Rebel Rebel

REBEL REBEL

Chapter Two

"When you think of the long and gloomy history of man, you will find more hideous crimes have been committed in the name of obedience than have ever been committed in the name of rebellion."

+++

"Hm." Draco smirked to himself and moved away from the compartment door. In a flash of metallic light and a deafening clatter, he ran smack into the snack trolley. Juice and candy sailed everywhere as the portly little witch who'd been pushing the trolley tried to bring it under control.

"Watch it, you batty--" he looked down at his shirt and cringed, "--urgh." He grabbed napkins by the dozens to dab pumpkin juice from his white shirt.

The witch fumbled with her wand, muttering a few stray syllables of cleansing spells before Draco snatched it away from her and pointed it at himself. "Scourgify." The ocherous stain lifted away and he threw her wand back onto the cart.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Malfoy," she squealed, "I didn't see you--!"

"Apparently not," he grumbled, turning up his chin and straightening his collar.

The compartment door slid open. Hermione Granger, Mudblood prodigy of the 21^st century, stuck her head out into the aisle. "What's happening?"

"Nothing, Granger," he drawled. "I found myself thrown into the snack trolley due to incredible, yet unfelt turbulence." A blazing red head appeared over Hermione's. "Ah, Weasley." Testing--testing, one... two... "D'you happen to know what compartment I can find your sister in?"

To Draco's delight, Ron paled considerably. "What do you want with my sister, Malfoy?" he spat, eyes attenuated.

Draco fibbed, "Well, we had a good time at the Rotten Peg last night, and I was just curious as to where I can find her."

"She was at the Selkie Tail last night!" cried Ron, voice cracking into a different register.

"Sure. Anyway," he continued, shaking his head, "I'll just go look for her. I noticed the luggage compartment was empty, if you catch my drift." He winked suggestively, enjoying the effect: Ron's face faded into a completely uncharted albinic shade.

"If you even dare get within two metres of my little sister, I'll hit you with more hexes than what's humanly tolerable, Malfoy..."

"I'm sure you will," he said supportively. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

As he walked down the aisle, Ron and Hermione's eyes on his back, Draco figured, Yes, yes--this is certainly worth the trouble.

+++

"What was that all about?" Ron demanded of Harry and Hermione, plopping heavily into his seat. A few seconds had passed, at most, since Malfoy's departure. And for Ron, this was supreme resistance. "D'you think he was really at the Rotten Peg with Ginny last night? I mean... it wouldn't be the first time she's lied about where she was going. Does Malfoy fly with her kind of crowd? I should follow him! Ginny can't be too many cars away from us--and he was heading in the right direction! Harry, maybe you should keep watch on the luggage compartment. Hermione, do you want to try putting a tracing spell on Malfoy before Ginny can be corrupted further? 'Cause that'd be great."

They didn't move. Ron probably wasn't even aware of what he was saying, so their lack of active enterprise didn't seem to deter him one bit.

Ron took a deep breath and rambled on. "What if Malfoy's actually a closet vandal like the rest of them? What if he smirches, ensnares, and--and--deflowers my little sister, then takes her back to Hades to be his vampire queen? She might already be signed up for the notorious Slytherin saturnalias! What next?! Servitude! Servitude!" He looked around at them, staring, his mouth agape in that characteristically overwrought fashion that reeked of Ron Weasley. He grabbed Harry by the collar and shook him, bidding, "You've got to stop him!"

Once Ron had finished shaking him, Harry took a moment to push his glasses back up his nose before stating, "Ron, you've lost your mind." He relaxed his fists, dropping Harry's shirt collar, and sat back with eyes still wide with frenzy. "I've agreed to helping with your little scheme involving me, Ginny, and boxes of chocolates, okay? Just give me a moment to process whatever made me give into your crackbrain plan before I have to go running after Malfoy, screaming hexes and professing my eternal love for your little sister, would you?"

Harry massaged his temples, the full weight of what Ron was asking him to do seeming to hit him at last. "God, you're insane..." he whispered loudly.

"I'm glad you're already seeing what a distorted conspiracy this is," Hermione told Harry haughtily, letting Crookshanks crawl back into her lap. She stroked the cat beneath its chin and added, "You should back out before it gets serious."

"He can't!" Ron proclaimed deafeningly. "We've made a pact!"

Harry blinked and Hermione riposted, "No, you haven't."

"But... well... isn't our incredible comradeship concordat enough?"

A momentary silence fell over the compartment before Harry remarked, "Those were some monstrous words, Ron."

"Thanks." He smiled widely at him and revealed, "I've been reading Radolphus Pittiman."

"Ah." Harry nodded knowingly.

A junction passed and Hermione made a sudden noise of dissent, saying, "I still can't believe you two are going through with this."

Jutting out his lower lip, Ron questioned, "Are you going to tattle on us, Hermes?"

"Well..." she wrinkled her noise and went on, "no--but still! I'm not going to assist you even the slightest bit, either. And don't call me 'Hermes,' Ron, or not only will I tattle, but I'll post it around the school and remove the vanishing charms from 'Owl Ron Weasley for a good time!' in Myrtle's lavatory."

Ron turned a furious shade of crimson and said, "Fine, I get it."

Hermione turned her chin up and said, "I just believed you'd think more of your little sister than to try to change her."

Ron's eyebrows disappeared into his hair and a frown line appeared on his forehead. He laughed shortly and said, "Yeah--okay, Hermione."

He turned his face away from her and leaned forward to mutter things with Harry, resting his elbows on his knees. Harry bent his dark, unkempt head toward Ron to listen to his pixilated schemes. It all reminded Hermione of cartoons she would watch very early in the morning when she was young (before her mind was ready for a good read, of course). This entire contrivance was like a wacky system of ropes and pulleys with a great anvil hanging at the end. Chances were Ron was the one who would end up with the iron block on top of his head, and Hermione wasn't about to do a thing to stop it.

+++

The Welcoming Feast was such a bore.

Gilded, delectable, and supremely bewitched, yes. But a B-O-R-E, bore.

Draco practised passing a fork between the gaps of his fingers whilst he watched for brilliant, Filibuster-scarlet locks. He spotted the elder of the remaining Weasleys, his stick-shaped frame and frighteningly bright hair easily visible over all the other Hogwarts students, but nothing of Ginny.

