“Sh,” Hermione whispered anxiously. “Oh, do be careful, Ginny!”
“I’m more experienced at this than you,” Ginny hissed in reply as she gingerly wrapped her fingers around the doorknob.
They had stashed their brooms in the shed and tiptoed across the lawn to the Burrow. Breaths bated, they waited as Ginny pushed the door open just enough to all the girls room to sidle through. Unfortunately Ginny had only gotten one shoulder in before a cold voice cut through the stillness.
“Identify yourselves.”
Ginny’s heart sank as she heard her mother’s voice. She could only imagine the pain she must caused her mother when she’d realized she was missing. Her mum’s love could be smothering at times, though Ginny knew she meant well.
“Mum, look, I’m really sorry”” Ginny began.
“Identify yourselves,” Molly Weasley repeated.
“Ginevra Molly Weasly,” Ginny answered, shamefaced.
“What is your greatest fear?”
“Books,” Ginny squeaked, feeling foolish. “Or more accurately diaries.”
“Who else is there?”
“Hermione Jane Granger,” Hermione replied in an equally cowed-tone.
“What is your favorite book?”
“Pride and Prejudice,” Hermione snapped. “Only Harry or Ron would claim it was ‘Hogwarts, A History’.”
A soft chuckle emanated from the darkness and suddenly the kitchen was flooded with light.
“You’ll warm up to ‘Hogwarts, A History’ soon enough,” Ron informed Hermione. “After the millionth reading or so.”
“But that would be tomorrow,” Harry joined, laughing at apparent relief at their survival.
Ginny’s attention was focused elsewhere however as she was firmly clasped to her mother’s ample bosom. Her mother was scolding her for being out so late and not leaving a note, but Ginny could not decipher a single word that she said through her blubbering.
“Mum,” she protested when it became difficult to breathe.
“You had us so worried!” her mother fretted.
“Us?” Ginny queried. She realized that her mother had been inadvertently shielding her from the rest of the kitchen. Peering around her back she gazed at her audience. Crammed inside the small kitchen, between pots, pans, counters and sinks sat about half a dozen people. Harry, Ron, Mr. Weasley, Lupin, Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody all peered curiously at both her and Hermione.
“We had no idea where you’d gone,” Mr. Weasley cleared his throat.
“Considering the time, I felt it best to inform them of what I know,” Lupin clarified, giving Hermione a meaningful look.
Ginny’s heart sank. She knew Hermione had procured the Wolfsbane Potion from Lupin (who always carried spares), but she didn’t know how much information she’d imparted.
“Why he didn’t stop you before, I don’t know,” Moody growled, his normal eye glaring at Lupin. Lupin dropped his head and muttered something about believing their intended werewolf to be close by. “Now, let’s not beat about the bush, where did you go?”
Ginny shot an anxious glance at Hermione who returned it equally worried. She could only imagine how the Order would react to the information that Zabini was harboring Malfoy. They’d probably blow the place up and take the two boys prisoner within the hour.
When both girls hesitated from answering, Moody changed his approach.
“There are other ways to find out.”
“Alastor, there’s not need for threats,” Mr. Weasley broke in. He turned a steady eye to the girls. “You did give us a fright though. For the next week you’re under strict house arrest.”
Both girls nodded glumly. Ginny was relieved that they were no longer interrogated. The immediate danger gone, she suddenly felt very sleepy. Her head was heavy from so few hours of sleep. A sidelong glance at Hermione showed a similarly exhausted expression. Ginny stifled her own yawn, which her mother was quick to notice.
“Yes, I suppose you would be tired, considering that you had me up all night, worrying about you,” she clucked.
Ginny winced as she imagined what tiresome chore her mother would have in store for her before she could retreat to her bed. Apparently lack of sleep had made her mother generous for she next said:
“Never mind, you can run along to bed. I dare say you’ll have all week to help me out.”
Gratefully both girls turned and ascended the stairs to Ginny’s room. Now only fitting two cots instead of four, the girls happily collapsed onto their respective beds.
“Why didn’t you get any sleep?” Hermione yawned. “You were outside.”
“Yes, and worried sick about you,” Ginny answered. “What was it like?”
“Being stuck in a bedroom with someone who’s beastly no matter the phase of the moon? Delightful,” Hermione snorted. “At least he couldn’t talk in his new form.”
A day passed, and then another. Soon a whole week had flown by without incident. The indoor-ban was removed, but neither Ginny nor Hermione had felt terribly affected by it. To Ginny, it was almost a blessing as Harry spent as much of his time outdoors as possible.
