tiny room; Mrs. Weasley had set up a cot for Hermione, which left very little free space. Fortunately, Hermione had thought ahead, and shrunk her clothes to a miniature size- they were all carefully packed into a old tea canister.

"Do you need help unpacking?" the older girl asked, coming up the stairs behind Ginny.

Ginny shrugged. Why not- Hermione wasn't bad company, and she seemed to be the only one not gloating about the Draco situation. "Alright," she agreed, opening her trunk. Clothes immediately burst out untidily, and Ginny saw Hermione wrinkle her nose, but the older girl set to the task with her typical tenacity, helping Ginny sort things into neatly organized piles. Short skirts, wrinkled T-shirts, knee socks, a silver and emerald-striped Slytherin scarf....

Hermione held the scarf at arm's length, looking at it with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. "I remember that day," she said softly.

Ginny felt a stab of guilt. "I'm so sorry, Hermione," she said. "If I'd known-" A short, bitter laugh. "You must think I'm such an idiot."

"No, I don't think you're an idiot, Ginny," Hermione replied, sitting down next to a heap of Gryffindor Quidditch robes. "You liked him, so you took a chance." Her eyes sparkled teasingly. "I'll never understand why you liked him, but we all have different tastes." She paused for consideration, and the twinkle in her eyes intensified. "Which is just as well, since otherwise you'd be competing with me for Ron."

"Ugh!" Ginny replied, tossing a pillow at Hermione. "Don't be disgusting!" Both girls dissolved into giggles, knocking over some of the piles of clothes. There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and Ron cracked the door to Ginny's room; Harry was visible behind him.

"What's so funny?" Ron demanded, entering the room just in time to take a Weasley jumper square in the face. That only made the girls laugh harder, and soon the room was full of flying apparel. Finally, Hermione enchanted Ginny's Gryffindor scarf to wind itself around Ron's mouth, silencing his loud protests.

Ginny burst into renewed giggles. "I'd say he's well 'muffled,' Hermione," she punned. The older girl rolled her eyes, but she and Harry both snickered.

Charlie poked his head in the door, wearing his best "stern professor" face. "Mum says dinner's ready," he told the laughing crew, chuckling at the sight of the mummified Ron. "Percy, Penny, and Madeline just arrived, and Elisabeth Flooed to say she's on her way."

"What about Cho?" Ginny asked. "Is she coming for dinner tonight, too?"

Charlie frowned, shaking his head in disappointment. "She just sent an emergency owl; something came up with her family, and she won't be able to make it. She included a gift for you, though," he added, tossing Ginny a small box. It was perfectly wrapped, and the tag said, in Cho's neat handwriting, "Do not open before Christmas. Try to remember to open by Christmas."

"Must someone always be getting after me about being late?" Ginny muttered.

"Children!" Molly's voice echoed up the stairwell. "Your dinner's getting cold!"

Everyone turned to look at Ginny, then burst out laughing again. Ginny's eyes briefly met Harry's, and she gave him a small smile. To her surprise, he smiled back, and Ginny left her room feeling quite a bit better than she had when she entered it. As long as she could keep thoughts of Draco Malfoy at bay, maybe Christmas wouldn't be so bad after all.

***

At last, Georgine thought, as she landed softly on the mosaic-style paving stones that fronted Chateau Belleton. After the train ride to King's Cross, she'd taken the Floo to Paris's posh Rue Rousse, the most famous street in Wizarding Europe. It was lined with elegant shops and gourmet restaurants, and Georgine had spent a few hours buying Christmas gifts and just reveling in the perfect, refined sound of her native language. Le français, c'est si belle.

She'd tired of Rue Rousse rather quickly, though. Unfortunately, she'd been forced to surrender her wand at the French border, and she'd felt strangely naked, wandering about in a Wizarding neighborhood unarmed. So she'd used the Portkey her mother had prepared, and now, finally, she was home.

As always at Christmas, Chateau Belleton looked spectacular. Nestled in an Unplottable location at the foot of the Alps near the Italian border, it had been only lightly dusted with snow- just enough so that it looked precisely like a Christmas card. The windows had been framed with garlands and lit with candles, and Georgine knew that was nothing compared to what her mother would have done with the rest of the chateau.