He didn't bother to tune his ears in to the talk--all Draco registered was an ebullient hullabaloo that never seemed to cease. He noticed Pansy trying to speak with him, but he didn't bother to look at her. He stared forward, determinedly oblivious to her chatter.

Besides, the brooding look was a good one. Even the surly stare depicted in Sirius Black's 'wanted' posters breathed of hidden salacity. He was covered with grimy teeth, unkempt hair, and a waxy, sunken visage, yes, but the lasciviousness was still present. Sometimes Draco wished he'd been blessed with the swarthy, mysterious good looks of distant family rather than the angelic beaux yeux of the Malfoys.

He sighed aloud. Being pretty was such a curse.

Draco forced his mind off his own pulchritude and refocused his eyes, searching for Ginny Weasley.

Weasley, the elder, had been having conniption fits over change, "happy hay," and he and Potter's vomitive camaraderie. What it sounded like to Draco was that Potter had been pushed into trying to change Ginny back by re-igniting her old fancy for the Hero. Draco hadn't paid it much attention since the incident in his second year with a card-carrying cupid, but he had known about the girl's fling with Michael Corner (it was hard to miss two people with two hair colours of such intensity snogging). Potter had lost one of his innumerable admirers... yes, it was a Dark day in the history of wizardkind.

Did Weasley 1 really want Weasley 2 to begin batting her lashes at Potter again for some reason? ...He hadn't heard the entire story! Draco sensed a trapdoor, but he couldn't see it.

Change, he thought, what's changed? For the life of him, Draco couldn't spot the girl. What had she done--dyed her hair a darker shade of red, automatically rendering her the disapproval of the remainder of the fire-headed cretins? Was that why he couldn't find her?

No--there was something worse. In Weasley 1's eyes, anyway. He wouldn't need to import the Hero to convince her to dye her hair back.

Think, you zombie, think! Draco dropped the fork he'd been passing between his fingers and promptly picked it up, leaving it on the table this time. He rubbed the side of his face, eyes raking over every head in the Great Hall.

"Crabbe. Goyle," he barked.

Crabbe lifted his head from his plate, which had been considerably fogged up, and blinked stupidly. Goyle looked up from carving a line into the edge of the table with his butter knife and sniffed, grossly fortissimo.

The inquiry seemed pointless now, but he put it out there anyway. "Have either of you spotted Ginny Weasley?"

Crabbe looked around. "Uhm..."

"De-hur..." divulged Goyle.

"Oh, never mind," Draco sighed under his breath. "At ease...." They went back to their former activities immediately.

Draco looked at every individual in the hall, starting at the great, golden double doors and working inward. At long last, he spotted her.

Very long, vermilion hair reached down her back in haggard waves. It appeared that she had some sort of black speeder or chauffeur cap on which was what made her a little less prominent.

Dumbledore had stood to begin speaking, it appeared, and a hush fell over the hall. Ginny, who was on the other side of the Gryffindor table, began rushing to find a seat (as were a handful of people at each of the House tables). Draco trained his eyes on her, watching her progress.

"Welcome, welcome," boomed Dumbledore, spreading his arms. "Welcome to the start of another year at Hogwarts!"

Draco had just begun to wonder why Weasley 1 was worried about Ginny when the girl found an open chair and turned toward him as she pulled it out to sit down.

Ginny had donned black fishnets beneath her standard uniform pleated skirt, her blouse was several buttonholes away from completion, and her tie was loose and adorned with two or three small button pins. Bits of her ruby-red hair were striped black, he could now see, and her eye makeup was bold and dark, her lips blood red. She wore more earrings and cuffs than usual, and her neck was decorated with a plain black choker. Finally she'd grown to a standard Weasley height, and--was that a black brassiere visible beneath her shirt?

Draco gasped profusely, which was completely involuntarily, and pushed back from the table in shock. He was mind-blown... wholly unhinged by this new recalcitrant that was Ginny Weasley. "Merlin!" He knocked his chair over on his way to his feet.

Philander that?! The scariest new member of the Mutineers? Never! He was out--this wasn't worth it--no more sabotaging Potter's plans. Not this time. He'd get him in Care of Magical Creatures, or something--tease his Mudblood, whatever.

It was then that Draco realised that every eye in the Great Hall was on him, and that the silence that fell when the headmaster had begun speaking was still in tact. Even Dumbledore was staring at Draco (a faint smirk tugging at his lips).

Draco cleared his throat nervously, straightening up and trying to regain his composure. What could he say that would make this look more natural and be less embarrassing?

'That flower arrangement is atrocious!' 'There's a spot on my goblet!' 'These dishes are gilded? Sweet goddess--this school's going to the dogs!' 'Hogwarts? You mean I didn't board the train to Durmstrang? Damn it!' 'There he is! Merlin! ...Under the table!' 'My God, is that you under that eyeliner, Weasley?' Draco swallowed and looked around. 'Spider! SPIDER!'

No, no... he'd better just sit down.

He picked up his chair and sat, setting his gaze down at his dish until a little laughter had filtered through the hall and Dumbledore began speaking once more. Draco raised his eyes and looked at the Gryffindor table, and at Ginny Weasley. She was looking back at him, a small scowl on her face. Draco casually raised an eyebrow.

Rather than the violent blush and furious averting of his or her gaze that Draco usually received when doing this to a Weasley, Ginny continued to stare at him. The frown disappeared and she became relatively expressionless.

And still, she didn't break her steady regard. Draco waited, but it seemed that Ginny was determined to win this staring contest.

So--just in case this entire undertaking might be worth it--Draco reckoned he should start on the gallivanting now. He sighed internally and ignored Pansy's vigorous attempts to ask him what his shout had been about.

So he let his lips fall open and drew his eyebrows together in fake pensiveness. Ginny's frown reappeared, and in it Draco could find a little of the sunny, doleful-eyed Ginny Weasley he'd once become accustomed to seeing. The freckle-faced freak in her wasn't completely lost, after all.

She averted her gaze, the pull of her face still not vanishing, and looked at the headmaster.

Draco smirked. Makeup washes off, and fishnets tear. Could it really be that bad?

