Unbidden Desires

Chapter 10 - Strategem

Whirr. Click. Buzz. Whoosh.

Ginny sat in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room, staring at the Weasley Quidditch Practice Model with fascination. About the size of an opened textbook and slightly less than one foot tall, it displayed a miniature Quidditch pitch with little, flying holographic images of fourteen players and four balls moving about in play. It was almost like a real game, on a much smaller scale.

The invention had been a compilation of many Weasley hands and the sweat of many a red brow. Bill had started it years ago to aid his Gryffindor team but eventually had to put it aside. The project lay in the attic for years, half-finished and all but forgotten, although Arthur did tinker with it from time to time. Molly threatened to throw the piece of junk in the bin more than once, but her boys, including her husband, always managed to dissuade her.

Years later, the creative team of Fred and George took over the project. But it was far too benign for them, and they soon gave it up to pursue more interesting activities. Their younger brother was the one to finally complete it, with a few finishing touches added by their father. Ever-fascinated by muggle technology, Arthur was dying to use a bit of eclectricity on it. Sadly, he could find little use for it in the end, other than making it click and buzz. Yet it was Hermione who had actually made the device indispensable. Although she cared little for Quidditch, she cared deeply for Ron, and she wanted him to succeed more than anything.

Hermione and Harry had stayed at the Burrow the last two weeks of summer. During that time, she helped Ron charm the new device to be able to store information about various plays and to factor in the statistics of up to 28 different players. When Professor McGonagall first saw the amazing contraption in action a few days later, she was very impressed; Harry felt certain that it had single-handedly solidified her decision to choose Ron as team captain. She had been leaning toward him anyway, not because he was such a great player, but due to his brilliance as a strategist.

Ginny watched the miniatures play, completely mesmerized by their activity. Six tiny Chasers lobbed the Quaffle about, occasionally dropping it; then one of them would catch it deftly and carry it to the end of the field, where it would either go sailing through a hoop or be intercepted by a quick-thinking Keeper. All the while, little Bludgers were being knocked around, sometimes reaching their intended target, injuring or unseating a rider. The winged Snitch fluttered nervously, eluding both Seekers like a miniscule speck of precious gold. Yes, Ginny decided, this was much better than studying Quidditch moves on a one-dimensional piece of parchment. It made her feel proud of her brother (In spite of the fact that he is an annoying git!) and his clever girlfriend.

"Some invention, eh?" Harry interrupted, his broom slung over his shoulder. Then he asked her in a friendly tone, "So, Gin, ready to go down for lunch and then head out for practice?" She nodded that she was. Using her wand, she shut down the device and banished it to its storage location in Ron's trunk.

"Just let me grab my broom," she answered. They walked down to the Great Hall side by side, discussing everything from the week's lessons to what had she had missed at last night's practice. She felt comfortable talking with Harry these days. Once she had gotten over her infamous crush on him, she saw him more like a brother than anything else. As they sat down together at the Gryffindor table, they were talking about how glad they both were that neither of them was a prefect. "Too much work for too little glory," Ginny summarized.

"Exactly," he agreed. They ate in relative silence, completely oblivious of the jealous gray eyes that were on their backs the entire time. After finishing their meal, they rose together, picked up their brooms, and headed out to the pitch to start her make-up practice session. The sooner they got started, the more time they could spend gallivanting around Hogsmeade. Ginny for one was intrigued by the prospect of seeing the twins run an actual joke shop and behave -- well, if not respectably, then maybe somewhat responsibly. She decided that was far too much to hope for, but it promised to be an interesting afternoon regardless.

As they crossed the lawn in the crisp autumn air, Ginny and Harry discussed the plays she had seen on the Model this morning. "You know," she admitted grudgingly, "I'm really glad that Ron cares so much. Yes, I hated changing my plans for a practice session. But at least he holds me to the same standards as the other players. He really is a good captain."

Harry nodded, "Yeah, I think so. Angelina -- now don't get me wrong, I'm not a sexist or anything, but -- well, she is Fred's girlfriend. It's kind of hard to take her seriously, based on that association alone. And Wood, that guy bordered on obsessive. But then, I guess that's probably why he's a professional now," he added, shrugging his shoulders.