Though the question often hung in the air, unspoken, no one had yet breached the subject of their disappearance and the unknown werewolf with them. Hermione and Ginny, through silent agreement, were not talking about it either.
With a little bit of luck, Ginny hoped that the whole affair would become a thing of the past.
Unfortunately, the winds of fate did not choose to blow in her favor.
“Quick! Clear the living room, we having company!” Ron burst through the door anxiously.
Hermione and Ginny both looked up from the couch where the former was reading and the latter was watching a magic picture. The magic pictures were the conglomerates of her father and twin brothers labor. Apparently Muggles used moving pictures as entertainment and the idea had so fascinated her father that he’d purchased a bunch of “wideo taps” and tried to play them. After getting repeatedly tangled in the film, Arthur Weasley had given up.
The twins, remembering their father’s earlier attempts, had taken the cassette boxes and enchanted them to tell the story instead. After several tries they’d managed to improve the packaging so that one could now open a book and watch two hours of film that only the holder of the book could hear.
“What’s the matter, Ron?” Hermione asked, concerned.
“Harry and me were out playing Quidditch,” Ron explained as he tried to push back the various piles of papers and books covering the floor. “When we happened upon two unusual characters…”
He trailed off and straightened at the sound of voices in the kitchen. “Harry’s here,” he informed them superfluously.
Both Ginny and Hermione craned their necks to see whom all the excitement was about. Whatever they had been expecting, this was not it. As Harry frog marched two young men into the living room, wand raised, Ginny felt her jaw drop. She and Hermione exchanged hurried glances, but it was clear what each was thinking.
Oh, shit
He was going to kill him, Blaise decided. He did not consider himself a particularly violent person, but when frustrated he had a tendency to run a hit list through his head. Currently the number one spot was harboring Draco Malfoy. Number two would probably the idiot who had made Wolfsbane potion so complicated and number three would be himself for agreeing to help Malfoy out.
And if he were ever able to get around to number four, it would be that annoying, whinging witch who was singing on the radio in the kitchen.
It had all started out simply enough. Despite Malfoy’s early morning cockiness, both boys had silently resolved to ignore the debacle at the last full moon. To release any frustration, tension or stress between them, they’d had a fierce game of Exploding Snap. It was only after Malfoy’s hair had caught on fire when Blaise had thrown his cards at him that the boys had realized they were being ridiculous.
Malfoy had repeatedly attempted to brew Wolfsbane, but only to be met with colossal failure. After laughing at him, Blaise had rolled up his own sleeves and tried to help him. One week later and they had made very little progress.
When the twelfth batch had exploded, Malfoy had thrown up his hands in disgust and declared that the only way they could make it right would be if they had some help from Snape. Or Granger.
Having no desire to track down Snape, they’d settled to seeking out Granger again.
Now, in the middle of a stingy pig’s den, doing his best to avoid Ginny’s eyes, Blaise was cursing Draco for even mentioning Granger’s name.
Why was he here? Was he following her? Was this all some sort of sick, twisted, Slytherin plan for revenge? She didn’t what the revenge would be for, but he was a Slytherin. He’d probably figured she’d affronted him in a multitude of ways.
Fortunately Hermione had always been quick on her feet because Ginny still had her jaw hanging down in her lap. Jumping up from the sofa, Hermione clapped her hands together and adopted an authoritative tone of voice.
“Right,” she said. “That was very nice of you to escort these two guests. Now they’re here and we’ll just leave.”
With that, she grabbed both Malfoy and Zabini by the arms and began guiding them out of the living room. Belatedly, Ginny jumped up to help her out. For a wild moment she thought she might succeed before Harry’s voice called them back.
“Hermione? Where are you going?”
“Uh…” Hermione was at loss for words.
“Hermione, why are you holding Malfoy’s arm?” Ron demanded suspiciously.
“Jealous, Weasley?” Malfoy sneered. “How about you guess where your little girlfriend was last””
“Malfoy, why are you here?” Hermione interrupted desperately.
“Well…”Malfoy paused, as though considering the best way to word his request, “the truth is Zabini is bollocks at potions.”
Ginny could see Blaise visibly tense and was surprised he didn’t lunge at Malfoy just then. To her surprise, he spoke in a relatively calm voice.
“Actually, after the fifth failed attempt, Draco enlisted my help.”
Malfoy chewed on his tongue, but did not respond. It was then that Harry noticed Ginny had silently joined the motley crew. He changed his line of attack.
“Ginny, why are you a part of this?”
“What, Harry, did it not occur to you that I might have my own affairs do deal with?” she shot back sweetly.