+++

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left the Great Hall promptly after they saw the first few Gryffindors take off. Their spots by the fireplace weren't to be stolen--they had superiority now, but it was always smart to take that extra precautionary step of getting to them first.

They watched the many students filter into the common room in their little cliques and factions--some breaking away to go to their dormitories, others deciding to take a seat in the common room before heading off to bed. The first years, led by prefect Sauda Capper, entered in a small swarm of wide eyes and wonder. And then, after many more clusters of students, came Ginny.

She was alone, and certainly one of the last people to find his or her way into the common room. Her hat was pulled low over her eyes, and she didn't look around as she started for the door that led to the girls' dormitories' staircase.

Ron kicked him in the shin. Harry glared sharply at the other boy, who jerked his head toward his sister with a significant look.

"What?" he demanded. "What am I supposed to do?"

"I dunno--just go for it, Harry."

Hermione buried her face in her hands as Harry stood and walked over to the younger Weasley, sighing in resignation and rubbing his hands together.

He slipped in front of her and pressed his back against the door she was aiming to go through. Ginny stopped and raised her chin, an unreadable look behind her heavily shadowed eyes. Finally she asked, "Do you need something?"

Harry smiled nervously, unsure of what to do now that Ginny was staring darkly at him rather than blushing and casting her gaze downward. "No," he said, putting a lot of effort into keeping his voice even. "Do you?"

"Not really," she stated. "Getting through that door would be a good start, though." Her mouth flickered into an unfelt smile, and she took a step forward as if Harry would move.

He didn't. Instead, he grinned apprehensively in her direction.

After a moment she stepped back and let her arms fall heavily to her sides. "Really, Harry. I'm tired. I want to go to bed."

He cleared his throat, feeling the intent gazes of Ron and Hermione trained on him without actually seeing them. "I can understand that." He cast around for something to say, without results.

She raised her eyebrows. "Which is exactly why you insist on standing between me and bed rest, I imagine?"

He shook a finger at her, laughing vapidly. "You've got me there." Harry stepped out of the way, feeling incredibly stupid. Ginny reached for the doorknob, twisted it, and pulled open the port. "If you do need anything, though," he added, "don't be afraid to ask."

She stared at him for a few moments, eyes narrowed and lips parted. "Er--" she blinked and concluded, "yeah."

Ginny left, closing the door in her wake, and Harry exhaled loudly. I'm an idiot.

He re-seated himself in his spot by the fire and Ron immediately inquired, "So?" He smiled. "How'd it go?"

Harry hit him with a glare that could easily cause necrosis, and Ron's face fell. "That bad?" He whistled lowly and added, "Really, mate, I'm counting on you."

"Don't worry," Harry told him, with little feeling. "Hogwarts wasn't founded in a day."

+++

Draco had spotted her at last. "Daphne!" he called, rising promptly from the sofa with as much dignity as he could muster. "Daphne!" He squirmed through clusters of Slytherins of all ages, managing to command, "Move!" when necessary.

Daphne heard him the third time he shouted for her, and stopped, turning to peer around at the various housemates that might have been the bearer of the voice. Draco broke harshly through a cluster of first-year girls who squealed in shocked fury. He turned and flashed his most winning smile through locks of stray hair, and the eleven-year-olds were quickly made taciturn and glassy-eyed.

Won't they be hurt when they see that I'm interested only in poverty-stricken, redheaded delinquents. He smirked.

"Daphne," he said, quieter this time, as he finally caught up with her.

Daphne Greengrass, a former follower of Pansy Parkinson, was a wild-haired girl who sported smart glasses and a lot of piercings. Sometime within the past two years she'd broken away from the pug face's clique and joined one made up mostly of Ravenclaws who, driven by their mad intelligence, had been compelled to rebel against Hogwarts standard.

Draco didn't disapprove of the Mutineers, really, but he made careful to eschew the faction and their chosen lifestyle. Until now, at least. He shuddered.

"Malfoy?" she said, a little dubiety hanging on her voice. "What do you want?" She knitted her brow and began, "This isn't about setting Parkinson up and getting her to shag Goyle again, is it? Because I told you it isn't feasible and I don't think it's possible for even the house-elves to quadruple the alcohol content in butterbeer and re-seal the bottles without making people suspicious."

"No, this isn't about the Parkinson scheme, even though I still think we could get it to work--"

"Not in a three millennia."

"Whatever," he bit, shutting his eyes, "It's not what I wanted to speak to you about, anyway."

"Well what is it, Malfoy?" she demanded, sounding vexed.

He tilted his chin and rounded his shoulders, examining her face and judging her ability to follow through with the task he wished to ask of her. She could do it. He wrapped his fingers around one of her upper arms and dragged her to the side, away from the buzz of the other students.

"You're friends with Ginny Weasley, right?" he said. "You and Tracey Davis?"

"Sure," confirmed Daphne, attenuating her eyes behind her wide-rimmed spectacles. "Why?"

Draco tapped his forefingers against his trousers, an agitated sort of twitch he seemed to acquire each time he searched for a lie. "You'll think I've gone mad--"

"In a mad world only the mad are sane," Daphne expressed serenely.

"Yes, yes, that's true." Draco cleared his throat and continued, "It's going against everything my father's ever taught me, but I'm strangely--I don't know--" he pretended to search for the right words, looking up at the ceiling of the dungeon common room and swaying slightly to and fro, "attracted to her."

Daphne goggled at him for a junction before a sonorous "HA!" burst from her, followed by a fit of hysterical laughter. She bent at the middle, holding her stomach, cackling like a maniac.

Draco glanced around to make sure no one was listening. There didn't appear to be anyone tuned in to he and Daphne's conversation, so for then the "secret" was safe.

Daphne calmed down, breathing heavily, a smile still playing about her eyes. "What happened to never associating with Muggles or Muggle-lovers?" she probed. "Where's the consistent and haughty Draco Malfoy I once knew, always dealing out a new scheme to make a Weasley red in the face?"

"Consistency is the last refuge of the unimaginative," he grumbled.

Daphne laughed again, not so loudly this time. She removed her glasses and polished the lenses on the edge of her blouse. "Attracted to Ginny Weasley," she murmured in a half-giggle. "Now that's rich."

