The Fiercest Calm

The days dragged on, and the bustle of school caused Ginny to force the events of a few days earlier to the back of her mind. She hadn't completely forgotten, of course; she carefully tucked the snippet of conversation between Harry, Ron, and Hermione that she had caught away into a file in her mind.

Ginny had a sort of sick feeling of dread. She knew that Harry's final confrontation with Voldemort was drawing closer with each day--the Order said that Voldemort's forces weren't strong enough yet to attempt to breach Hogwarts, but Ginny knew that Harry wouldn't be at Hogwarts forever. Ginny thought about her parents, her brothers, her friends, and couldn't help but wonder which ones among them would become casualties in the war. There had been deaths, of course, since the war officially began in her fourth year, but so far she had been lucky enough that no one she loved had died--with the exception of Sirius. But she had barely known him. Most of her grief for him had been sympathetic grief in response to Harry or Remus, who had become a mentor to her. He was endlessly kind, and responded to Ginny's voracious attitude towards life with a pain-laced smile and a willingness to tutor her or help her with anything.

Ginny thought about the enormous circle of people she had surrounding her in her life--her mum, her dad, her six brothers, Harry, Hermione, Remus, Tonks, Moody. Ginny's emotions regarding all of them were an odd combination of fierce protectiveness and angry resentment. She loved all of them madly, with the knowledge that she would kill anyone who hurt any of them, if she could. And yet, she often wished that they would all just bugger off and leave her be. They all seemed inclined to leave her out of all of their plans, as though they didn't trust her to fend for herself in a fight, if one should arise, but at the same time, they rarely let her out of their sight. They hardly ever allowed her to go anywhere on her own. She was still just Ginny to them, the youngest Weasley, Arthur and Molly's only daughter. It made her scowl with resentment.

Accompanying these thoughts, lately, however, had been another one: even Malfoy saw that I'm not a little girl anymore. The thought was abrupt and disturbing. She couldn't shake the image of Malfoy looking at her appraisingly, almost eagerly, as though he had been bored for so long and finally had found a new diversion. Ever since they had had their confrontation near the Forbidden Forest, Ginny found herself being frequently reminded of the way that he had looked and spoken to her. His every movement and word had seemed like a challenge. What bothered her most, however, was that it seemed more and more like a challenge that she might like to accept. This situation wasn't helped any by the fact that he seemed to be everywhere she was, these days. He was always watching her.

In the Great Hall, she would feel a kind of sickly heat, and she knew before she looked that he would be sitting at the Slytherin table, placed smugly between Crabbe and Goyle, staring at her. He would watch her with an odd, predatory glitter in his eyes only until she caught him. Then he would smirk at her dismissively and look away, returning his attention to whatever his housemates were discussing. Usually he would snort derisively at something one of his fellow Slytherins said, and Ginny was positive that it was a jab at Harry or one of his friends, more likely than not. It seemed as though Malfoy was merely baiting her, but Ginny felt something more about it. He was baiting her, she knew that--but he was also intrigued by her. He wanted to feel that odd violent tension between them again, the same tension that she herself had felt and been thrilled by. It had felt almost like being kissed by a boy you really like, Ginny had decided, only more...angry. When she and Malfoy had stood there, nose to nose, engaging in a battle of wills, she had felt a strange, furious, primal thrill run through her body. Only instead of wanting to kiss him, she wanted to hex him with the worst spell she could think of. She wanted to rip his beautiful, expensive robes.

And so he would look at her and smirk, and she would narrow her eyes and scowl at him, and feel suddenly like leaping across their house tables and attacking him with every ounce of her strength. She knew that he felt something similar; his pale, pointed face seemed imperceptibly tightened or clenched while he gazed at her, and something behind his cold expression hinted that he wanted nothing more than to leave his icy fa_ade behind. The fact that he wanted to abandon his iciness for her gave Ginny an involuntary shudder that she did not like.