Harry reddened and muttered incoherently about being misinterpreted. Belatedly, more Order members rushed into the room. Ginny realized despondently that there was no way they could keep their secret any longer. Taking a deep breath, she plunged.
“I guess I’m ready to answer that question you’ve been dying to ask all week.”
How sweet, Blaise thought to himself dryly. They’re so protective of Ginny.
The Weasleys’ affection seemed to be expressed primarily through shouting. Ron Weasley had actually been removed from the room after Malfoy had goaded him into attack. Shame, Blaise rather wished Weasley had killed Malfoy, then he could check him off his list.
The complaints were all rather similar.
“So you went to a Dark Wizard’s house…”
“…a werewolf…”
“Did you forget all the times Malfoy’s tried to hex us?”
“CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”
“…the full moon!?”
“…probably laden with booby traps, I mean seven dead husbands so far…”
“…Death Eater!”
Hermione and Ginny stood against that barrage, trying to reason with the angry mob. Puzzled, Blaise realized that some of the family members didn’t even look remotely related. He even saw two of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers present.
It all felt like some really weird dream, the kind you get when you fall asleep in the middle of a book, and people you’d completely forgotten about burst forward and mix with other oddballs. Like Professor Lupin and a young woman with pink hair. Blaise shook his head and rubbed his temple. Maybe if he pinched himself it would all go away. This had to be a dream, why else would he agree to follow Malfoy to the Burrow?
“Congrats, Ginny, I’ve never seen Mum and Dad so angry. Not even when George and I knocked Percy unconscious with his cauldron bottom collection,” Fred interrupted his sister’s meditation.
“Yeah, five hours it took for them to run out of steam. And only because Mum remembered it was time for dinner,” George added. He and Fred had dropped by as they always did once a week for a family dinner. Fortunately they’d floo-ed in as the scolding was unwinding.
“Don’t remind me,” Ginny groaned. Her head literally hurt from the mental pounding it had received.
The interrogation was still in progress, however. Lupin, her father and Moody were outside talking to Malfoy, Zabini and Hermione. Somehow they had figured out that Hermione was the main perpetrator and written Ginny off as protective. Ginny hadn’t wanted to leave Hermione alone, but her friend had assured her it would be fine.
Inwardly, Ginny also cringed at how Blaise had looked when faced with the madness that was her family. Stunned, was probably the best word for it. And irritated by all the noise. Ginny recalled the unnatural, empty silence of his own large home. She tried to comfort herself by thinking of how snobby and stuck up all Slytherins were. Yet all the incidents she remembered did not include Zabini.
In fact, when she looked at it, he’d never really insulted her. And if he had it was only because she’d attacked him first. Ginny remembered the few times they’d talked and he’d been almost human.
Or maybe he’d been completely human and she’d been too prejudiced to notice it.
It was weird; to see teachers he’d thought he’d never see again, to have them interrogating him, quizzing him. But he wasn’t in school. And he didn’t know the right answers. There had been countless things he’d needed to explain about his house. It hadn’t taken over an hour of explanation to placate them about the lack of doors and disagreeable walls.
The focus on Malfoy was more intense. Blaise was surprised he was still standing after the verbal attacks he’d taken.
They had made him talk about Dumbledore’s death. Blaise had not been brave enough to broach the subject with him, but they were doing so boldly. Once or twice, Blaise could have sworn he’d seen Malfoy tear up. Then he’d blinked and it was gone.
Yet they’d emerged alive, and with hope. Hermione had agreed to visit their place to help them with the Wolfsbane Potion. (Apparently the surplus Professor Lupin had was being held for an ulterior purpose.)
A plump woman whom he could only assume was Ginny’s mother offered to serve them dinner, but both men had rejected the offer. Blaise’s house had been added to the highly protected Floo network of the Burrow and they’d escaped home.
“Well, that was a bit of a nightmare,” Draco stated once they were safely on firm marble.
“I am never going to listen to you again,” Blaise spat and turned on his heel. He stalked off to his bedroom and threw himself down on the bed, hoping for sleep with pleasant dreams.
Dinner at the Burrow that evening had a rather ominous atmosphere. Her mother served the mashed potatoes a little more brutally than necessary. Ron had a murderous glare fixed on Hermione and attacked his chicken leg with vulgar ferocity. Moody wouldn’t touch any of the food and his magical eye was spinning faster than ever. Lupin and Tonks had departed for their own, private, dinner.