Like all the chateaux of wealthy French wizards, Chateau Belleton's huge double doors opened onto a spacious, elegant foyer. As Georgine stepped inside, the mansion's expensive Warming Spells melted the snow from her shoes and whisked away the excess water. Georgine sighed contentedly as she watched the water disappear; she'd forgotten how truly luxurious French wizarding innovations could be.

Standing between the foyer's two curving staircases was the magnificent arbre de Nöel; as usual, Seraphine Belleton had outdone herself in decorating it, and it took Georgine's breath away. The towering tree was wound about with gold and ivory sparkling strands, and the glittering ornaments had all been charmed to match. Real, live fairies were flitting cheerfully amongst the boughs, and the tree had been enchanted to quietly play instrumental holiday music.

Her heart so full she felt it would nearly burst, Georgine called up the stairs, "Hello? Is anyone here? I'm home!"

There was an answering patter of feet from a dozen different directions as members of her family all rushed to greet her.

"Georgine, Georgine!" Honorine, her littlest sister, came tumbling into the foyer first. Soon she was encircled by everyone, even the eldest two, Benoit and Axelle, whom she rarely saw. But surrounded as she was by loving faces and happy words, Georgine still felt that things weren't quite perfect, and she knew exactly why.

Frédéric wasn't there to share it. She swallowed hard around the sudden lump in her throat, willing it to go away. Robbing her of her brother- it was just one more reason to despise Hogwarts and everyone there.

"It's not the same without Eff, is it?" Honorine whispered in her ear. Frédéric was Honorine's favorite sibling; she had always followed the twins around like a little shadow.

Georgine shook her head. "No, it really isn't."

"Did he send a gift for me?" the eleven-year-old asked, twining a long strand of bright red hair around her finger. "I told him what I wanted in a letter."

"Did you?" Georgine asked lightly, ruffling her sister's hair. "Well, he didn't say anything to me-" because he never really does, anymore, "-but that might just mean he's sending it by owl. I'm sure he wouldn't forget you."

"Martine tells me that she has prepared a truly excellent repast for us this evening," Nicodème Belleton's voice boomed over the chattering of his children. "Why don't we adjourn to the dining room and celebrate Georgine's homecoming in there?"

Georgine frowned, noting that Honorine was the only one who had made any mention of Frédéric. Was he a taboo subject now? She hadn't been thrilled with her brother's behavior since they'd transfered to Hogwarts, but he was still her twin. She also knew the letters he'd written home had been less than satisfactory; however, the strange silence in the family implied there was something else going on. She'd ask Delphine as soon as they'd finished dinner.

***

Unfortunately, dinner was no simple affair. The family cook, Martine, really had outdone herself in honor of Georgine's return, and the multi-course meal took two hours, followed by an array of rich desserts. Finally, the older Belletons retired to Nicodème's study for liqueurs and coffee, leaving the youngest siblings to their own devices. Celeste, miffed that she wasn't yet counted as an adult, flounced off to her room, leaving Delphine, Eliane, Georgine and Honorine alone in the dining hall. The four sisters rearranged themselves so that they were sitting close together.

"Things have changed since you left France, Ji," Delphine said, finally breaking the silence. She swirled the dregs of her wine around in the bottom of her glass, watching the whorls of crimson intently. "Beauxbatons is different, and so is Father."

"And we have a house guest," Eliane said petulantly, making a face. "I think Father pays her more attention than he does us."

Delphine shot her younger sister a look. "I'm getting to that," she replied. "But first things first. Ji, I found out why Father met with the Malfoys back in September."

Georgine's eyes lit. "Tell me everything."

***

The days leading up to Christmas passed in a flurry of snow games, Quidditch, and family silliness, and the holiday itself was warm, cozy, and cheery; a typical Weasley Christmas. Ginny continued to make friendly overtures to Harry, and to her pleased surprise, he returned them; perhaps, she hoped, they'd be able to develop the same sort of friendly camaraderie he shared with Ron. Even with Draco out of the picture, she still wasn't interested in Harry, but she didn't want things to remain frosty between them, either.