And then, there was the matter of Harry. He had taken to sitting next to her at meals and in the common room. He would often look at her darkly while frowning, but she knew that the frowning was not intended for her. Other times, he would smile slowly and hesitantly at her, and Ginny felt a rush of gentle warmth when he did so.

Without Ginny even really noticing, the holidays had crept up, and it was suddenly time for the castle to clear out. As usual, not many students were staying; just Harry of course, as well as Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and a handful of others. The Great Hall was nearly empty as the group of Gryffindors ate breakfast. Harry sat next to Ginny, and smiled briefly at her. "Morning, Gin," he greeted her.

She smiled back. "Morning." Their hands bumped as they both reached for bacon at the same time, and Ginny jumped slightly as a shock of electricity ran through her skin. She turned to Harry, and said accusingly, "You shocked me!" Upon seeing the flustered expression on Harry's face, however, Ginny was incapable of suppressing a giggle. Harry grinned at her, and a slight reddish tinge stained his cheeks. They simultaneously returned their attention to their food, both wearing small smiles. She felt so radiant, as though she had a wonderful secret that she had kept for so long, but would soon be able to share it with everyone. She hadn't liked Harry for so long, not in that way. After her first year...well, it's hard to continue having a schoolgirl crush on someone when they've witnessed the darkest part of you and killed it. Of course, Harry hadn't really killed the darkest part of Ginny; he had killed its reactant, what brought it to the surface. She couldn't have liked him anymore, not after that. There are just some things that a crush doesn't survive. Now, though, it seemed as though something else was building between them, something fragile and odd. Ginny could feel the thread of new emotions building between them, and smiled to herself at how right it felt. Her family would all be so pleased if she were to develop a real relationship with Harry...she shook her head to clear that thought. No point in turning into an idiot over it before anything's even happened, Ginny thought to herself, and besides, who cares what my family thinks? It's my life.

It felt a bit odd to be having these thoughts with Harry sitting right next to her, occasionally sneaking glances at her, so Ginny decided to turn her mind to something else. She chanced a look around the rest of the Great Hall to see which other students had stayed behind for the break. The Ravenclaw table was nearly empty, as was the Hufflepuffs. At the Slytherin table sat a couple of students whom Ginny recognized to be the children of recently convincted Death Eaters. She supposed that they had no real homes to return to these days, but she refused to feel sorry for them.

Harry apparently shared her thoughts. He had followed her line of vision, and said with a clenched jaw, "Serves them right." Ginny nodded her agreement. Harry continued, "Particularly Malfoy." Ginny started as she looked quickly up and down the Slytherin table for the subject of Harry's derision. Malfoy had stayed? She thought wildly for a moment that he had done it just to antagonize her, forgetting that his father had been put into Azkaban two years before and the Malfoy Manor had been thoroughly raided by Aurors. She reminded herself that he had stayed at Hogwarts the year before, as well. But last year had been different.

Ron and Hermione had decided to join Harry and Ginny's conversation. "I reckon the castle that slimy prat calls home isn't as cozy without all those Dark objects in it to brighten the place up," Ron said a bit smugly. But Ginny wasn't paying attention.

She finally found him, sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, away from the others in his house. He looked not as someone who's been excluded, but rather the one doing the excluding. He had a book in front of him, but his eyes didn't appear to be moving. As she watched him, a faint pink tinge rose in his alabaster cheeks. He lifted his head slightly, and their eyes met seamlessly--Ginny realized with a start that he'd been watching her watch him from underneath his lashes. His eyes narrowed and seared through her, and Ginny felt a sudden rushing in her ears. She could feel her face burning red, and she suddenly forgot all about talking to Harry, and she could concentrate on nothing but the fact that her heart was beating a million miles a minute and that she would not, could not, tear her gaze away first. He curled his lips in a sneer and mouthed something at her, but she couldn't tell what it was. Suddenly, she heard her name being called right beside her; with a jolt, she forced herself to turn her eyes back to the Gryffindors sitting beside her.

"Gin? You alright?" Ron looked at her concernedly, and then glanced over to where she'd been staring. His eyes narrowed. "What did Malfoy do? Did he do something? Did he look at you funny?"

