Ginny awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. Her pillow was damp. Yuck. Had she been drooling? Her eye felt rather crusty, she rubbed it. Her face was stiff and dry, as though she’d been crying. Had she?
And then it all came back. Herself, irrational and naïve. The fight. And Harry. Harry Fucking Potter. Blaming her. The insults flying, her own cutting him deep. And then the finality, the sureness that the relationship was over.
Ever since she’d been a young girl, Ginny had dreamed that someone would lift her up, place her higher than her six older brothers and love her. Her very own Prince Charming. He would care just about her and no one else. He would sympathize with her when she was feeling degraded or stand up for her when her brothers picked on her.
And then along came Harry Potter. Looking shy, but kind. He was famous. He was rich. He was a hero to the wizarding world. And Ginny was infatuated. In her eyes, he was her Prince Charming.
False hopes, Ginny had fed a fleeting fantasy until it expanded to insane proportions and then tried to implant it inside an unwilling host. All done in vain, dreams didn’t have much place in reality. In those short moments, Ginny realized that it wasn’t Harry she loved; it was her idealized vision.
Harry was forever tarnished in her eyes. The rose-colored glasses had been stripped. There was no future for them. Perhaps there never had been.
“Ginny?” whispered a timid voice. Ginny looked up to see Hermione gazing apprehensively at her.
“I suppose I made a bit of a fuss last night, didn’t I?” she asked softly.
Hermione gave a weak smile in response. “I’m sorry Ginny, I’d been trying to tell you that, at the moment, Harry’s more concentrated on his task than anything else. Not that I don’t think he loves you. But you might have to wait a long time for him.”
“Were you even there for the fight? I doubt that, and I for one am not going to wait,” Ginny replied.
“Well, actually,” she began slowly. “I didn’t really stick around.”
“What?” Ginny sat upright. “Where’d you go?”
“Out. To clear my head,” Hermione answered vaguely, though patches of color appeared on her cheeks as she spoke.
“May I ask who cleared your head for you?” Ginny attempted a mischievous grin.
“What? No! Ginny! It wasn’t anything like that!” Hermione replied hotly. “Nothing of that sort happened between us!”
“Us?!” Ginny perked up. “And who exactly would this ‘us’ be? I thought you said you weren’t interested in Ron.”
“Shh! Ginny, please keep your voice down!” Hermione hissed. “And it wasn’t Ron…it was…”
“Who?” Ginny demanded. Hermione seemed rather reluctant to share her information. “Hermione, you can tell me anything, I promise not to tease.”
“It’s not teasing I’m worried about,” Hermione grumbled. “I need you to swear you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”
Ginny rolled her eyes; Hermione was always so secretive about her crushes and romantic exploits. And there was usually nothing secretive about them either, Ginny recalled Hermione’s blatant attempt last year to make Ron jealous. How her buffoon of a brother thought she actually liked McLaggen was beyond her.
“I promise,” she assured her friend. Maybe it was Charlie? He’d been eyeing her. Ginny had always imagined Hermione would be her sister in law. For a while she’d even attempted to match her with Percy.
“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione let out in one, rushed breath, “needs my help.”
That certainly wasn’t what she was expecting. Her next question escaped in a bit of a shriek.
“What?!”
“Blaise, if everything works out as I hope, we’ll be having visitors today,” Draco informed his host, collapsing onto the nearest couch in the parlor.
“May I ask whom our company will be?” Blaise questioned dryly.
“Hermione Granger,” Draco raised a finger in the air, as though counting. “If she’s stupid, she’ll bring along Potter and Weasel.”
He now held up three fingers. Dropping one, he added, “If she’s smart she’ll bring along the Weaselette.”
“Wha-?” Blaise choked.
“It was the only logical thing!” Draco protested weakly from his couch. “Where else was I going to find someone who knew another someone who would probably have Wolfsbane handy?”
“So you seek out the one schoolmate whom you despise above all others and who, no doubt, despises you with equal ferocity and ask them to save you life?”
“She’ll help me,” Draco insisted. “I know Granger, and I know that she can’t resist the chance to do good.”