"Is it?" The girl rolled her eyes as she placed her spectacles back on the bridge of her nose. "Look, what I'm asking is that you tell me everything I need to know about her." Daphne made a scoffing noise, but Draco cut her off. "What kind of music she listens to, what classes she takes, who she spends time with, whether sex toys appeal to her fancy. That sort of thing."

Daphne ogled at him as if he'd sprouted tentacles from his nostrils.

"I'll pay you," he insisted. "Really, I'm that desperate." 'Desperate'--he despised the word right down to its three syllables. "She wouldn't let me near her if I had nothing to offer."

"Isn't your angelic beaux yeux enough?" she buzzed, leering at him.

He wanted to stamp one of his feet on the floor and bark, 'Apparently not!' but that didn't seem to be the right way to gain points with Weasley's girlfriends. Instead, he sustained his hush. Daphne yawned, covering her mouth, then said, "I'm not going to spill the many secrets of getting to Ginny Weasley's heart. I'm cunning, Malfoy, not gullible."

"There's a very fine line between the two," imparted Draco.

"I don't care. And I don't want your money, Malfoy."

He frowned. "You're sure?" She nodded. "I'm quite rich, you know."

"I'm very aware that you're the heir to millions, Malfoy," she deadpanned. "But that--and here's the only scrap of information on Ginny Weasley I'm going to give you, so listen up--will not get you under every girl's skirt."

'You'd be surprised at what the poor will do for a Sickle or two.' Again, not the right thing to say. Thus, he resulted on, "Fine."

"Good night, Malfoy." She left.

"Thanks a lot, Daphne!" he replied angrily, long after she was out of earshot. He looked around for someone else. Tracey Davis. She, too, had abandoned Pansy Parkinson for a new crowd--but that didn't mean that she'd also left behind healthy Slytherin instinct.

Finally he saw her. Tracey had a coppery hair colour that was easy to spot yet hard to elucidate; it was perpetually shiny with what was either hair product or grease--he couldn't be certain. She wore a lot of mascara and went heavy on the dark lipstick, but other than that she wasn't completely unfavourable. Many unnecessary layers and boots that added several inches to her minimal height defined her attire; and thus, she might be a Slytherin girl still.

Draco wove through the many students crowding the common room--How many first years are there this fall, sixty?!--until he was standing before her. "Evening, Tracey."

She looked at him through squared eyes and responded, "Draco," inclining her head in acknowledgement.

"I have a--favour--to ask of you." She looked at him, the expression she wore being one of intrigue. "What do you know about Ginny Weasley?"

Tracey paused for a moment before reciprocating. "I know that she would never sleep with Goyle, whether you spiked her pumpkin juice or not, so you're out of luck there, Draco," she replied shortly. "Best stick with Pansy for that scheme, sorry." She looked away, as if the topic was closed.

"No--no!" He cringed. "This has nothing to do with Goyle!"

She switched her gaze back at him. "Go on," she said in low tones.

"I'm--attracted to her," he said in form of confession. It was the second time he'd let the words pass his lips that night, and both times it left a rancid taste in his mouth.

"Ah," she cut him off, sounding uninterested. "So that explains the outburst during Dumbledore's speech at the Welcoming Feast."

He blinked. "You saw that?"

"Who didn't?"

He waved a hand to silence her. "What I need from you is information." He paused here, waiting for some sort of reaction. He got nothing. "I need you to tell me everything I must know to get close to Ginny Weasley."

She was quiet for a few seconds before responding with surprising alacrity. "Okay." He stared at her--that was too easy. "What's in it for me, then?"

"Huh?"

"What's in it for me?" she repeated, drawing out every syllable.

"I could pay you," he said instantaneously.

"I've got money, Malfoy."

"Right." He thought for a moment. "How about a very willing Theodore Nott for a date to the Halloween Ball I've been hearing about?"

She seemed to cogitate her chances for a junction before replying, "Maybe." Tracey looked at Draco, expressionless. "I don't know her too well, yet," she told him, "but I've got a connection in Gryffindor that could do some clandestine dormitory searching for you."

"Davis, you're a life-saver."

"Mmm," she responded, looking away and slipping her thumbs through her belt loops, "don't lie about it. You just want a shag. I understand."

Draco scowled a little, then managed to smile. He supposed this entire to-do couldn't be completely unrewarding.

+++

"Can I join?"

Tracey had seen Ginny's scarlet hair bent over a stack of Chocolate Frog cards right as she'd entered the Great Hall after her final class. She was sitting at the Ravenclaw table with Scout Fawcett, Su Li, Daphne Greengrass, Kevin Entwhistle, and fellow redhead Susan Bones. Tracey had promptly flagged down Sauda Capper and exited into the entrance hall.

She'd confronted Sauda by the staircase leading down to the dungeons and proposed that she do a quick search of the Gryffindor sixth year girls' dormitory. "Catalogue her LPs," she told her, "make an inventory of her books, search for magazine cut-outs of famous wizards in her sock drawer, you know the drill."

Sauda had been reluctant at first, claiming she wasn't really up to raiding another Gryffindor's dormitory, but with a little convincing she caved. That was the simple stratagem with the girl nowadays; a little bargaining involving a couple difficult-to-concoct potions easily stolen from Snape had her sold. For Sauda, Snape's strongest Wit-Sharpening Potions and Confusing Concoctions did the trick. (There was a reason as to why she was the brightest fifth year at Hogwarts.)

"Don't forget ink and parchment!" Tracey called after her, smirking. Sauda had agreed to meet her at the end of the dungeon corridor at half past nine o'clock. She'd then made her way back to her own dormitory to gather up her various Famous Witches and Wizards Cards and, afterward, proceeded to re-enter the Great Hall.

She stood there now, in front of the group as the Fawcett girl gathered up the cards from the last deal and Ginny took the winnings. Fawcett shuffled the cards, looking up at Tracey, and replied, "Sure. The buy-in is one Merlin."

"I noticed," Tracey remarked after watching the others each throw a Merlin into the centre of the table. She seated herself and began searching through her own cards for a Merlin edition.

"Greengrass, you call the game," Fawcett said, shuffling the cards with speed and then using the curves of her palms to make bridge after bridge. "We've played them all, and I just don't feel like focusing so much to pick what we're playing next."

"Five card Jobberknoll," Daphne determined readily.