The pair arrived at the pitch and started to practice. As they zoomed through the chilly sky, their noses and cheeks turned red and their teeth chattered. Yet the freedom of flying soon made them forget any discomfort.

At first, Harry played the part of Keeper, doing his best to hover near all three hoops at once to block the Quaffle. Then he switched to Chaser, passing the Quaffle back and forth to her as they approached one end of the pitch then the other. Neither position was his specialty, but Ginny was grateful for the company; practicing flying patterns alone was a lousy way to spend an afternoon. He even attempted to play Beater for a while, but after nearly landing a Bludger in her face -- twice -- he put an abrupt halt to that.

All in all, the session turned out to be invigorating and quite fun. They laughed, joked, and took turns playing the roles of opposing team members. Harry did a spectacular imitation of Gregory Goyle, which Ginny likened to an ape on a broomstick. She cracked up, teasing, "Amazing! It's almost as if you've been in his skin!" They nearly fell off their brooms as they both laughed hysterically.

Next, Ginny did an imitation of Malfoy that was spot-on, and Harry was cackling so hard that practically flipped over. "That's perfect!" he said in between snorts. When he finally caught his breath, he asked, "When did you get to know the King Ferret so well?" She blushed and looked away, suggesting casually that they return to their plays so they could finish up and head on over to Hogsmeade.

After about an hour of practice, coupled with what Oliver Wood would have said was 'far too much frivolity', they landed in the Gryffindor stands. Ron had been sitting there with Hermione for the past twenty minutes, watching their practice runs in between her distracting kisses. "Good job, Ginny," he called out to her. Then he said, "Harry, thanks for helping her, mate. Nice to know you can switch caps, if needed."

"Not really," Harry laughed. "I like the cap I normally wear -- it fits me best." The others readily agreed. Anxious to see what new surprises Fred and George had in store, not to mention a bit uncomfortable at seeing Hermione stuck to the face of his other best friend, Harry cleared his throat and inquired, "Er, Ron? We've been out here for at least an hour now, and Ginny studied the Model this morning for God knows how long. Is she free to go?"

"Hang on," Ron replied. He mentally reviewed the plays they had practiced, moving his hands about to imitate the patterns in each one and closing his eyes in concentration. On opening them, he peered across the pitch and then leapt to his feet. He pointed an accusing finger and yelled angrily, "SPY!!"

The others turned to see what he was on about and caught a glimpse of pale hair just as it slipped behind the stands across the field. "It's that smarmy Malfoy!" Ron spat venomously. He growled as he gave chase, "Just wait till I get my hands on that scrawny neck of his! I'm going to punch his pointed little face into the next century!"

Taking long strides, Ron easily outstripped his friends. They were soon trailing in his wake, practically running just to keep up. Hermione begged him not to start anything. "He's not worth it, Ron. Please! Be reasonable! Just report him to Professor McGonagall -- she'll do the right thing!"

"To hell with the 'right thing', Hermione! That snot-nosed creep is up to no good, and I'm going to have his memory modified to be sure he doesn't remember any of our plays!"

His sister felt compelled to chime in, adding, "Oh, stop it, Ronald! Forget about him!" She reasoned that Draco wasn't spying on their Quidditch plays at all; if he was, he would have brought his knuckle-dragging friends along for backup. No, she thought, he's here to watch me with Harry. Laughing to herself, she determined, He's jealous! To tell the truth, she rather . . liked the idea of him watching her. A shiver ran through her, although she was no longer cold.

"Ron, the girls are right," Harry jumped in, grabbing him by the arm and panting to catch his breath. "Let it go. Trust me, you don't want to be banned from Quidditch. It totally sucks. And this year, it would be a real ban, not just something trumped up by Umbridge -- and it could actually be permanent."

The hot-tempered redhead stopped suddenly, as if this thought had never occurred to him. "Well . . I suppose you may have a valid point."

"Of course, he does." Hermione sighed, "Ron, I don't want you to lose your prefect's badge or your right to play Quidditch just because you punched some worthless ferret. And you know he'd make it worse than it really was. Please, please be sensible," she pleaded.