“Helping the Prince of Slytherin, what a noble deed indeed,” Blaise drawled sarcastically. “Where does Gin”Weasley, figure in?”
“Ah, thought that might catch your attention,” Draco replied smugly. “Granger’s staying at the Burrow, some big wedding or other.”
“The Burrow?”
“The sty the Weasleys live in,” Draco scoffed. “Can you believe they call it that? Couldn’t they at least have the decency to name it the ‘Hovel’ or ‘Dystopia’ or something? Actually, I kind of like the sound of Dystopia””
“Still don’t see where Weasley comes in,” Blaise interrupted.
“Granger isn’t going to walk into your house without back-up,” Draco supplied.
“How do two witches plan to stand up against a Death Eater trap?”
“Granger used a truth spell on me, she knows it’s only you and me here,” Draco conceded bitterly.
Inwardly, Blaise smirked to himself, very few people outwitted Draco Malfoy and it sounded as though Granger was one of them.
“So, what’s your plan of action?” Draco asked.
“Pardon?”
“Ginny Weasley. Here. Apparently she and Potter are no longer an item. How will you woo her?”
Blaise suspected Draco was trying to gain an upper hand. It would be just like him to try and make Blaise vulnerable so that he could feel more secure in Blaise’s house. He kept his face the same blank slate it normally was and feigned indifference.
“Draco, you are tragically behind the times,” he informed his guest. “I have little interest in her, nor do I think I ever will. You are making far too much out of one drunken comment.”
“Am I?” Draco raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Dear me, are your hands shaking?”
Fuck, Blaise cursed inwardly. He curled his hands into fists and fixed Draco with a cool glare.
“The day I ‘woo’ Weasley, as you put it, I’ll have to find you and Granger in a compromising position.”
“Kinky,” Draco grinned, unfazed.
“Go take a bath, you filthy half-breed,” Blaise snarled and stormed out of the room.
They’d been able to leave the Burrow without too much fuss. Even though it was late in the afternoon, most of the inhabitants of the Burrow were still resting or nursing painful hangovers or suffering muteness. (Fred and George had managed to obtain several kegs of Firewhiskey and Gregarious Gin.)
Ginny gave a low whistle of surprise when she and Hermione entered the main hall. The entire room was covered in fine black marble streaked with white. The fireplace opposite her and Hermione was large enough to roast a hippogriff. Tall, skinny windows were spaced evenly along the wall. Ginny noted a couple of silk pillows and a fine china plate of crumbs in one windowsill, the only sign of life inside the desolate hall.
Their rubber-soled trainers echoed loudly as they slapped across the cool marble.
“Hello?” Hermione called out tentatively. Her words bounced off the reflective walls and ceiling.
They had entered through two magnificent ebony wood doors with intricate carvings moving around the panels. She turned around and realized that while the fireplace stood at the end of the hall, it also served as the base to a large, wooden staircase. The staircase split into two separate sets of stairs, which wound around the fireplace.
“Er, should we go up?” she asked her bushy haired friend, indicating to the staircase.
“Maybe that would be best,” Hermione frowned.
Once they had ascended the staircase they found themselves in yet another empty hallway. This one was decorated with portraits, but all the subjects were asleep.
“Malfoy?” Hermione called out.
“Are you sure we’re at the right place?” Ginny asked nervously. “This place seems a bit dead to me.”
“Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to insult your host’s taste?” demanded a cool voice out of nowhere, causing both girls to jump. They turned in unison to see Blaise at the far end of the hallway in neatly kept grey robes. Ginny tugged self-consciously at her rumpled, faded, Muggle sweatshirt and patched jeans.
“Zabini,” she began coolly, but Hermione cut her off.
“I was just, er, looking for Draco,” Hermione interrupted nervously. “He, er, asked me to””
“Yes, yes, the Wolfsbane, I know,” Blaise flapped a hand in the air. “He’s busy at the moment, I’ll have a house-elf fetch him. In the meantime, would you like some tea?”
Both girls blinked stupidly for a few seconds. Hermione was the first to recover her tongue.
“Tea would be lovely,” Hermione answered. “Wouldn’t it, Gin?”