"Oh, Ron, honestly," Hermione said with exasperation. "There's no need to attack Malfoy just because you think he looked at Ginny in a way you didn't like. Besides, Ginny's sensible enough to not let Malfoy bother her." The older girl smiled at Ginny. Ginny returned the smile haltingly.

Ron scowled. "I just don't like the way he is with her." He looked at his younger sister and softened his expression. "I don't want him trying anything with you to get back at us, Gin."

Ginny felt a sudden flush of irrational anger. She was tempted to tell her brother that she didn't appreciate his insinuation that she didn't carry enough importance on her own to rate Malfoy's attention, negative or otherwise. She sighed and decided that this wasn't the time for an argument. "Thanks for the concern, Ron, really. Mum'd be pleased to know you're still looking out for your baby sister." Ginny tried her best to keep the bitterness out of her voice. She didn't think she'd succeeded.

A slight awkward silence followed Ginny's statement. Ron coughed uncomfortably as Ginny stared fixedly ahead. In a moment, however, Hermione had involved the boys (somewhat reluctantly) in a conversation about classes and schoolwork, and Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. Ginny determinedly looked anywhere but at the Slytherin table. Suddenly, she felt a warm weight on the small of her back, and look over to see that Harry had gently laid his hand there. As all of the blood rushed violently to her face and she was positive she was blushing in every conceivable shade of red, he quickly moved his hand to her shoulder and caressed it briefly before the touch was ended. Ginny couldn't help but see that Ron had noticed, and was beaming like an idiot at the both of them. She rolled her eyes at him, but secretly, she was having a difficult time stopping herself from mirroring his expression.

* * *

The holidays wore on. Ginny hadn't bothered in a few days about the snippet of conversation she had picked up, although the curiosity still nagged in the back of her mind. She noticed, also, that Harry was looking more tired and anxious lately, and that Hermione was spending a great deal of time in the library--an unusual amount, even for her. Ron just seemed worried about Harry, and oddly furtive. These were all signs that Ginny recognized from her years of time spent around the Trio, and they could all only mean one thing: the three friends were, once again, involved in something horribly dangerous and important that they were determined on accomplishing themselves. Ginny couldn't help but think that after all of this time, and with the increasing importance of keeping the Order aware of every odd thing, it was terribly idiotic to know something important and keep it a secret.

However, Ginny wasn't allowed much time to think about it, as she was kept furiously busy during the holiday break. Hermione had written her up a study schedule, claiming that there was no time like the present to get ahead with school. Ginny scoffed, but secretly, she was thankful to the older girl. While a better-than-average student, studiousness did not come naturally to Ginny. Additionally, Harry insisted on regularly practicing Quidditch, even with the snow and with most of the team gone. Harry's dedication to Quidditch had taken on an almost manic quality. Ginny suspected that it had something to do with the fact that the sport was one of the few steady things in Harry's life; not even the weight of being the one destined to save the entire wizarding world could stop him from the simple pleasure that he got from racing around on his broom, pursuing the teasing glitter of the Snitch. Ginny couldn't blame him. After her brief stint as the replacement Seeker in her fourth year, Ginny had officially become addicted to playing the game before a crowd full of spectators, and had therefore been thrilled to have been named one of the new Chasers for the Gryffindor team.

Ginny began to walk towards the Quidditch pitch, and burrowed her face further into her thick woolen scarf. Fragile, intricate flakes settled lightly onto her cloak and the long, burnt russet waves of her hair. She allowed herself to think for a moment on the secret smiles she and Harry had shared recently, and the way that lately his hand had always seemed to find ways to brush against hers. She smiled into her scarf and felt a strange, heady feeling; she felt suddenly, inexplicably, as though life was perfect. She ignored the nagging thoughts in the back of her mind that told her to remember the haunted but determined expression that Harry's face always seemed to carry, that told her to remember that each year Voldemort's power grew, and that told her to remember that by the time the final battle was over, everyone that she loved might be dead. She might be dead.