He took a few deep breaths, working hard to collect himself. "You are the best friends a guy ever had." Smiling as though he were forcing it, he pulled her to him, kissed her on the temple, and added, "My special girl -- where would I be without you?"

"In perpetual trouble, that's where," Hermione teased, poking him in the side. Ginny and Harry were both relieved that Ron had finally relaxed enough to let her have a calming influence on him. Not one hex had been thrown nor fist fight broken out between him and Malfoy, or any Slytherin, since school began this year. It was rather unsettling, like the calm before the storm, and Hermione fought down a nervous shudder. She added, "Now let's go see how the two fledgling proprietors are managing on their first day."

Once Harry and Ginny had stashed their broomsticks and freshened up a bit, the four of them started out on the 20-minute trek to Hogsmeade. As they walked, the sixth-years spoke of something unbelievable that had happened yesterday in Advanced Herbology. They said that Pansy Parkinson had actually volunteered, without any apparent malevolent intent, to assist Neville Longbottom with his charms. Everyone in their class had been shocked, but Ginny merely said, "I know."

Ron jeered rudely, "How could you possibly know? It only happened yesterday."

Looking at him as though he were really daft, she replied irritably, "Detention, remember? I was in the Potions classroom last night when Professors Lupin and Sprout came in, and I overheard her telling him. She also said Hermione and Pansy were both very bright and that Pansy has a good command of her skills." Returning to the present, Ginny asked curiously, "But it is strange -- what possibly could have caused Parkinson to change her opinion of Neville, after all this time of loathing him?"

Ron shrugged, "Oh, you know her. She probably just infiltrated the class on some damned spy mission for You-Know-Who in the first place. Most likely, she's going to hex him the first chance she gets." Harry nodded in agreement, but Hermione saw it differently.

"You don't think she maybe had an honest-to-goodness change of heart?" she proposed.

Harry snorted and tossed in his two knuts worth, "She'd have to have one before it could change, wouldn't she?"

Hermione tutted, "You are both so obtuse!" Ron and Harry gave her a look that indicated that they neither one knew what she meant, so she clarified, "Clueless! Thick! Dim-witted!"

"All right, we got the message," Ron interjected. "Well, if you're so damn smart -- and we all know you are, Miss 'Boo-Hoo-I-Only-Got-12-O.W.L.S.-and-I-Was-Hoping-For-100!' What's your opinion?"

Harry rolled his eyes at Ginny, who only smirked in reply. He was thinking, It's just like in first-year Charms class; are those two ever going to grow up? Well, at least they both finally admitted they liked each other.

Hermione explained her theory. On Friday morning at breakfast, as Ron and Harry talked over Quidditch strategies, Neville suddenly turned to Hermione and told her that Professor Sprout had asked him for a favor. She wanted him to give the Advanced Herbology class a first-hand account of what the Cruciatus Curse had done to his parents. Normally, he wouldn't have done it, but she is his favorite teacher, and she said she needed to stress to the class the importance of the work they're doing. Besides, she had promised Gryffindor 30 bonus points if he would. He whispered to Hermione that the 60 points he had earned since first arriving at Hogwarts had hurt a lot more than this would, so how could he refuse?

Once they were in class, Professor Sprout called on Neville. He was a bit shy at first, despite the relatively small class size. His confidence slowly grew, as he told them what it was like to grow up basically an orphan because of some overzealous Death Eater. He never really knew his parents; he lived with his grandmother, who treated him like a hapless squib. He could only see his mum and dad occasionally, and when he did, he was keenly aware of the fact that they didn't know who he was or why he was there. But they were always kind to him.

To make matters worse, as a tribute to his parents, Neville's grandmother insisted that he remember them, so she put a few of her own memories into a Pensieve for him to view. At first, it all sounded great, but when he looked in, he felt indescribable anguish. Before, he hadn't really known what he had lost -- he was too young when it had happened -- so he could bear it. But now, seeing them interact, knowing their mannerisms . . feeling what he had lost -- it was simply horrible. Much to Gran's chagrin, he never attempted a second viewing.

He finished by saying that he was proud of his parents. They fought for something they believed in: a world that would be a safe place to raise their son. It had cost them their sanity, and with it, their dream of being parents, their freedom -- their very lives. By the end of his heart-wrenching story, practically everyone in the room was choking back tears or weeping silently. Hermione chanced a glance at Pansy, and incredibly, it looked like she, too, might actually . . . cry.