Was it just her or were Blaise’s eyes unerringly fixed up her own? Remembering the last time he’d looked so intense, Ginny blushed and nodded mutely. Blaise turned on his heel and indicated that they should follow. He led them down another marble hall and stopped at a pillar. Pressing against the black pillar with the palm of his hand, it rolled inward and revealed another hallway. This one was more friendly and inviting. Cheerful cherry wood finish adorned the walls and plush green carpet muffled their footsteps.
“The marble halls are for parties and show,” Blaise explained, filling up the silence that had fallen over them. “These quarters are more personal, for daily activites.”
Ginny nodded mutely behind him. Abruptly, Blaise stopped. Ginny had no time to react and walked right into him.
“Sorry,” she muttered embarrassed. Blaise merely gazed blankly at her before pushing on that section of wall. Ginny realized it was a door well camouflaged. It swung inward to reveal a parlor, with worn black leather sofas and some chipped end tables. A small fire crackled in the corner.
A low, dark red table with legs shaped like miniature hounds that snarled at one another held a tarnished silver tea set and a platter of biscuits. She and Hermione sat down on the sofa closest to the fire, facing the table. Blaise elected to sit in a chair opposite them. The awkward silence that had accompanied them in the hall followed them into the parlor as well.
“Tea?” Blaise inquired awkwardly, in an attempt the break the silence between them. Silently cursing Draco for taking so long in his bath he raised the silver teapot.
“Yes, please,” Granger spoke. Blaise filled a cup and handed it to her.
“I’ll have one too,” Ginny’s voice was faint. She looked unnaturally subdued, sitting there in the couch. Blaise was still shocked to see her there.
She’s here. She’s in my house, sitting on my couch, a tiny voice sang inside his head. Blaise did his best to ignore it. Praying his hands wouldn’t tremble he handed her a cup of tea before pouring one for himself.
After not having seen her for so long, Blaise’s eyes couldn’t get enough of her. She was wearing some worn Muggle clothes and looked so perfectly casual that Blaise felt over dressed in his pressed robes. She wouldn’t meet his gaze and Blaise found himself increasingly desirous to know what she was thinking. What did she think of his house? What did she think of him?
“My, if this isn’t a lively little party,” Draco entered by a door on the left, his face and hands were clean and the color of his robes was now discernible as faded black, but they were still threadbare. Blaise kicked himself for not thinking to get Draco new ones. It wasn’t all that surprising though, seeing as just a year ago, the idea of a Malfoy being in want was laughable.
“Tea?” Blaise raised a cup inquiringly.
“No,” Draco shook his head. He fixed his gaze on Granger, with an odd sort of fire in his eyes, “did you bring the potion, Granger?”
“Yes,” Granger nodded, pulling it out of her pocket. “Remus said it should be taken as soon as possible, but it’s boiling hot, so you probably shouldn’t drink it in the silver.”
“Or what? I might get an allergic reaction?” Draco smirked, eyes still on Granger. “Didn’t think you would be one to believe in superstitions. I assure you, I can touch silver and suffer no ill harm.”
To prove his point, Draco lifted a teaspoon and pretended to admire his reflection in it before kissing it.
“I was going to say,” Hermione interrupted Draco’s intercourse with the spoon, “that it would melt the silver.”
“ ‘Course you were,” Draco grinned.
“We have heat-resistant cups in the kitchen,” Blaise volunteered.
“Excellent,” Draco rejoined, “I’ll go fetch one of those. Granger, if you’d give me the potion.”
“Actually,” Granger blushed, “I spelled the bottle so that only I can open it.”
“Oh, right then, well, if you’ll excuse us, Zabini.”
Blaise nodded and Hermione and Draco walked out the door, leaving him and Ginny to continue entertaining the uncomfortable silence. Blaise racked his brain for suitable conversation topics, but all he could think of was school, or the war, neither of which seemed to be suitable subjects.
“He doesn’t look at all well,” Ginny broke the silence.
“Who?”
“Malfoy,” Ginny nodded her head to the door, still staring fixedly at the carpet. “When Hermione said he wasn’t looking his best I hadn’t thought that he’d look so…so sickly.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s what lycanthropy and running from everyone will do to you,” Blaise replied.