Ginny snickered outwardly, but Tracey wasn't sure why.

"No cap on calls or bets, but no insurance. The lowball does not win; however, if you fold and are bad beaten by a dead hand--kicker or not--it'll cost you not only what you put in the pot but five extra cards. Ten if you've got the nuts."

Bones whistled, long and low and the Entwhistle boy grumbled, "You just enjoy watching me lose, don't you?"

"That's it," Daphne said, not replying to Entwhistle but concluding her explanation of her manner of playing Jobberknoll poker. "You still want to be in on this, Tracey?"

"Certainly," she said, taking up her cards as they were dealt to her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Weasley, here," Li began as she swept her cards off the edge of the table and into her hand, "plays a mean game of poker." She smirked over at Ginny, who didn't appear to be listening. She was looking intently at her hand, running a fingertip across the top as if carefully deciding which cards to drop. "She's the bluffer of a lifetime."

The Bones girl laughed. "She could bluff you into folding on a paramount flush," she told Tracey, dropping two cards and drawing another pair. "Once I saw her trick a seventh year Ravenclaw during heads-up play into the thought that having all reds was a good hand." She cut Entwhistle a sideways look. "She won a good pot with a high card against his all pink hand of blanks."

"She's that good," Fawcett added, laughing and looking over at Entwhistle, who blushed.

"I thought we said what goes on in the train compartment stays in the train compartment," he muttered darkly.

"Please," Ginny murmured, reaching to pick up three fresh cards from the stud. "I have six older brothers. The only reason I taught myself how to play was so I'd be able to win back all the Chocolate Frog cards they'd nicked from my collection over the years." She smirked and pulled her hand in close to her chest to protect it, betting an Agrippa. Commenting on her convincing Entwhistle that having all reds was a good hand, she finished, "I learned that trick from the Twins."

Tracey couldn't resist. She inquired, "Have you ever played the game with money, Weasley?"

Ginny looked at her as Tracey raised her Agrippa with a Circe. A hint of that old, weak Ginny Weasley showed through in a brief loss of blackness in her once honey-brown eyes. "I'm poor as dirt," she rejoined, seeing the Circe and raising a Heignst of Woodcroft before anyone else had a chance to call Tracey's card. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Li fold, gently setting her cards face down on the table and sitting back in her chair. "Had I anything to bet in the first place, I'd be buying out the Malfoys by the time I was twenty."

Entwhistle threw another Heingst of Woodcroft into the pot and Fawcett put in some professional Quidditch player--Tracey didn't bother to read which one. Bones folded, shaking her head.

Ginny kept her eyes trained on Tracey, the blackness coming back into them. She fanned her cards in and out, never once checking to see if her hand was still protected.

"Now, ladies," Entwhistle said slowly (he'd been the first to fold), "don't get like this. It's all just for fun here."

Tracey and Ginny saw and raised each other's hands until Tracey was all in, her every card tossed into the mountain in the centre of the table. Ginny still had quite a stack of Famous Witches and Wizards Cards at her side--she was good at the game... but only a bluffer.

"You're all in, Davis," Ginny commented, nonchalant. "You're sure about this?"

Tracey laid down her cards in response. "Four of a kind," she claimed, pushing forward the four nines she'd successfully drawn. Ginny's face fell for a moment, and Tracey prepared to lean forward and slide the massive pile of Wizard Cards toward her. They weren't great winnings--the game was much more enjoyable with a Gringotts vault on the line--but freshly bashing a Weasley's dignity was always fun.

"We're not done," Ginny said. Tracey stopped and looked at her. Lying down one red card at a time she said, "Seven... eight... nine... ten... and Mr. Tar." She smiled in a smug manner that would fit the face of Draco Malfoy just right. "That's a straight," she reminded Tracey, poking at the tar at the top of her little pile. "Diamonds really are a girl's best friend."

The group around them laughed as Ginny tossed her cards to the next dealer, Bones, and scooped up her takings. "I'm not always bluffing."

"The Weasley luck is limited to poker, apparently."

She waited for a furious blush to shadow the other girl's freckles and a steely glare to be set again in her eyes, but Ginny simply smiled--through the grin was rather rigid. "I'd play another hand to prove that fact, but I'm afraid you have nothing left to bet."

Tracey had enough money to buy five editions of every Chocolate Frog card in the world, but the hobby didn't interest her terribly. Now, she didn't see much point in trying to collect again. She bit her tongue. Tracey sneered at Ginny, said, "Touché," then stood and walked away.

Ginny said something, but Tracey couldn't make out the words. The group around her burst into a fit of laughter, and as Tracey glanced over her shoulder she saw that the bevy of revolters had their eyes on her. Ginny leered in her direction and waved at Tracey with one biker glove-donned hand.

+++

Following another one of Hogwarts' regale-like dinners, Harry was bent over homework that, when stacked in one column, had grown to a height taller than himself. He'd found that the counsel of former seventh years, suggesting that he alternate wearing the strap of his book-bag between either shoulder so as not to develop a sideways stagger, was sapient.

Harry was looking over Potions homework, re-starting the first sentence of "Use of Veritaserum in Warlock Law and Punishment: Should It Be Required for All Wizengamot Examinations? Explain," for the fourteenth time. Hermione was unrolling a third roll of parchment, which Harry assumed was a continuation of an Arithmancy essay she'd started two rolls before. Ron was looking into a book entitled Warlock Lit Made Easy, a text he'd presumably bought when he found that Fred and George's assurances that it would be the "easiest class he'll ever take. Ever," were slain by the fact Hogwarts had hired a new Warlock Literature professor.

Ron dug through his bag, extracted a pentagonal package, and fiercely tore it open. He crammed the candy within it into his mouth and spluttered, "Merlin!"

Hermione looked up and Harry inquired, "What is it?"

"Merlin!" Ron dug his index finger into the opened candy box and lifted something from the bottom with his fingernail. Harry noticed it was a Chocolate Frog package just as he took the Famous Witches and Wizards Card out of it and showed him the ever-so-familiar portrait of Merlin on its face. "Bloody hell, no one keeps them anymore!" he ranted. "What's the purpose of still making them? Retire the card so the one flipping thousand I have lying around my bedroom at home are WORTH SOMETHING!"