Ginny felt miserable. She picked at her chicken, re-mashed her potatoes. Every bite of food she put into her mouth seemed tasteless. All she could think of was Blaise Zabini. How he always had looked directly at her. But today he hadn’t glanced at her once. The bit of green bean on her fork trembled as she recalled the stoic expression he’d assumed on his face throughout the whole ordeal.
It was as though he couldn’t experience emotion. Or had locked away that ability long ago. It was even more of a shock when she realized that she had wanted to see some emotion in him.
She’d only seen him a handful of times. Nothing spectacular had really occurred between them, but she still wanted to see more of him.
She excused herself from the table early and locked herself in her room.
She lay on her bed for what felt like hours, trying to make sense out of the ceiling. There was a soft knock on her door.
“Ginny, may I come in?” it was Hermione.
“Enter,” Ginny replied without moving.
The door creaked open, allowing some light from the hallway to disperse the darkness of the room.
“I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess,” Hermione apologized immediately. She shut the door behind her.
“No, I’m glad you got me involved,” Ginny answered honestly.
“Then why are you moping?” Hermione inquired.
Ginny let out a sigh. “It seems so silly,” she confessed.
“To you maybe, but right now I’m feeling rather ridiculous myself,” Hermione said.
“He didn’t even look at me once, you know,” Ginny whispered.
“Is that it?” Hermione asked. There was a note of triumph in her voice. “Gin, did you ever think it possible that you might fancy Zabini?”
“Hermione, that’s just”” Ginny started to protest. She stopped herself, recalling all the tiny little events involving Zabini.
“It’s probably just some silly fancy,” she amended. “He used to like me and I got used to the admiration. Now that he’s not paying attention to me, I’m feeling the loss of such attention acutely. It’s all psychological, nothing too emotional.”
Hermione gave her a wry smile, “If we acted just as textbooks predicted, I should have shagged Ron by now. Instead, I’m avoiding him and spending time with my least favorite classmate. Some things just go beyond words.”
“Ech, Hermione, please. I’m nauseated now,” Ginny winced at the imagery of her brother and Hermione.
“Do you really think I’m that ugly,” Hermione asked, offended. Grinning, she chucked a pillow at her friend’s head.
“Oh, you are so on!” Ginny retaliated with her own pillow. Her uncharacteristic, moping mood had completely vanished.
The small bedroom overflowed with feathers and giggles as a pillow fight, the likes of which many adolescent males fantasize about, ensued. Half of the pillows were old gifts from doting aunts, which was probably why some of the feathers were pink. Finally, exhausted, the girls both collapsed down on a pile of feathers.
“You really think I should go for it?” Ginny asked Hermione.
“Ginny, you’re gorgeous, confident and charming. How could anyone say no? No one’s said no yet, anyway,” Hermione assured her.
“Well, yeah, but that’s because I’ve been so sure that the guys like me,” Ginny confided as she removed a rosy feather from her hair. “I’ve never really taken a huge risk. Except in first year with Harry, but I was so naïve then.”
“You did have a more traumatizing first year than most,” Hermione consented. “But I have an excellent source that believes Blaise likes you.”
“If you’re trusting anything Draco Malfoy says,” Ginny began.
“Well, he had every opportunity to bite, but he didn’t,” Hermione defended. She sat up and Ginny burst out laughing at the sight of her friend’s hair. Bushy and untameable at the best of times, Hermione’s hair had collected so many feathers that she looked like an Animagus transformation gone wrong.
“Hermione,” Ginny stated, chuckling, “I thought you hated Draco Malfoy. Now you’re trusting him?”
“No! I never said that! And I don’t, I still think he’s an arrogant, over-confident snot.”
“There’s a ‘but’, isn’t there?” Ginny persisted.
Hermione rolled her eyes, “I think he’s starting to resent the Pureblood system now that he’s an outcast, is all.”
“Will things be getting steamy in the potion room as Wolfsbane simmers?” Ginny whispered seductively, trying unsuccessfully to mask a giggle.
“That is so uncalled for,” Hermione shoved her friend back into the feathers. “To brew Wolfsbane takes utmost concentration. I won’t have time to get distracted. Besides, when I said Malfoy might be changing, I didn’t mean he’d become tolerable!”
“I don’t know,” Ginny affected a look of wide-eyed innocence. “One day you won’t come back from one of your Potion experiments. You’ll send me a postcard from Bora Bora detailing your grand elopement and I’ll have to deal with Ron when he kills himself from heartbreak.”
“You needn’t be so worried,” Hermione retorted. “You’ll be coming along as chaperone. If there is an elopement it’ll be a double.”
A/N: Okay, so this fic has exploded from it’s extremely detailed mold and I am forced to write yet another chapter for it. And probably many more.