On the early morning of the twenty-sixth, however, Ginny awoke with a start, and she realized she was covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat, her heart pounding wildly. She'd had the most unnerving dream, though she could only remember snatches of it.

She'd been with Draco, she recalled with no amount of disgusted irritation, and they'd been on prefect rounds together. Draco had insisted they check every single cubicle of every bathroom, because new strains of dragon pox might be floating about. They checked Moaning Myrtle's very last, but Myrtle hadn't been there, it had been Georgine Belleton instead....

Then it had jumped a bit, and Ginny couldn't remember what happened next, except that she was with Harry in a field, and he was about to tell her something very important when he suddenly turned into Ron. Draco came up and slapped Ron in the face, hard, just like Ginny had slapped Draco, when Ron abruptly turned into Professor McGonagall, who gave both Ginny and Draco detentions.

Ginny glanced over to see if Hermione was awake, but the other girl was fast asleep, her arm tossed over her face. Not feeling particularly inclined to go back to sleep, Ginny slid out of her bed and padded over to her stack of Christmas presents, stowing them neatly in her trunk. It wasn't the most entertaining of tasks, but it was suitably mind-numbing, and it needed to be done at some point anyway.

She was just about to toss her newest Weasley jumper onto the pile when she spotted a glint of something gold near the bottom of the trunk. Puzzled, she pulled it out, her stomach sinking as she realized what it was.

The Fetchkey.

She knew that it would be profoundly stupid to Fetch whatever it was Malfoy had left lying in wait for her. She also knew full well that her parents would be furious if they found out she was toying with possible Dark Magic.

But Ginny couldn't help herself; the curiosity was overwhelming. "Draco Malfoy," she whispered, hoping she wouldn't wake Hermione.

There was a tiny 'pop,' and an object tumbled onto Ginny's lap from thin air. She stared at it for a moment, and then, sleeping Hermione or no, Ginny wasn't able to stop herself- she burst into tears.

***

Georgine woke to the sensation of someone violently shaking her shoulder. "Wake up, Ji," Delphine hissed in her ear. "Do you want to see her or not?"

Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Georgine shielded them from the bright morning light that was streaming in her bedroom windows. Accustomed as she'd become to the low lighting of the Slytherin dungeons, her pupils shrank painfully under the onslaught of sunshine. "Yes, yes, I want to see her," she replied, shoving her feet into a pair of cushy slippers. "Give me a moment."

"We don't have much time," Delphine said urgently, checking her sister's bedside clock. "Father will be awake in an hour or so."

Georgine staggered out of bed, half-propping herself against the headboard until she found her equilibrium. She was almost woozy with exhaustion, as she and Delphine had been staying up late most every night, discussing the events of the past term. Georgine still hadn't recovered from the shock of all she'd learned recently, but some of the pieces of the Weasley/Icarus/Malfoy/dragon pox puzzle were beginning to fall into place.

Unfortunately, Delphine didn't know the identity of the prisoner Nicodème was keeping, and she hoped Georgine would be of some assistance in the matter. But their father would certainly not approve of their snooping; hence, the early hour.

"I'm coming," she said finally, following her sister out the door of her room and into the wide corridor. Compared to the dank, torchlit hallways at Hogwarts, the carpeted space felt scandalously wide and well-lit. The two girls slipped down the back staircase and through the kitchens, where the cook and her legions of house elves were already frantically preparing the morning meal. No one paid the sisters any notice, though; the Belleton children had long had the run of the entire chateau.

Built in the tenth-century as a stronghold against the depredations of the northern Norman barbarians, Chateau Belleton had been renovated countless times over the centuries, and now bore little resemblance to the prison and fortress it had once been. Except for its location, it could easily have been mistaken for one of the Renaissance-era Loire Valley chateaux.

It retained, however, a few vestiges of its original history, and one aspect of this was the chilly stone staircase that wound unevenly from a narrow passage off the kitchens to a series of small holding cells deep underground.

Georgine shivered, wishing the light from Delphine's wand provided more illumination. She and Frédéric had discovered this place many years ago, but she had never liked coming- the creepy cells had terrified her, and even her twin's cajoling hadn't convinced her that the dungeon would be a good place to play.