Still holding the card between his fingers he thrust his arm into the air and loudly questioned, "Who wants a free Merlin?!"

No one answered, but the common room fell suddenly silent as all eyes turned to Ron. He didn't even show a hint of mantling with the embarrassment of being impelled suddenly into the spotlight. No one replied, and finally he said, "Here!" flinging the card like a Frisbee to a group of second years whom--after the noise of the common room had bubbled up again--all scrambled to pick it up.

"All this homework..." he panted, as if winded, "it's driven me mad!"

Harry wanted to remark, 'You're sure it was the homework?' but Hermione spoke first. "Ron, we've only been in school for a week," she stated levelly, looking back down at her parchment.

He rubbed his face wearily. "It's been a rough day," he murmured dejectedly. Harry looked at him to continue. "I woke up this morning, put a shirt on and a button fell off. I picked up my book-bag this afternoon and the strap came off." Harry contained the laughter that he could feel bubbling within the pit of his gut at this pathetic tale. Ron dropped his arms to the table and looked around at the both of them and croaked, "I'm afraid to use the loo."

A small laugh burst from him, and Hermione appeared to be torn between amusement and disgust. She propped up her Arithmancy text (which she appeared to be reading upside-down, but what did Harry know of it?), yet Harry could see her shoulders shaking slightly behind it. Harry smiled guiltily at Ron, who glared at him with all the drama only a Weasley could rally.

At that moment Ginny entered, wearing beat-up jeans and a tee artfully donned with several safety pins and the words "Superheated Jalapeño Peppers: 1996 World Tour" printed over the chest in pumpkin-orange.

Harry looked at Ron, feeling apprehension and despair. It had been a couple days since his last encounter with Ginny, and the embarrassment of that one was still fresh enough to make him blush. But the elder Weasley gave Harry a significant look and jerked his head in Ginny's direction.

Harry sighed and lifted himself from his chair, abandoning both his N.E.W.T.-level Potions homework and Hermione's chiding glance. As he closed in, Harry imagined ways to make this look less awkward and stalker-like. So he headed for the door into the boys' dormitories, calculating his time so he'd make it there just a moment before Ginny was through the door that lied abreast to it.

Harry turned the door-handle and looked over at the black and red peripheral blur that was Ginny. She was toting a brown briefcase that was donned with various stickers that were beginning to peel off and curl forward at the edges. "What d'you have there?" he asked, sounding interested and stepping away from the door he was pretending to be going through.

"Bill's old briefcase," she said slowly, looking down at it, "revamped from his days of being trained at Gringotts in London, pre-Egypt."

"By 'revamped' you mean covered in stickers, right?" he said, eyes skimming over one that read 'Mothers Love Mrs. Scower's Magical Mess Remover!'.

She smiled half-heartedly at him, eyes darker than he remembered. "That's right."

"So... what do you have in there?" inquired Harry, already feeling that this attempt at winning over a little piece of Ginny would turn out to be another failure.

"The liberal handsel of five hundred Galleons--previewing only a fraction of whats to be my quittance if I come through with the assassination of our Minister." She flashed a brilliant, toothy smile that Harry saw so rarely from her these days that the sudden radiance of it jettisoned him.

He grinned feebly and prompted, "Really, now."

Ginny sighed in a way that reminded him of the sound Dudley emitted when Harry told him that no, he would not like to wrestle him for the last piece of bacon; it was a noise of boredom and dashed expectation.

"Chocolate Frog cards, Harry," she said jadedly, shaking the briefcase a little. "I bet them for poker. I just won Tracey Davis' entire collection, I'll have you know."

This is conversation, he thought, this is good. "Tracey Davis?" he repeated. "The rich Slytherin girl with the big shoes and greasy hair?"

Ginny smirked. "The one and only." After a second she added, "But I think the greasiness is on account of overuse of Sleekeazy's Hair Serum."

"I'm sure the same goes for many greasy people."

"Snape too?" spurred Ginny. "Professor by day, slick-haired transvestite by night?"

Harry laughed easily at this. Ginny was different, much different, without her unrequited love hanging like a big, rose-tinted cloud around her head. She smiled a little at his laughter. "No," he said, "Sirius once told me he was a slimy kid, too." He'd seen it first hand in a Pensieve once, in fact, but he didn't add that part.

She lifted her shoulders nonchalantly. "They start 'em early."

Harry grimaced and told her, "I'll never look at Snape the same again."

A juncture of silence ensued, and many further words milled about in Harry's mind. Should he ask her to the Halloween Ball? Or should he ask whether she's going to the ball first, and then perhaps ask her on the Hogsmeade visit instead? Or both? Maybe a question about Quidditch, what she thought about overlooking tryouts--Katie's Chaser position was left open, and Ginny knew more about Quidditch than Harry did, he was sure of that. At least she was more knowledgeable where Chasing was concerned.

He could ask her to teach him how wizard poker was played, too. He'd scarcely played the Muggle versions, and he was sure there were at least twice as many orders that warlocks were familiar with.

She was bored with him, he could tell. This Ginny--she was different in more ways than just one or two--had a thirst for something more... something new. He'd seen her speaking with a fellow Gryffindor maybe once that year--she spent most of her time with the Ravenclaws, and a spare Slytherin or Hufflepuff. They had more to offer, it seemed, and the change of faces was something fresh and different.

So long as it didn't lead to hard feelings and position resignations once Quidditch season rolled around, Harry was fine with it. And yet, one couldn't go on without feeling betrayed when a House-member decides that their Housemates aren't valuable enough to consume their time anymore.

One of Ginny's eyebrows raised suspiciously. The other one tailed it shortly. She blinked, and too late Harry realised that he'd been watching her, thinking of things he should say without saying them. "Anyway," she said, that old tone of qualms and mistrust back in her voice, "I'm going, now."

Without another word, she opened the door, and after Harry got a glimpse of the name of one of Ginny's various music interests, subtitled by "Destination: Delawarination" which headed a list of tour dates and locations as she turned her back to him.

'Wait!' was on his lips, but the door shut, and she was gone.

+++

When Tracey stalked into the dank common room following dinner, the first thing she saw was Draco Malfoy stretched out over a leather sofa with a book in one hand. She was the first Slytherin to leave the Great Hall, so it was evident that Draco hadn't even been in it.