Hermione was misty-eyed when she added, "As we were leaving class, I told Neville he'd done very well. Do you know what he said to me?" They all shook their heads. "He said he was wrong; it was far worse than mere physical pain."

Amazed that Neville would share his intensely private story with so many others, Ginny looked at Hermione in awe. How had we gotten on this subject? Oh yes. I remember, she recollected, Pansy Parkinson's mysterious reasons for helping Neville. Refocusing, Ginny shook her head in disbelief and said callously, "I still can't believe that Parkinson was actually 'moved'. It must be a ploy, since the bitch has no heart whatsoever."

Hermione began, "That was my first thought as well. But if you could have seen her--" then she stopped, suddenly shifting gears. "You should be very proud of your dad, Ginny. It's all his doing that this project ever got off the ground. It's about time his influence started expanding at work."

Ginny felt slightly stunned; judging by her expression, she had no clue what Hermione was talking about. Influence? she wondered. Since when does Dad have any influence? Not wanting to appear completely ignorant, she said nothing for the moment, but her face spoke volumes. Hermione instantly recognized her own blunder and worked to grasp for a new topic of conversation.

Yet Ron, who was never the most sensitive person under the best of circumstances, completely missed the message his sister was sending. He boasted cheerily, "Yeah, ever since he got that raise and his new title -- and wasn't it great that he got a bonus this summer?"

"What?!" Ginny stopped walking and gave Ron a look of disgust, her fists on her hips. She was never so insulted! "No, I didn't know that! What raise? I hope it was significant -- after all, he nearly died for those bastards last year! And a bonus, too--? That's . . wonderful," she said. But her tone didn't match her words.

Hermione picked up on her disappointment, saying apologetically, "I suppose your mum just forgot to tell you. Or maybe she didn't want to remind herself of the suffering he went through to get it."

Still, Ginny felt somewhat betrayed. "I know, I - I felt simply awful for Dad, and Merlin knows if anyone deserves it, my parents do . . but -- I just can't believe this!"

"What? That no one told you?" Harry asked, confused.

She hesitated. She was starting to feel a bit guilty for being so petty. After all, her dad could have died, and she knew she should be grateful that he had not. Then she explained, "Well, Dad rarely gets any extra money, and when he does, we kids usually get something a bit . . special. I asked Mum for one thing this year: if we could manage it, I wanted a decent broomstick, like the one Ron got last year when he started playing Quidditch for Gryffindor. Instead, I'm flying around the pitch on this ancient piece-of-crap broom that Charlie used when he was in school!"

Ron corrected her, "Actually, I got my new broomstick as a congratulatory gift for making prefect." Hermione elbowed him and gave him a look that shut him right up.

"Whatever," Ginny sighed despondently. "Anyway, I figured the Ministry must have overlooked Dad again, like they always do at bonus time, and well -- Mum said we couldn't afford it. It's just so unfair!" She paused then added softly, "Why couldn't they have done this one thing for me? Or at least told me the truth?"

Her brother put his hands on her shoulders gently and said, "I don't know, sis. I'm sorry - I - I really thought you knew."

Casting Ron's hands away, she huffed, "I'm always the last to know everything! Born last, always last!" Then she stomped away.

"Aww, come on, Ginny--" he pleaded, but she was already gone.

Harry and Hermione exchanged an awkward glance. Facing his friends, Ron sighed in frustration. He grumbled, "Last to know everything, eh? We just told her about what happened in Advanced Herbology, didn't we? We always include her! She's just so frigging -- emotional!"

Harry laughed mirthlessly, "Yeah, it's so un-Weasley-like. Can't imagine where she comes by that trait."

Ron, completely missing his jab, fired back, "How the hell should I know?"