"She's at the end," Delphine whispered, leading her sister past the first cells, which were dark and unoccupied. The dirt-floored holes seemed to stare malevolently at the two girls like the empty eye sockets of a skull, and Georgine nervously quickened her steps.

"There," Delphine said, pointing at the last cell on the left. She directed her witchlight into the cell, so that Georgine could see the woman who was huddled there, shivering in the dampness.

Her cheeks were hollow from rapid weight loss, and her hair was dirty and scraggly, but Georgine noticed a family resemblance immediately; this was the last person she would ever have expected.

"Help me, please," the woman whispered in English, her voice raw and scratchy from disuse. She tried again in French. "Aidez-moi," she pleaded.

Georgine felt strangely moved to help her; momentarily forgetting her own discomfort, she squatted down to the woman's level, staring at her through the bars. "We brought you some food," she whispered, pushing it through. The woman snatched at it greedily and began to eat; her sleeves fell away from her arms, and Georgine saw several brilliantly red gashes on her wrists.

"What is that from?" she asked Delphine, horrified at the sight.

Delphine cocked an eyebrow. "Where do you think your supply of Blood Ink comes from?" she asked coldly.

Georgine paled, a nauseated feeling reasserting itself in her stomach. "I assumed that Voldemort-"

The woman in the cell looked up from her eating, recognition bright in her eyes.

"Not in front of her," Delphine hissed, taking Georgine's elbow and leading her back toward the stairs. "We don't know how much she knows. In any case," she continued bitterly, "if you thought Father never gets his hands dirty, you couldn't be more wrong." She grimaced, but refused to say anything further.

Georgine's thoughts were racing a mile a minute, and she had a million things she wanted to sort out, but one thing in particular was nagging at her. "That was just an ordinary cell, wasn't it? How is Father keeping her from being traced by magic?"

"All too easily," Delphine said heavily. "She's a Muggle."

***

Hermione rolled over on the rickety cot Mrs. Weasley had set up for her; the cot squeaked, but that wasn't what had awakened her. There was another sound in the room, something that sounded suspiciously like sniffling. She sat up, shielding her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in through the window. "Ginny?" she asked sleepily. "Is something the matter?"

Ginny was sitting on her bed, her shoulders slumped and shaking. A long, slender object was lying across her lap. "I'm sorry to wake you, Hermione," she whispered, voice thick from crying. "I didn't mean to."

Instantly awake, Hermione swung herself off the cot and scooted over next to Ginny on the bed, putting an arm around the younger girl's shoulders. "Don't worry," she said soothingly. "What happened?" A heavy pause. "Is it something to do with Malfoy?"

"Look what he gave me," Ginny said morosely, pushing the object toward Hermione. Now that she was more awake, she recognized it for what it was: a broom. And not just any broom, but one identical to what Malfoy himself had been carrying at the last Quidditch match.

"A Cirrus Nine-Ten?" Hermione asked cautiously. She didn't care much for brooms, but she'd heard Ron and Harry discuss them ad nauseum.

"Nine-Twelve," Ginny corrected tonelessly. "And look-" she pointed to the handle. Next to the platinum words Cirrus Nine-Twelve was a custom engraving: Ginny.

"Oh," Hermione said softly, her hazel eyes widening. "Look, there's a note-"

"I know," Ginny said, her red-rimmed eyes regarding the Malfoy family stationery somewhat edgily. "I don't think I can read it."

"Ginny, you must," Hermione said firmly. "What if he's trying to reconcile with you in some way?" She felt like a traitor for saying it; Harry wanted Ginny back so badly, and the past few days had made him so hopeful. But in spite of whatever had happened between them, it was now apparent that Ginny still preferred Malfoy, and wanted to be with him. Hermione decided she would just ask Ginny about it. "You really do like him, don't you?"

Ginny just nodded miserably.

"What happened?"

A shaky inhalation of breath. "I think it was maybe my fault, not his," Ginny confessed, gripping the unopened note from Draco in clammy hands. Hermione waited patiently, and finally, Ginny spilled the entire story to her.

"Oh," she said when Ginny was finished.