He looked up, several moments after she came in through the door, as if he'd only just noticed her standing there. He smiled a little--in that calculated, insincere manner that reminded her much of Lucius Malfoy but in a more appealing fashion--and sat up, marking the text with a tasselled bookmark.

"So?" he drawled.

"What?" responded Tracey, knitting her eyebrows.

"Ginny Weasley," he reminded her. She stared blankly at him, not because she'd forgotten, but because she'd hoped for a better greeting than this. "Information. Animalistic attraction."

Tracey threw up her fences before he was even within miles of penetrating them and scowled. "All I know is that she's a poker player that specialises in Jobberknoll."

"Judging by the Weasley fortune, I suppose she's no good?" Draco remarked, face unmarked by feeling other than a slight arc to either eyebrow.

"She and the--others--play with Chocolate Frog cards." Tracey rolled her eyes a little, shaking her head.

"That makes sense," he muttered. "She had no money in the first place. They'd be taking their payment from her flesh by now."

"Not exactly," she told him, not wishing to divulge much more information or even speak of Ginny Weasley in a positive manner again. But it was what Draco wanted, and Malfoys always get what they want. Draco shook his head without comprehension. "More likely the other way around. Word has it she's a great player."

"Bluffer or just lucky?" he buzzed, looking interested.

"Both."

Draco questioned, "Did you play a hand with her?" Tracey nodded, grinding her teeth a little. She wasn't just bitter over the loss of card-game dignity, but she didn't really like the redheaded bitch in the first place. "And?"

"She ended up with all of my Famous Witches and Wizards cards."

Draco laughed shortly, an almost truthful smile lighting his face momentarily. "How?"

She snapped, "I thought she was bluffing!"

Draco rubbed his forehead, teeth bared in the same grin, as he sat his book down on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Tracey saw now that it wasn't a novel but a small maxim entitled 'Where Did They Go? -A plenary guide to finding and figuring out the altered witch or wizard you thought you knew,' by Professor H. M. H. Cnutson.

"Have you spoken with your Gryffindor connection yet?" he demanded coolly, his gaze following hers, resting on the book, and then looking away without a trace of anxiety over her knowing more about him than he'd divulge.

"She'll be outside the common room in two hours," Tracey said briefly. She held up the two large vessels of corked potion that she'd just stolen from Snape's office. "Here's her payment, if you want to meet with her privately."

Draco seemed to consider this for a moment before agreeing, "All right." He held up his hands for Tracey to toss them in his direction, which she did--unafraid of the chance they might not be charmed to be unbreakable. Draco caught them both, anyway.

"Thanks, Davis," he said evenly.

It was little compensation, but she lifted one shoulder in a manner that said, 'No problem.' Then she walked across the common room and entered the narrow hallway lined by seven doors, each breaking off into one year of Slytherin girls' dormitories. Hers was the third down, and she entered the bedchamber silently, shutting the door behind her.

Trying to mulct the affections of Ginny Weasley? she thought again as she dug for her pyjamas. You've got to be kidding me.

+++

At approximately nine twenty-five that evening, Draco leisurely waltzed out of the common room; he doubted anyone noticed him leave. The Gryffindor was already there.

Sauda Capper was a fifth year prefect, he knew, and most likely the brightest witch in her year--much like a younger version of Granger. Capper, however, was taller, an easy fifty degrees prettier, and had impeccable taste. Twice more the perfectionist, Capper could be seen occasionally mingling with the most cunning of Slytherins that helped her on her way to greatness by providing potent beautification and Wit-Sharpening potions (all nicked from Snape's shelves, of course) in exchange for her helpful spells and old class assignments.

She did have a Gryffindor streak, however, that prompted her to achieve a supreme look of guilt on her features whenever she associated with the Slytherins, taking her potions and in return running their errands. If only Gryffindors had as much free access to Snape's storage, her burden would be lesser. But, naturally, if a Gryffindor were to be caught digging through Snape's stash of potions, he or she would be subjected to the severest of punishments still allowed by the school.

"Capper," he said, smiling widely at her. "You're my scout?"

She wrinkled her nose and rejoined, "You're the one who wanted information on Ginny Weasley?" He nodded, amused leer still in place. "Why?"

"Do you really need the details?" he inquired sweetly. "Or just the potions?" Draco held up the Wit-Sharpening Potion and the Confusing Concoction, and that signature Gryffindor look of guilt washed over her. "No wonder you're the smartest one in your year," he commented serenely, holding the vessels up to the torchlight and examining either concoction within. He picked at the edge of the label that read "Confusing Concoction" and added, "Pour a little of this into your classmates' pumpkin juice in the morning of your Charms exam and you're all set, eh?"

Capper didn't speak. "What've you got for me?" he buzzed, filling in her silence. She looked down to her hip and quickly opened her book-bag, withdrawing a great deal of parchment. "Dear gods, couldn't you have just used rolls?"

Capper ignored him. "I'll run through it with you," she said, handing him the first parchment sheet. It was adorned with two numbered lists made up of Capper's small, neat print. "These are the LPs she owns. The top list is all wizarding bands, albums separated into two columns--new and classic."

Draco read through them, recognising names such as New Salvaged Repute, the Bleached Streaks, Coitus Revolvers, and the Tumbling Boulders.

"It appears she puts on a tough face, but really tends to divide her music style between the true punk and a calmer rock 'n' roll."

"Okay," he said. "What's on the bottom?"

"Muggle albums." Draco skimmed through the names, none really ringing a bell. Bands such as the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Big Brother and the Holding Company, Scandal, the Clash, and Fleetwood Mac were among the list. "All the Muggle albums she seems to listen to were released preceding 1985."

"Okay..."

"At the bottom of the page is a list of concert ticket stubs I found, the most recent of which was the Condensers performance at the Selkie Tail the night before school began and the oldest being a Binaryboater ticket for the Rotten Peg from sometime around last Christmas."

Draco turned the parchment over and saw nothing was written on the other side. "All right," he said, letting the piece fall to the floor, "what else?"

Sauda handed him another piece of parchment, which he promptly began to read. "Those are the basic sizes of her clothing, the brands she wears, and a jewellery and makeup ratio. As you can see, bracelets and eye-makeup seem to rank high on either list, and she owns no expensive brands whatsoever."

