Now if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that this little book has been going places. Today I found it in a storage closet when I was getting out some tables to sit at outside. If people haven’t been reading this, then I’m fine. The curious part is that I couldn’t find this at all in the past month.
Well today is Halloween. Almost everyday there's been You-Know-Who's name in the Daily Prophet. The stories and sightings have gotten progressively worse and worse about the war. You-Know-Who has been seen in all kinds of countries around the world. Probably getting more supporters, I guess. There have even been a few mysterious deaths of Death Eaters who had quit...Death Eating? There wasn't any evidence at all, but everyone says it was You-Know-Who who did it. Since this has been going on, we've also had a lot of DA meetings to get ready for the Final Battle...and any other battles that we might happen to be involved in. I'm sure that we'll be involved in the Final Battle since we are so close to Harry and Harry is, of course, going to be in the Final Battle. Other than the subject of the war, I’ve been being loaded with homework since the O.W.L.s are coming up. Since the war seems to be a greatly talked about subject, I think I’ll go back to writing about it because there is something bothering me.
This morning in Muggle Studies I was talking to Malfoy about the war. The war is a subject that I should put on a list of things never to bring up in a conversation. Ever. I walked into Muggle Studies and sat down at my desk, which happened to be next to Malfoy. I never really wondered about how we became friends, or close to the definition of “friends.” When I think about it, it seems kind of odd. A Malfoy and a Weasley? As friends? To me that seems a bit odd, especially since it was only last year that he was making fun of me and my family. I found it better not to question his motives, though.
“Good morning, Weasley,” Malfoy said as I sat down.
“Good morning,” I said as I put my schoolbag down.
“Today is Halloween once again,” he said casually as he scribbled something from a book onto a piece of parchment.
“Yes, I was quite aware of that. I’m looking forward to the feast tonight,” I replied.
“So am I,” he said. “Especially the pumpkin pie. It’s good to know that they will actually be using those enormous pumpkins for a good cause.”
“Pumpkin pie?” I echoed. “A good cause?”
“Better than letting them sit and rot,” Malfoy replied.
There was a small silence, and then I said, or asked, rather, something that had been on my mind and bothering me for quite a while. Would Malfoy leave school and become a Death Eater just like his father? It was a possibility…Malfoy had always seemed like he wanted to be just like his dad.
“You’re not leaving school, are you?” I asked.
He looked up with a slight look of surprise on his face. “Of course I’m leaving the school. Yes, I know it’s going to be a hard year without me when that time comes, but it’s bound to happen,” he joked.
“No,” I said. “I mean, are you leaving early?”
His expression changed into puzzlement as he looked at me. “No. Why would I do that?”
“Oh, I dunno…” I said trailing off. I didn’t really feel like going further into the subject anymore.
“Yes you do know,” he said. “So spit it out, Weasley.”
“It’s nothing,” I said, trying to wave off the topic.
“It’s never ‘nothing.’ ‘Nothing’ means ‘everything,’” Malfoy argued.
“Well, you know about the war,” I muttered.
“Of course I know about the war,” Malfoy said as his gaze turned cold. “What does that have to do with me leaving school early? Don’t you think I want to graduate?”
“Of course you want to graduate,” I said in an apologizing tone.
“So what’s this about me leaving school early?” Malfoy said accusingly.
I felt trapped. I should have never brought up the subject in the first place.
“Well?” he asked, expectantly.
“I just thought…”
“You thought what?”
“I thought you might leave school to join your father…”
“Don’t you think I spend enough time with him over the summer and on break?”
“Yes,” I muttered. I felt like a house elf obeying its master’s orders with answers of “yes sir” and “anything for you, sir.”
“So then what in the world would make me drop out of school for some extra time with him?”
“I thought you might become a Death Eater like your father,” I finally said.
I watched as his expression contorted into anger. “WHAT!?” he exploded. A few students around us jumped a bit out of their seats. He quickly regained his cool composure. “What?” he said again through gritted teeth. “I thought you of all people,” he muttered.
I was startled at his response. Yes, I thought the question might make him a little mad, but definitely not this much. “I’m…I never…I didn’t mean to offend you,” I sputtered.
“I can assure you that I will never, ever become a Death Eater and I would never, ever allow someone to brand me with that disgusting mark as if I were their cattle,” he said coldly as his sharp grey eyes glared daggers at me.
“But I thought you wanted to be just like your father,” I challenged, despite the position I put myself into.
Malfoy laughed mirthlessly. “Just like dear old dad?” he questioned. “You really think so?” he frowned. “I hate my father,” he said, which greatly surprised me. “He tries to control my life. I hate it. He wants me to be perfect and have perfect grades like Granger. No one is bloody perfect, but he won’t listen to that! I have no friends because the only people my father socializes with are Death Eaters. Their sons and daughters are all spoiled and don’t care about anyone but themselves. Try taking that for three hours while my father has tea and scones with Voldemort himself,” Malfoy spat.
My mouth dropped open a bit. Thankfully no one was around to listen since they all got up and went to another seat after Malfoy’s first outburst.
“But…” I trailed off. “Why do you always act so mean to Harry, Ron, and Hermione?”