"But you would have jumped to the same conclusion I did, wouldn't you have, Hermione?" Ginny asked, a pleading note in her voice. It was clear she needed someone to tell her she hadn't been utterly foolish.

I would never date a person I thought would be capable of doing something like that to me, Hermione thought. But she couldn't tell Ginny that. "No," she replied instead. "Your reasoning was sound."

Ginny looked relieved; if Hermione thought she'd been logical, then she certainly had been. "So now what?" she asked. It was clear that she was searching for advice, but Hermione wasn't sure she was the best one to give it. The guilty thought of Harry was still nagging at her.

"You'd best open the note," she said finally, taking the path of neutrality.

Ginny nodded, slitting the envelope open with her fingernail. She pulled out the note, her eyes scanning Draco's scrawled words. Her mouth quirked into a smile, and then she laughed- it was a chilling sound, part genuine humor, part hysterics. She handed the letter to Hermione.

Gin:

There's another broomstick I'd rather have you ride, but this one will do for now.

Happy Christmas.

-D.N.M.

Hermione handed the note back to Ginny with an affronted expression on her face. "That's really quite disgusting," she sniffed disdainfully. "Does he always speak to you like that?"

Ginny's tears had faded, and she was starting to look more like her usual self. She raised an eyebrow. "Of course," she said. "You don't find it amusing?"

"No!" Hermione replied. "If Ron spoke to me like that, I'd Scourgify his mouth."

Ginny was no longer paying attention. "I should contact him," she mused aloud. Then she turned horrified eyes to Hermione. "What if he doesn't want me back?"

Then good riddance, Hermione thought. "Well, if he doesn't want you back then you'll know he's not good enough for you, Ginny," she replied pragmatically. And we all know he isn't, she added mentally.

Ginny nodded. "I suppose you're right," she said absently. She was still staring at the note. "I don't understand how all this happened. I was so sure that other note was from him."

"Do you still have it?" Hermione asked. She didn't really want to be falling into the trap of inadvertently helping Malfoy get Ginny back, but the puzzle of it was nagging at her.

"Yes," Ginny said. "I was planning on burning it, but I kept forgetting."

"Why am I not surprised," Hermione muttered in an undertone. Ignoring Ginny's glare, she continued, "May I see it, please?"

Ginny rummaged around in her trunk some more, finally pulling out a wrinkled skirt. A bit more fishing, and a crumpled piece of parchment appeared from the skirt's pocket. "Here," she said, thrusting it unceremoniously at Hermione.

Hermione smoothed the paper primly, propping it on her knees for a close examination. She compared it with Draco's most recent note, frowning. "Do you have any other notes from him?" she asked finally.

"Only about a trillion," Ginny replied. A bit more rummaging, and then Ginny dumped an entire folder full of notes in Malfoy's bold, arrogant cursive onto Hermione's lap.

"Two or three would have done," Hermione said wryly, sifting through the debris of tattered parchment. Ginny had clearly read and re-read some of them. There was something very disturbing about reading the love notes of another couple, especially when Malfoy was a part of said couple.

Not that any of the notes were particularly romantic. Most of them included meeting times or requests, and they were often peppered with pervy comments similar to the Christmas note. Hermione felt herself blushing, and tried to suppress her rising tide of nausea as she thought of Malfoy saying these things to Ginny. Some of them were clearly responses to Ginny's own comments, though, which almost made it worse. Hermione and Ginny had never really been friends, but Hermione still thought she had known the other girl better than this.

"Well?" Ginny demanded, clearly oblivious to how bothered Hermione was by the randy nature of her correspondence. "Have you noticed anything?"

"You could have figured this out on your own if you'd bothered, Ginny," she said finally, arranging the notes next to each other. "With as much as he wrote to you, I'm surprised you didn't notice."

Ginny looked down at the notes, and it hit her immediately. "The signature," she whispered. "And what he calls me."

All the notes were addressed to "Gin," and all of them were signed with "D.N.M." Except for one. The one that said:

Ginny:

I have urgent news. Meet me this evening at Moaning Myrtle's. Nine o'clock.

-Draco

"He didn't write it," Ginny murmured, incredulous. "But how, Hermione? It's still his handwriting, and the same top-end parchment he always uses."