Hermione ignored their sniping. She touched Ron's arm and said gently, "Don't worry. She'll come around." She paused briefly then said, "Look, it's natural that she'd be upset. I mean, you and I both knew about this; even Harry knew. And she didn't?" She reprimanded, "You really need to learn to communicate better with her. Less protective, big brother, more concerned, loving friend. All right?"

~~~

Not caring where the others went, Ginny walked around the village of Hogsmeade aimlessly, debating if she even wanted to see the twins today. She certainly didn't want to speak to Ron or his friends. They obviously aren't my friends; they never tell me anything! Even my own mum and dad lied to me -- they knew how badly I wanted that Nimbus 3000!

She decided to seek out Luna. With Ginny not knowing when her practice would be over, they had agreed just to keep a lookout for each other, and if they met, that would be fine. As she passed by an unfamiliar alley, someone reached out and surreptitiously touched her shoulder. She spun all the way around to see who it was.

Draco took her by the hand and pulled her into the alley. He pushed her back into a narrow opening that was not visible from the street. As he did so, he held one finger up in front of his lips and whispered, "Shhh..." in an attempt to keep her from screaming. Incredibly, she didn't.

"Malfoy," she sneered.

"Got it in one," Draco replied softly. "Tell me, are all Weasleys as sharp as you?" He moved to her side so that his back was toward the street, blocking her from view.

She hissed, "I know why you were at the Quidditch pitch today, and it had nothing to do with the game! Now quit stalking me!"

He said calmly, "I need to talk to you." Leaning nearer to her, he moved so his face was very close to hers. He inhaled her scent, and she edged away and swallowed nervously.

She told herself, He doesn't scare me! and said defiantly, "Don't you get it? I have nothing to say to you. I told you, the other night was just a -- mistake! It never should have happened."

"Oh, that," he said coolly, leaning back and crossing his arms in front of his chest, as if he could care less. He shrugged nonchalantly, "Perhaps. And what a lovely mistake it was. But that's not why I need to talk to you."

"No?" She asked snidely, "Then what else could a smarmy ferret such as yourself want?"

"Cute," he said with a nasty grin. "Ah, how to put this delicately," he pondered aloud, as if he were actually considering the most polite way to begin. After a few seconds, he blurted out, "Why the bloody hell does your heart believe you and I should get married someday, when we can barely stand each other? Aside from the obvious--" he paused to leer at her and lick his lips, "fringe benefits."

"You mean, you can actually think of some?" she retorted scathingly.

He suggested, "How about shagging one another's brains out on a daily basis? A guy could really get used to that."

Ginny was fuming. He always said the worst possible thing at the most inappropriate time. She damn well knew why her heart believed such an utterly ludicrous plan. But she couldn't possibly tell him; he'd only laugh at her. Instead, she responded with a threat.

"I should report you, you know!" she threatened.

"To whom?" Draco asked snootily.

"Ron, of course. He is a prefect in my house."

He snorted, "And what are you going to say to him?" He added in a girlish squeal, "Help me, big brother, I've slept with the evil, incredibly sexy Draco Malfoy, and even though I came all over the place, now he's being all mean to me! Waaahhh!"

She snapped back, "Anyway, what the hell are you doing here today? I thought you had a 2:00 Quidditch practice."

"Oh, you've taken to learning my schedule? How sweet, how -- endearing," he said in a mocking tone. He slipped his fingers into her hair, caressing the nape of her neck and making her skin tingle. But her glare said to back off, so he relented, saying, "No, actually, Captain Warrington forgot that this was a Hogsmeade Weekend. Our team has a third-year who had never been here, then there's Crabbe and Goyle, who are still enamored of this place -- though I can't fathom why." He paused momentarily then refocused. "Answer my question, then you can go."

She played stupid. "Which was . . ?"

He snarled in frustration, "Why?"

But instead of answering him, she kicked him in the shin to try and get away. He reached out to grab her and force her back against the wall, but her reflexes were quicker. Looking out into the street, she shouted, "Luna!"

Ginny hadn't really seen her friend, but she had read once in a muggle magazine of Hermione's that if someone was after you, it was a good idea to pretend you saw someone you knew to try and dissuade the person who was chasing you. He fell back as she slipped into the crowd. She felt instant relief and thought, Well, that was a lucky escape. I nearly felt like kissing him!