“It’s what my father would have done, isn’t it? Hate on the Gryffindor heroes. I don’t actually hate the mudbl-I mean Granger or your brother. Well he is very annoying actually. But Potter is a different story. We both strongly dislike each other…who am I kidding. I hate him and he hates me on our own terms. End of story,” he said acidly, glaring at me coldly.
“Why did you choose to become my friend?” I asked. This was also a question that I badly wanted answered.
“Why not?” Malfoy fired back. “For once, I’d like someone to walk with. Not to follow around like I do with my father, and not to be followed around like many students do to me. I need someone who treats me like an equal and who I can have a normal conversation with. I don’t want to be scolded and I don’t want to be praised. I want to talk to someone wants an actual answer when they ask ‘How’s your day?’ I don’t want another enemy, I have enough of those. I want a bloody friend, is that too much to ask? Just one and I’d be eternally happy. I thought I found that in you, Ginevra, but I guess I was wrong,” he finished and stared straight ahead without saying another word.
It was strange to hear my first name (especially my full name) come out of his pale, thin lips. It was nice, but it was so unfamiliar. I only heard my full name when I was in big trouble, or when Fred and George tease me. Right then I felt in big trouble and very guilty. I should have never asked him that question. It was wrong of me.
‘Aren’t you happy you know the truth now?’ a little voice in the back of my mind kept asking. It was nice, but I would rather not know than insult him like that. It looked like he was really hurt.
During class whenever I glanced at him, he was always staring straight ahead or jotting down notes. He had completely clammed up, almost the same way he was when he first came to this class. Only now he wasn’t talking to me.
At the end of class when we were getting up and leaving, I decided to apologize. I knew it wouldn’t really help, but I just wanted to tell him that I was sorry for bringing up the subject.
“Malfoy?” I asked tentatively. He didn’t even look up.
“Well,” I continued anyways, “I just wanted to let you know that I am sincerely sorry for saying that you might become a Death Eater. I didn’t know how you felt about it…and I’m just sorry, okay?”
Malfoy glanced up and looked me straight in the eye. His grey eyes sharpened and then he said, “I think it would be best if you did not talk to me, Ginevra,” he said coolly as he left the classroom, leaving me in it alone.
When I left the classroom, I felt so ashamed. For some reason, it really hurt when he said that he didn’t want to talk to me even though I haven’t been friendly with him for that long. He didn’t go and question me like a criminal…why did I have to go and question him? My stomach was tied in multiple knots as I played the conversation over and over again in my head.
Even now, I feel like a big jerk. I wouldn’t blame him if he never forgave me or even spoke to me again. But then again, how was I supposed to know he hated his father and that his life was the same as (or even worse) than everyone else’s? I couldn’t have known. But it isn’t really my right to know, is it? I feel so confused, hurt, and miserable right now.
At the Halloween feast, everyone was chatting loudly and black and orange banners hung on the walls. Hundreds of candles floated in midair, but thankfully, any wax that fell dissolved before it landed on anyone’s head. Huge orange pumpkins dominated the corners of the room, each as tall as Hagrid himself. You had to watch out when you walked into the Great Hall and be careful not to trip over their enormous green and leafy vines.
I sat down next to Hermione, who immediately noticed something was wrong. Her face showed instant concern.
“What’s wrong, Ginny?” she asked.
“Hmm? Why do you think something is wrong?” I asked, blinking.
She squinted her eyes for a moment even though I was sitting right next to her. “You look like someone died,” she observed.
I heaved a sigh, and then she raised her eyebrows quickly. “Someone did die?” she said, alarmed.
I shook my head. “No, it’s not that…I made a mistake,” I said hanging my head. I told Hermione all about my conversation with Malfoy as everyone waited for the feast to begin. Thankfully Harry and Ron weren’t downstairs yet to hear anything I said.
“That’s too bad,” Hermione said when I was done.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well from what you told me about the conversation, Malfoy must have trusted you a lot,” she said. “And then you suggested that he was going to become a Death Eater which is completely against his personal morals. Coming from you, that must’ve destroyed him,” Hermione concluded.
“Oh, thanks Hermione. That makes me feel so much better,” I said sarcastically.
“I’m just saying that what you said probably made Malfoy upset,” Hermione said.
“I knew that,” I said. “But what should I do about it?”
Hermione looked at me. “Nothing,” she said. “Just wait until he talks to you again. If you’re friends, it shouldn’t be long.”
“And what if he never talks to me again?” I asked.
“Sorry, Gin,” Hermione said looking at me sadly. “I don’t know what you can do.”
I sat there feeling numb. I had just lost a friend and possibly our only shot at getting Gryffindors and Slytherins to get along. So much for school unification and it’s my fault. More importantly, I just probably just lost a good friend. We hadn’t been friends for a long time but we had a lot in common and so much to talk about every time we saw each other. There were really never any awkward pauses…except for today.
Throughout the feast I stared at him, trying to catch his eye, hoping that maybe there was a hint of forgiveness but Malfoy didn’t even spare me a glance. He purposely sat with his back facing the Gryffindor table and did not turn his head around, not once.
Even with all of the chatting around me, I didn’t feel like talking to anyone. In the midst of all of the students, I felt numb and alone. I kept thinking back on our conversation in class, and I pictured the piercing frosty stare he gave me when I suggested that he would become a Death Eater. That frosty glare locked me into a frosty solitude, and from what I’ve been thinking, there’s nothing I can do about it.