Hermione waved her hand dismissively. "The expensive parchment means nothing; anyone with a few spare Sickles could buy some. But the handwriting is perturbing." Her brow furrowed the way it always did when she was puzzling out an answer. This one was really bothering her, because she was almost certain the solution was right in front of her. She knew, somehow, that she already knew the answer to this mystery. "Give me time to think, Ginny," she said finally. "I'll figure it out."

"Thank you, Hermione," Ginny said gratefully. "I appreciate your help." She chewed the edge of her lip for a moment. "Do you think I should owl him, or try the Floo?"

"You're going to go to Malfoy Manor?" Hermione demanded. It was one place she'd certainly never want to visit.

"No, no, I meant call by the Floo," Ginny said. "You know, stick my head in the fireplace?"

"Ah," Hermione replied, looking relieved. "Well, I still think you should just owl him."

"But what if he's mad and just tears up my letter without reading it?" Ginny asked worriedly.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. "It sounds like you've already made up your mind and don't need my advice, Ginny, so you might as well just go ahead and make the Floo call."

"Oh," Ginny said sheepishly. "Er, yes. I'll just go do that now, then."

Hermione just shook her head as Ginny disappeared out the door. "Ginny," she called, "it's six-thirty in the morning, are you sure you should wake him-?"

But Ginny was already out of earshot.

***

Thankful everyone in the house was still asleep, Ginny knelt on a cushion in front of the kitchen fireplace. She could have used her own room, but Hermione was there, and in any case, Molly Weasley kept the family's supply of Floo powder on the kitchen mantle.

Taking a handful of the ashy gray stuff, she tossed it into the flames. "Malfoy Manor, Draco's room," she said as she put her head into the fire. Her heart was beating wildly, and as Draco's bedroom spun into focus, she realized she had absolutely no idea what she wanted to say....

His room was even more elaborate than she'd expected. Hardwood floors covered in ornate silk rugs; gorgeous cherry armoire, desk, and chairs; heavy brocade curtains and bed hangings in rich, muted colors; brushed silver candlesticks, lamps, and door pulls; and fine silk sheets and duvet on the bed.

And in the bed- Draco. He'd planted himself in the middle of the bed, arms and legs going in four different directions, and he'd somehow managed to hog the entire thing in spite of its size.

Why am I not surprised, Ginny thought, a giggle escaping her lips.

Draco sat up with a start, his hair bed-mussed, his sleep-blurred eyes darting around the room. Finally, they settled on Ginny, who found that her mouth had gone dry. She opened it, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came out. A bunch of ash went in, however, and she started to cough.

"As if everything else weren't enough, now you have to ruin my sleep, too, Weasley?" Draco asked as he ran his fingers through his hair in a vain attempt to tame it.

Ginny tried to respond, but she couldn't- all she could do was cough, her eyes stinging.

Cursing under his breath, Draco swung his legs out of bed and stalked over to fireplace. "Your hand," he said imperiously. Ginny gave it to him, and Draco pulled, hard, on her arm. She experienced a wrenching sensation, more painful than the Portkey variety, before she stumbled into his room. She hadn't known one could be pulled through on a Floo call.

Draco immediately dropped her arm and walked over to a side table, pouring her a glass of water from a crystal decanter. He thrust it at her, and she took it, drinking greedily.

"Thank you," she finally managed, her voice scratchy from the ash.

"Why are you here?" he demanded, ignoring her thanks. "Nothing better to do this morning?"

"Draco, I-" Ginny fumbled for words for a moment. She really should have thought this through more carefully. And she should have checked the time, too. Ruefully, she glanced down at the shiny gold watch Cho had given her for Christmas. The hands read "six forty-three." "I got your gift," she finally said lamely.

"I'm surprised you bothered to Fetch it," Draco replied irritably, sitting back down on the edge of his bed. "With the things I do, who knows? It might have been something that would try to kill you."

Ginny realized with a start that Draco had somehow found out why she'd been angry with him. She could picture the rumor chain stretching from Bronwen to Laurana to Damian to Draco, and she wondered how warped the story had gotten in the process. She took a deep breath, prepared to eat a rather large helping of crow. "I'm sorry, Draco," she said contritely. "I should have asked you about it before I jumped to conclusions."