Ginny firmly tucked those thoughts to the back of her mind, and for a moment, simply allowed herself to be a happy 16-year-old girl.

She did not notice the boy standing a short distance off from her, the boy whose own almost girlishly delicate features seemed perfectly at home with the snowflakes drifting around him. She did not notice the way that his fingers curled in sharply to form fists he wasn't even aware he was making as he watched her. She did not notice the way his eyes followed her movements which were lovely and confident and not quite graceful, or the way his breaths came shorter as he noticed the way the violent red of her hair bled beautifully into the background of the snow. If she had noticed him, in that moment, when his defenses were down and he had lost all control to a torrent of hunger that even he could not place, perhaps the next few minutes, and consequently the next few months, would have turned out much differently. As it was, she did not notice the way that he looked at her patched cloak and threadbare mittens, not with derisiveness, but instead with a sudden desire to go buy her an expensive new cloak, unicorn-hair mittens--anything that would make her allow him to touch that river of red. Just then, he absently realized that even if he bought her everything that the Malfoy fortune would allow him to buy her, she would still not allow him to touch her like that. Which was when he remembered that she was a Weasley, and he a Malfoy, and the Malfoy name still stood for something. His father wouldn't be in Azkaban forever, and besides, there was still the money. Money was always able to buy respect in the right circles, with the right people, and the Dark Lord was still growing stronger. It wouldn't be long before that strange, fierce girl and everything that she stood for would no longer have the option of resistance. Draco sneered at the thought.

It was at that moment that Ginny happened to glance over and see Draco, watching her and sneering, only a few yards away. She felt a rush of raw, hot anger run though her and stomped through the snow towards him, glaring daggers. "Are you following me, Malfoy?"

Draco simply looked at her expressionlessly. "What reason would I possibly have for following you, Weasel Queen? Could it be that I'm jealous of your poverty? Or perhaps I simply can't get enough of you and Potter groping each other. Tell me, Weasel," and now he smiled, showing his sharp, white teeth, "how does it feel to know that the boy you've been hopelessly smitten with for years is going to die at the hands of the Dark Lord? Perhaps you should make sure to shag him before he die--" Draco didn't get the chance to finish his statement, as Ginny punched him squarely in the nose. He stumbled back silently, his hands clutched to his face. As he pulled back his hands, Ginny could see that his ridiculously expensive black gloves were covered in something dark and wet. Blood was streaming out of his nose, creating brilliant red tracks over his flawless skin, which looked even paler than usual. He looked at her blankly, pain evident behind his sharp, slanted grey eyes, before slowly curving his lips into a maddening smirk. Ginny whispered through clenched teeth, "I hate you." His expression did not change, although his eyes flickered a little. She turned and took off at a run back towards the castle, completely forgetting that she had promised to meet Harry for some practice throws on the Quidditch pitch.

* * *

Ignoring the existence of Draco Malfoy was quite difficult when there weren't that many other people around the castle. However, Ginny gave it her best shot, and the rest of the holiday went by uneventfully. Christmas came, and Mrs. Weasley sent everyone the customary sweater and box of homemade fudge. To Ginny's great surprise, Harry handed her a wrapped box on Christmas while they were all sitting in the common room. He was looking stolidly at the floor. "Harry," Ginny said, "you didn't have to buy me a gift, you know. I didn't get one for you."

"I know," Harry mumbled. "I just saw this and it reminded me of you. Thought you should have it."

Overcome by curiosity, Ginny opened the box and gasped. Lying in the box on a thin silver chain hung a simple but beautiful pendant of a scarlet dragon. She lifted it out of the box and looked at it wonderingly. "Harry, it's lovely."

"The color reminded me of your hair." At this, Harry began to blush and his speech became more nervously incoherent. "And, well, your personality kind of reminds me of a dragon, sometimes," Harry admitted.