Frustrated, Draco slumped against the wall. A few minutes later, Blaise Zabini came into view on the crowded street. He was looking around, as if on his guard, when he caught a glimpse of Draco and called out to him. Walking toward the alley, he asked, "Malfoy, what are you doing here? Was practice cancelled?"

His friend nodded and sighed, "Yeah. Hey, want to go get a drink down at the Hogshead? I'm sick of this fucking crowd already." Blaise agreed, and they made their way toward the less-populated pub in Hogsmeade.

As they entered, Blaise asked for a private table and cast a silencing charm. "Why the charm?" Draco asked.

"I need to give you an update on -- you know," he said quietly.

"Really? Has Nott tried anything? Or Grant?"

"No, not yet," Blaise replied. "But I've got some good news. I was able to arrange to go home. I'm leaving later today."

"Good," said Draco, truly relieved. "If you're not here, they can't hurt you. Are there good wards up at your house to protect your family?"

"Of course. And my parents are thinking of transferring me to a new school. Dumbledore recommended a Fidelius Charm, but I don't think that's necessary."

Draco was stunned. "Wh-what? You're - you're leaving? As in, leaving the country? For how long?" Then as if it just struck him what Blaise had said, he added snidely, "And since when do you trust the Headmaster?"

Blaise sighed, "Since I realized I didn't have much choice. I was desperate, so I confided in Professor Snape. He spoke with Dumbledore, and the three of us met in secret to discuss everything. How to do this, when I should leave, all that."

Draco jumped to the most logical conclusion. "So you need me to be your Secret Keeper, is that it? I would, if you asked me; you know I would."

His friend smiled and shook his head. "I told you, I don't want to go that way. I really see no point. Once I'm out of Hogwarts, I should be safe." When the boy across the table didn't seem convinced, Blaise reassured him, "It'll be fine. No matter what, you needn't worry -- I'll be all right."

Draco sipped on his butterbeer then asked, "What about Marianne, then? Was she heartbroken?"

Blaise hedged for a moment. "I haven't actually . . . told her . . yet. But I will," he insisted.

"Are you insane? You've got to. This could be bad for her entire family. If Nott and Grant decide to go after you, then you could very well be endangering the Elliots. Since you profess to love their daughter, I thought you might want to protect them. After all, they're just muggles; they wouldn't know what to do."

The boys finished their drinks and left the pub. Weaving in and out of the throng of students, they made their way back through the town. With his mission to speak to Ginny a complete and utter failure, and with Blaise not feeling up to shopping around, they decided to return to the castle for a game of chess.

When they got back to the Slytherin Common Room, Blaise went to their dorm to grab the new chess set he had gotten last week for his birthday. Heading for his trunk, he noticed a neatly-wrapped package addressed to him lying on his bed. The words "From Grandmamma Zabini" were written clearly on the label. He was surprised she had thought to send him something; after all, the old bat was ancient and typically forgot her grandchildren's birthdays. He opened it cautiously, making sure it wasn't some sort of gag gift sent by one of his roommates -- or worse.

His breath caught as he eyed the fine gilt-edged frame of the beautiful mirror. The glass was oval-shaped and stood on a small pedestal. It appeared to have been designed to set on one's nightstand or bureau. There were words inscribed on the base, and he read them in the faint torchlight:

"I might reflect your own face or another one's instead;

Speak your lover's name to see who she last took to her bed."

The inscription bluntly assumed that only a wizard would have use for a Fidelity Mirror, but he didn't find this at all strange. The Zabinis were a staunchly traditional wizarding family; that meant the man was the final authority in his home and accountable to no one, least of all his wife. Regardless of how many sexual conquests he had, his wife was for him alone: her fidelity had to be guaranteed to ensure the purity of the family line.

Blaise did find it a bit surprising that Grandmamma had sent this particular gift. Was she saying something about his choice in girlfriends, or did she even know he had one? Maybe this was just as a preparation for when he got married.

For a moment, he thought about his research on enchanted mirrors. He had found little detail written about this kind, other than what purpose it served. It certainly looked authentic. As he surveyed the gift, he wrestled with his desire to use it. In the end, he couldn't resist the temptation; he yearned to know, to reassure himself of her faithfulness. He was risking an awful lot for her. Looking into the mirror, he whispered, "Marianne."

Moments later, with his hand wrapped around a small vial, Blaise Zabini lay dead on the floor. He was just 17.