Draco just shrugged, swinging his feet back up into bed. "Do you feel better now?" he asked.

Ginny frowned. That had not been the response she'd been hoping for. "What?" she replied blankly.

"I said, do you feel better? Now that you've gotten your apology taken care of, that is."

"I- I don't understand." Ginny's stomach was starting to squirm nervously. Why hadn't he accepted her apology? In fact, why wasn't he trying to coax her into having a quick and dirty kissing session with him before she went home for breakfast? With the way he looked in those pajamas, he really wouldn't have had to do much coaxing at all....

"That's the way it is for you Gryffindors, isn't it?" he asked. "Get the apology out of the way, so that your conscience is clear- that way you feel better, even if the other person doesn't."

Ginny felt like she'd been slapped, and to her embarrassment, her eyes started to fill with tears. She blinked several times, willing them to disappear. "Draco, I said I was sorry, what more do you want from me?" she whispered.

"Oh, nothing, Weasley," he replied. "You've said what you came to say, so I assume things are back to the way they were six months ago; your brother and Potter hating me, and the both of us indifferent to each other. Status quo. Does that sound reasonable to you?" Before Ginny could respond, a malicious light glinted in Draco's eyes. "Which reminds me, did you enjoy having Potter for Christmas?"

Simply phrased as the query was, it could have been innocent enough, but Ginny knew him well enough to catch the implication immediately. "That's disgusting, and it's not fair, either, Draco," she said. "I didn't invite Harry, and you know it."

There was a gentle rap on Draco's door, and a house elf poked her head in. "Master Draco, Mistress Narcissa says- oh!" she exclaimed as she took in the tableau: Draco and Ginny, both in their pajamas, faces flushed with emotion. "So sorry, Master Draco, Pilly will be leaving now, Pilly is so very sorry to interrupt." The door was swiftly pulled shut.

For the second time that morning, Draco swore under his breath. "She'll tell Mother. You've got to go, Weasley. Now."

Ginny saw her opportunity. She didn't know why Draco was fighting her apology, but she wasn't leaving until he accepted it. "No," she said firmly, planting her slippered feet on the rug.

Draco's eyebrows shot up- he wasn't accustomed to being openly defied. "You don't understand, Weasley. Anything my mother knows, my father knows. And if he finds out you were in this house, in my room-"

"He'd be thrilled," Ginny interrupted.

Draco glared, and he started to open his mouth to respond, when the door swung open again. Narcissa Malfoy strode into the room, and Ginny just stared, awed.

She'd seen Mrs. Malfoy once before, but it had been two years ago, at the Quidditch World Cup, and Ginny had been much more interested in the game than in the Malfoy family. She'd noted that Mrs. Malfoy was pretty yet snobby-looking, but hadn't really paid much attention otherwise.

The dragon pox had made Narcissa even more beautiful. Color heightened her pale skin, and her tall form was almost dangerously slender. In her apricot-colored silk dressing robe, her flaxen hair piled atop her head, she looked like a rare orchid.

Narcissa's eyes were sparkling with mirth. "Pilly told me we had a pretty houseguest," she said lightly. "I hope you arrived this morning, and not last night, Miss Weasley?" she asked, glancing pointedly at her son's rumpled bedsheets.

Ginny blushed brightly, and Draco smirked when he noticed her pink cheeks. "Yes, just a little bit ago, Mrs. Malfoy," she stammered.

Narcissa nodded. "Well, that's nice, though we usually don't accept callers this early in the morning- I assume Draco's always willing to make an exception for you, though, hmm?" she said, turning to reflect her son's smirk at him. Nervous as she was, Ginny still had to hide a smile when she saw this- she had always assumed that Draco inherited his signature smirk from Lucius, but Narcissa was clearly a past master at it. "Would you like to stay for breakfast? I'm afraid it would be just Draco and myself- my husband is away on business."

Ginny was wondering what sort of business Lucius Malfoy could possibly be conducting over the Christmas holiday when Draco responded for her. "Ginny was just leaving, Mother. Her family's expecting her."