“Your parents are okay with him staying here?” Ginny asked curiously. “I mean, he’s in a spot of trouble with pretty much everyone.”
“My mother would object more to the lycanthropy, but she’s off in the Greek isles for the summer, so she hasn’t got much say,” Blaise responded as lightly as he could. He didn’t like discussing his mother, nor her lack of parenting.
“I’m sorry,” Ginny replied quietly.
Blaise looked up, surprised that she would understand. Most of his friends would roll their eyes if he ever dared complain about his mother, or tease him about being too soft, or add in their own horror stories with parents. Somehow, Ginny’s simple offer of sympathy was the best comfort, perhaps because it was the only sincere one.
“I’m used to it,” Blaise shrugged.
Silence lapsed over them again.
“Uh, Draco said something about a wedding?” he began tentatively.
“Oh yes, my brother Bill married Phlegm”Fleur Delacour,” Ginny answered a bit too quickly.
“Not the one from Beauxbatons and Triwizard?” Blaise inquired, curious, remembering the beautiful part-veela.
“One and the same,” Ginny replied dryly.
Blaise nodded thoughtfully. He had been to quite a few weddings. Though after a tantrum he threw at his mother’s fifth, she’d stopped inviting him.
“What’s taking them so long?” Ginny wondered aloud.
“I don’t know,” Blaise shrugged. “They’d better hurry, the full moon’s nearly risen.”
Startled, Ginny jumped to her feet. “I need to find Hermione.”
Surprised at the urgency of her tone. (Surely Draco would run to his room as soon as he could, Blaise reasoned.) He consented to help her find Granger.
“Hermione?” Ginny called out, feeling panic encroaching. “Hermione?”
How could she have been so careless? All that time she was drinking tea, making awkward small talk with Blaise and Hermione was lost in this vast place with a werewolf! They had reached the kitchens and Blaise had questioned the house-elves, but all they knew was that Hermione and Malfoy had entered and Malfoy had drunk the potion.
“Ginny?” a faint whisper spoke. “Ginny is that you?”
“Hermione!” Ginny bellowed. “Where are you?”
“I’m right here!” insisted the voice. “On the other side of the wall.”
“Hermione!” Ginny rushed to the wall joyfully. “How do I get you out of here?”
“I don’t know, the walls won’t let me out,” Hermione answered reproachfully. “Be careful about touching the wall that you don’t get sucked in, too.”
“Did you find her?” Blaise panted as he rounded the corner.
“Yes,” Ginny answered sharply. “She stuck behind this bloody wall and I can’t get her out.”
Blaise paled. “That’s Draco’s room.”
“What? She’s in there with a werewolf! Can’t you get her out?”
Blaise shook his head, still winded. “The room’s…enchanted…opens in the morning…”
“Well we can’t just leave her there!” Ginny shrieked.
“That seems to be our only option,” Blaise answered, patting his ears to make sure the ringing had stopped.
“I’m staying right here with her,” Ginny grumbled.
“Suit yourself, I’ll stay with you,” Blaise clapped his hands and a house-elf materialized.
Ginny rushed to the wall again.
“Hermione?” she called.
“Yes?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be here all night with you. The enchantment should wear off in the morning. If anything…well, I’ll be right here.”
She heard a muffled “thank you, Ginny” in reply. She turned to speak to Blaise again only to see that two cots and a small table laden with food had materialized while her back was turned.
“Figured we best not starve,” Blaise shrugged. Ginny nodded mutely, sat on a cot and grabbed a roll. She hadn’t eaten anything all day, except for the tea and was feeling famished.
They sat quietly apart, each staring at the wall behind which each had a friend in danger.
“You’re unnaturally silent,” Blasie stated, breaking the calm.
“Maybe just worried,” Ginny answered acidly. “My best friend locked up with a deadly beast impervious to most spells and all.”
“You were quiet before then,” Blaise noted.
“Sorry to deprived of my winning company,” Ginny replied stiffly. Why was she so hostile? She didn’t know. She felt like taking all her rage out on Blaise, the only thing in her immediate vicinity.