Ginny grinned and surprised Harry by grabbing him up in a tight hug. "Thank you, Harry," she said earnestly. The fact that he had been reminded of her by something like this, and had bought it for her, showed that he thought about her even when she wasn't around. She ignored the fluttering in her stomach and surprised even herself by kissing him lightly on the cheek. They pulled apart and looked at each other. Ginny had never before understood what a "meaningful glance" entailed, but she was now quite positive that she knew how a glance could be, well, meaningful. They blushed and looked down in unison, and Ginny found herself wondering how Harry was the only person in the world whom she still felt shy and awkward around. She wasn't sure if she hated him or herself more for that fact.

* * *

It was the day before the other students were going to return to Hogwarts, and Ginny felt like taking a walk. She grabbed her cloak and scarf and headed down the stairs to the common room, where she was surprised to see Harry sitting, alone, before the fireplace. He was staring broodingly into the flames, and Ginny wasn't sure if she ought to disrupt him or not. She was spared making that decision by Harry lifting his head and noticing her on the stairs. "Hullo, Gin," he said in a dispirited voice. Ginny felt immediately sorry for every time that she had thought Harry was being a self-righteous wanker. It was obvious that Harry had been sitting there contemplating all of the people he had lost and all those that he would lose yet before the end of the war. Or perhaps he had been thinking about the day when he would be forced to face Voldemort for the last time and fulfill the Prophecy. Either way, Ginny didn't think that sitting around horribly depressed was a suitable way to spend a spare afternoon, Boy Who Lived or no.

"Would you like to take a walk with me, Harry?"

He sighed. "Sure."

A few minutes later, Ginny and Harry were strolling around the Hogwarts grounds, surrounded in pure silence marred only by the crunching of their feet through the snow. Ginny sighed to herself. "Harry, I want you to know that you can talk to me, if there's anything on your mind."

If anything, Harry's frown merely deepened. He was quiet for a moment before responding. "Ginny, it's not that I don't appreciate what you're trying to do for me, but there are things that you don't understand. The thoughts that I have in my head...and what I have to deal with, well, they aren't the sort of things that you can make me feel better about just by getting me to bare my soul to you." His voice sounded a little harsh, and Ginny felt stung. Just as she was about to fire off a retort that if that's the way he felt, Harry James Potter, then he could just go off and whinge somewhere by himself, she felt with surprise that Harry had threaded his gloved fingers through hers. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I promise that someday I'll tell you everything you want to know. But just not right now." When Ginny saw the exhaustion and silent plea for understanding in his eyes, she immediately forgave him. She even managed to ignore that the startling green depths were somehow clouded, as though there were parts of him that no matter how hard she tried to break into, he would never let her see them. They began walking again in silence, only now with their fingers laced together. Ginny felt her heart beat a little faster at the knowledge that his hand was so warm next to hers, even through their gloves. She was wearing the necklace that he had gotten her for Christmas, and the cool texture of the dragon felt silky and strange lying between her breasts.

Ginny was surprised when Harry broke the silence next. "Gin, have you noticed anything odd around Hogwarts this year?"

She was startled, but the wheels in her mind began to whir. This must be what she had overheard them talking about, that day next to the forest. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, haven't you noticed people acting a bit funny, people you never thought were the type?"

Harry was confusing her now. She racked her brain for what he could possibly mean. "Harry..."

"Gin, what about you? Have you felt, well, not quite yourself, maybe, or just blacked out for a moment?"

"Harry, I don't understand. What are you getting at?" She knew that this was what they'd been discussing. She'd been dying for a clue, but now, she just felt more confused.

He sighed and reached up with the hand that wasn't holding Ginny's to rub his forehead. "Forget it. Maybe Hermione and Ron are right."

Before Ginny could ask him what he meant, she realized that they had reached the Quidditch pitch. "Ginny, I'm going to fly a bit before I go back up to the castle." He squeezed her hand and looked searchingly into her eyes. "I just need a few moments to myself." He then dropped her hand and took off walking towards the pitch. Ginny stared after his retreating form for a moment before she began walking back towards the castle. She couldn't shake her rising feelings of anger towards Harry. She felt even more excluded now, somehow, than she had before.