Though this was true, Ginny felt another stab of hurt. Would Draco never forgive her? Or was he just trying to make her suffer?

"Oh, I see," Narcissa replied. "Will I see you again on the thirty-first?" she asked Ginny.

Ginny glanced at Draco, but he avoided her gaze. "I don't know," she replied honestly.

"Well, I hope so," Narcissa continued. "Draco, breakfast will be on the table shortly, so please hurry. Good-bye, Ginny."

"Good-bye, Mrs. Malfoy." As soon as Narcissa had closed the door again, Ginny turned to Draco. "I suppose I should leave, then, shouldn't I," she said, offering him an opening.

He just gazed at her coldly. "I suppose you should." He slid out of bed, pulling a covered silver bowl down from his bookcase. "Here's the Floo powder." Ginny took a handful of it, her stomach sinking to her knees. This was it, then. He was sending her off, and nothing had changed between them. He was still angry.

Ginny turned her back to him, facing the fireplace. She was about to toss the Floo powder into the flames when Draco grabbed her wrist. "Ginny."

She twisted to look at him, her heart thumping madly. "Yes?"

"I'll see you at Nine and Three-Quarters on the sixth. Wear the scarf." Draco hesitated, as if he wanted to say or do something else, but then he pushed her hand toward the flames, forcing her to either release the Floo powder or be burned.

"The Burrow," she said, still staring at him over her shoulder as she stepped through. The corner of his mouth was curled up into a very slight, infuriating smile, and it was the last she saw of him before she swirled away into the in-between world of grates and hearths.

Coughing again, she tumbled out into the Weasley family kitchen. Everyone was awake, sitting around the table worriedly. No one was eating Molly's magnificent breakfast.

"Virginia Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed when her youngest spilled out of the fireplace. "We've be utterly worried sick, where have you been? Hermione said you were gone when she woke up, it's been just terrible-"

"I'm sorry, Mum," Ginny said, mouthing a silent "thank you" to Hermione. "I got an early owl from Bronwen, she was having a clothing emergency." At this, Ginny's brothers and Harry all snickered.

Mrs. Weasley frowned direfully. "Next time, you leave a note, young lady. Your clock hand was swinging wildly between 'Travelling' and 'Getting into Deep, Deep Trouble,' and I was an absolute wreck with worry."

Ginny just sighed. There was no use in apologizing again- Molly would stop fluttering and nagging only when she'd tired of talking. Or when Ginny's ear fell off, whichever came first. "What's for breakfast, Mum?" she interrupted cheerfully.

"Ham and eggs, but don't you dare change the subject, Ginny, I haven't finished with you just yet."

"Mmhmm," Ginny replied, filling her plate with food and squeezing in at the table between Hermione and Charlie.

"How did it go?" Hermione whispered, her voice mostly drowned out by Molly's continuing tirade.

Ginny grinned; the meaning of Draco's words was slowly starting to sink in. "Better than I expected, actually. Thank you for not telling them where I was."

Hermione made a rather unladylike snort of derision. "No one would have believed me, anyway," she muttered. "If you mother only knew, she'd add Malfoy Manor to that clock."

Ginny sniggered around her mouthful of eggs. She paused to swallow, then replied, "Let's hope she never figures it out."

"Ginny, have you heard a single thing I've said to you?" Molly shrilled.

"I'll bet she's all ears, Mum!" cried Fred. Before Ginny could duck, George sizzled an Extra-Ears Hex in her direction, and ears began popping up all over her head. Mrs. Weasley then lit into the twins instead, and with an exasperated smile Ginny tucked a stray lock of hair behind a temporary ear- one could always trust the twins to cause a diversion. She glanced at Ron, who gave her a covert wink- fortunately, he seemed to believe the story about Bronwen, though it was certainly due to the fact Hermione had corroborated Ginny's tale.

She returned the wink, feeling better than she had in days. She'd managed to incense her mother, smooth things out with Draco, and maintain good relations with Ron, all before breakfast. The Christmas break had taken a decided turn for the better.

Now all she had to do was think of a way to explain the new custom-engraved Cirrus to her brothers.

***