“Well, I am a bit isolated,” Blaise condoned. “All alone in this place.”
“Are you confessing to arranging this sleepover?” Ginny demanded suspiciously.
“You give me too much credit,” Blaise gave her an odd look. She knew he was wondering why she was so aggressive.
Give him a break, she thought to herself. He could have just kicked you out. Not fed you and waited with you.
“Your welcome,” she answered belatedly. They were once again submerged in silence. Finally Ginny broke the quiet, this time attempting a more tolerate tone.
“Not that this is really a sleepover. It’s more like a vigil. Hermione’s life is hanging in the balance and all we can do is sit here and hope.”
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly the cheerful note she’d been aiming for. Ginny winced inwardly at how bitter she sounded.
“Are you always this morbid?” Blaise asked dryly. Intuitively, she understood that he’d forgiven her harsh tones.
“Just anxious,” she answered apologetically. She felt cramped from crouching in one position for hours. She stretched her arms and immediately regretted doing so; the bruises from last night’s catfight were still tender.
“You alright?” Blaise queried, trying to mask his concern.
“Just a bit sore,” Ginny mumbled.
“What? Did you get in a fight?” he chuckled, finding the idea amusing. Ginny threw him a dark look.
“No, you didn’t!” Blaise exclaimed, shocked. “With whom? Not Potter? He did always seem the abusive type, mind you.”
“Harry?” the prospect was so ironic that Ginny chuckled. “Ha! As if I would let that selfish halfwit””
She stopped and bit her lip, remembering whom she was talking too. No need to confess her personal troubles with Zabini of all people.
“Trouble in paradise?” Blaise inquired with a quizzical cock of an eyebrow.
“I’m not telling you! Look, just because we have to spend the night together doesn’t mean we have to have a heart-to-heart!” Ginny snapped, angry at revealing so much personal information to him.
Blaise paused for a minute. He looked almost hurt, but then Ginny blinked and his face was a frozen mask again.
“I never said I wanted to,” he grumbled. And they resumed their silent vigil.
It was well past midnight now. Only a few short hours until dawn and Blaise had not slept a wink. Ginny, after much fretting and hand wringing had fallen into an uneasy slumber. Blaise’s ears were still perked, waiting for the sound he hoped he’d never hear. The sound of Granger being bitten by a werewolf. In his house.
Even though he’d done his best to keep a calm façade for Ginny, Blaise was extremely nervous. After only one Wolfsbane potion, Draco was still incredibly dangerous transformed. Not to mention contagious.
Not even the complicated runes that had absorbed him just the other day could distract him. He stared at the same crude marking for ages, not even trying to read it. If something happened…he would be responsible, he was harboring a werewolf after all. Malfoy was hardly responsible for his own actions when transformed.
Blaise had read diaries written by werewolves, they all described the pain of transformation, and the loss of control. One lycanthrope had described as “a bad dream. You wake up and there’s blood on your hands, on you. And you shiver and wonder what you ate, who you bit. And if anyone will ever find out. Coming out of a transformation can be even more hellish than transforming.”
Blaise dearly hoped that the potion had worked. He still didn’t understand how Granger had even fallen into such a precarious situation.
Blaise yawned; he couldn’t fall asleep, not now. Only a few more hours…but his eyelids were drooping and before long he was fast asleep.
“My, my, isn’t this sweet,” a sour voice drawled in a familiar way that caused Blaise’s eyes to snap open.
Draco Malfoy, de-transformed, obviously, stood opposite him. He looked haggard and exhausted, but was still trying to sport an obnoxious smirk as he gazed at Blaise and Ginny, sleeping three feet apart on separate cots.
“This isn’t…” Blaise interjected helplessly.
“We had a deal, I do believe,” Draco looked quite smug.
“Wha-?” his brain felt cloudy. When had he made a deal with Malfoy and what had he been drinking at that time?
“To quote verbatim, you said: ‘The day I ‘woo’ Weasley, I’ll have to find you and Granger in a compromising position.’ If you ask me, there’s nothing more compromising than being caught in a bedroom with a transformed werewolf,” Draco grinned slyly.