"Didn't think she would," he dropped the parchment. "Hit me again."

She handed over the next sheet and said, "Posters. Sorted by the categories 'bands,' 'soloists,' 'Quidditch players,' and 'miscellaneous'. The ones marked by stars are signed."

Draco glanced over the 'miscellaneous' listing. "Why does she have a poster of the Champs Élysées?"

"According to her diary--" Sauda handed over two sheets of parchment with quips of various quotes and writings headed by dates, "she wants to live in France someday. Paris, specifically." She pointed out an entry from six months previous. "Either there or Seattle, Brisbane, or Naples."

"That's an interesting variety..."

"This is her class schedule..." Sauda said, handing over more parchment, "a brief Weasley family tree..." another piece, "a list of novels she's read or is planning to read..." another sheet, "a variety of songs she's written, complete with guitar chords... the various scents of her bath products and the conditions they've been made to treat... an undergarment colour list... a collection of all the food and beverage she appears to enjoy based on a look through the dormitory dustbin... and, finally, all magical trinkets. Oh," she extracted a little plastic bag from her tote, "and a magazine cut-out of the front man of Succubus that I found in her trunk."

Draco looked at the shaggy-haired, earringed singer, who wore sneakers and smirked in a manner torn between boyish and arrogant. He was crouched over a sidewalk for a pose, bouncing a little in place. Draco grimaced, hoping he needn't dye his hair, put holes through his ears, and wear those hideous shoes to get her attention. Such fashion sense was an atrocity.

"Is that it?" Draco asked, taking the cessation in Sauda's movement as a good sign.

"That's it."

Draco decided not to put up a fuss and handed her the potions promptly. "Thank-you, Capper, I'm forever in your debt." He smiled winningly at her while she tucked the vials away, and then he corrected himself. "--or, if not forever, for at least a couple weeks."

She didn't reply, and he picked up the parchment he'd tossed on the floor, gave the damp corridor brick the correct password, and re-entered the Slytherin common room.

+++

The following morning, Draco intercepted his issue of the Daily Prophet before the bird that was carrying it was able to swoop into the Great Hall with the rest of the post owls. He called for it from the doorway of the Owlery (taking one step onto the faeces-covered floor was restricted to proprietors of Gryffindor bravery--or stupidity), and it landed promptly on his forearm. He handed over a couple Knuts and took the paper, relieving the bird of its burden.

He stole two breakfast rolls from the end of the Slytherin table before returning to his dormitory to read the Prophet. Draco scanned ads and column headings, looking for a key that would let him enter the world of Ginny Weasley. He had the parchments Capper had filled out for him scattered about his mattress for hints as to what he should be looking for.

Finally, he found an advertisement for a concert that was taking place in Hogsmeade in three weeks' time. The Dandy Warthogs were making an appearance at the Dragon's Spittoon, apparently, and tickets were on sale 'NOW!'

Draco found the list of warlock records Ginny kept in her dormitory and scanned them. Indeed, she owned an album by the Dandy Warthogs and thought it of enough value to allow it to take up luggage space. He felt certain that this justified mailing in for a pair of tickets and undergoing a secret admirer expedition, even if it involved note passing and pop culture research.

He finished his breakfast and folded the paper. Draco found the parchments that documented the Weasley trivia that Sauda Capper saw fit to take notes on and began to read. There was bound to be something useful to him on those pages, and he hoped to find that something before making his way to class.

+++

"Hey!" Ron tore the Prophet from Hermione's grasp and shook out the page she'd just finished reading.

She snapped, "Ron!" but he paid her no attention and, rather, shook hair out of his eyes to eyeball the page more closely.

He folded the page he was holding in four and jabbed his index finger at an advertisement for a concert at the Dragon's Spittoon. "The Dandy Warthogs," he read aloud. Ron passed the page to Harry and inquired, "Is Ginny into them?"

"I don't know," he replied, peering down at the ad. It was unimpressive and almost completely stationary, but it was certainly bold enough to catch the reader's attention. To the response, he annexed, "Am I supposed to know that?"

For a junction, Ron didn't answer. Instead, he grinned meekly in Harry's direction with a look that was disobedient down to the last freckle. Then he affirmed, "Well, you should find out."

Harry sighed and peered down at the advertisement in his hands. The Dandy Warthogs at the Dragon's Spittoon [Hogsmeade] Friday, September 19^th--One Night Only! Tickets Available NOW!. Resigned, he decided that his second genuine taste of live wizarding music was to be two weeks from that very day.

Hermione stood and strode off toward the golden double-doors, palpably sickened by the boys' perennial nonsense and second-rate plots. Harry responded to Ron's insinuation with an artless, "Okay." He tore the ad from the paper and folded it, tucking it away in his back trouser pocket beneath his robes.

"You might want to get her chocolates."

"No chocolates," he replied flatly. "A variety of chocolates and a small-scale concert don't--" Harry linked and unlinked his fingers a few times successively, searching for the word 'mix' but, instead, finding, "crossbreed."

Ron blinked. "Right. Just don't let her smoke anything."

He dug his forefinger into the inner corner of his eye and yawned. Morning quizzes were denizens of Hell, assigned to earth's schools as one of Satan's punitive pleasures. He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand and responded, "I'll avoid the people who're under the impression that they're tailspinning Comet 260s."

Ron hit Harry on the arm and remarked, "I knew I could trust you, mate." He stood up and asked, "Now--are you ready for one intense session of Double Charms?"

Harry furrowed his brow and moved away from his seat. "I thought we had Herbology..."

"Whatever. Do we have a quiz in something?"

He enunciated, "Herbology."

"Right now?"

Harry shrugged, following Ron out of the Great Hall. They passed Malfoy in the entrance hall; he was hiding his own issue of the Daily Prophet inside his book-bag, leering just a little as he did so. It was enough to make Harry and Ron suspicious--they slowed their steps and watched him, recognising the leer and the motion as signs that the blackguard within the boy was back.

He let the bag fall shut again and lifted his chin, looking around. Malfoy smiled crookedly at Ron and Harry when he caught sight of them, wanton tort dripping from his expression. Harry didn't know about his comrade, but this look left something heavy in his stomach and something cold in his throat. The scab was up to something--again.

+++