Getting Personal

CHAPTER 7

Draco watched her retreat and slammed the door shut behind her. Stupid, bloody, goody two shoes . . . But he knew she was right. Those bloody Gryffindor's would help him, if he ever sunk low enough to ask.

His chest heaved, the deep breaths taking over his body. Calm down. Get control of yourself. Malfoy's do not lose control. What would his father say, if he could see him? He'd laugh at him. He'd tell him if Crabbe was stupid enough to get in the way, and Crabbe's mother was pathetic enough to try and interfere with the Dark Lord's plan, than they got exactly what they deserved. Calm down. Control. You must always have control.

The days passed with such a horrible monotony, Draco thought he might have to throw himself off a tower just to create some excitement. The castle itself seemed to reflect the mood of the students and teacher; everyone was wary, cautious, on edge. The only people who seemed less than concern were Potter and his little friends. The very thought of it made Draco want to scream. Goyle's mother had taken him from the school days after the news of Crabbe's death broke, so Draco was left all alone, and that was fine with him. Even the other Slytherin's shot him looks of sympathy mixed with fear and sometimes even disgust. Pansy Parkinson had taken the opportunity to make him feel better, but he wanted nothing to do with her. When she finally cornered him, and he gave in and kissed her, all he could think about was red hair.

"Get off," he said finally, shoving Pansy away.

"What?" she demanded, the veins in her neck beginning to bulge.

"Sorry," he told her dryly. "But snogging in the corner isn't exactly what I had in mind for the evening."

She yelled and cursed and finally cried, but Draco wouldn't relent.

"Get away from me. I don't want anything to do with you," he drawled, forcing his voice into boredom.

"Is it because I don't have ginger hair? Cause I'm not a Muggle lover?" she shouted. "Your father's gonna love this!"

"There is obviously nothing between me and any Weasley," Draco informed her through gritted teeth. "It's just you I'm not interested in."

Draco stomped back to the Slytherin dorms, and up to his mostly empty room. There were only two other six year's in there now, Nathaniel Nott and Blaise Zabini, but they were only Draco's study partners, no one to talk to, even though he knew for a fact Nott's father was a Death Eater also. Nott seemed fairly stupid though; he practically worshiped the Dark Lord as much as any of the Death Eaters.

Draco threw off his clothes and flopped down on his bed, glaring angrily at his book bag. He reached down to pick it up, but stopped, hearing a scratching at the window. A black owl. A black eagle owl, just like his father's.

Draco stomped out of bed, and with a string of curses, opened the window.

***

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ginny had been chiding herself all week for the pathetic way she had gone after Draco. She had felt bad for him, but obviously that wasn't something you did for a Malfoy.

When classes started again, she let the days drift past her by throwing herself into her studies, and listening to Ron, Harry, and Hermione discuss You Know Who and the Death Eaters.

"There's been attacks almost everyday," Hermione sighed, folding her worn copy of the Daily Prophet. "There were three yesterday, and then some suspicious anti Muggle activity."

Harry bit his lip. "I wish I could just find him, and we could end it right here and now."

"Are you out of your mind?" Ron hissed. "You could die!"

"One of us will," he said softly.

"What?" Hermione demanded.

"Dumbledore said that one of us has to get rid of the other one."

Ginny looked up from her Potions scroll. "What do you mean?"

Harry took a deep breath and blew it out. "Remember the prophecy?"

"In the Ministry?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. I heard it. When it broke I heard it, and it said that either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."

Ginny's mouth dropped. "No."

Hermione's head was shaking violently back and forth. "That can't be, I mean, Dumbledore would have told you, no Harry, there's gotta be a mistake."

"She's right," Ron said, looking relieve. "That can't be true."

"It's true. The rest of the prophecy said the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord would be born at the end of August to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times, and that he would be the Dark Lord's equal." Harry sighed and seemed to age 10 years as he sank into his chair. "But I can't even fight him with my own wand."

Hermione's eyes were threatening to spill tears, and Ginny felt her own eye's growing hotter.

"Neville was born right before me."

"What?" Ron's head shot up.

"His parents defied Voldemort three times before Belatrix sent them to St. Mungo's."

The air in the room thinned and Ginny struggled to breathe. "What does that mean?"

"Dumbledore says it means nothing. I'm the one Voldemort considers and equal," Harry answered quietly.

"It's just not fair," Hermione roared, causing the common room to fall silent. "Why does this have to fall on you? How are you supposed to kill him when your wand doesn't work on him?"

"I suppose it would work on him," Ginny said thoughtfully. "Maybe just not when dueling each other."

"I just need to learn more powerful curses," Harry said firmly. "I need to learn Avada Kedavra."

Ron's eyes widened and Hermione gave a little gasp. "But it's unforgivable," she reminded him.

"I hardly think anyone would hold it against Harry if he used it against You Know Who," Ginny snorted. "They'd thank him."

"So now what?" Hermione asked, frowning at her paper, and blinking furiously.

They sat silently, watching the fire crackle around them.

"You know," Ginny finally spoke up, "in Muggle Studies, Professor Duncan said that-"

"When did you take Muggle Studies?" Ron interrupted.

"In my 3^rd and 4^th year. He said that the Muggles who won their wars won because they knew their enemy."

"That's helpful," Ron snorted rudely. "What's it mean?"

"I guess that we should try to find out as much as we can about You Know Who. It wouldn't hurt anything to do a little research on him, would it?"

Hermione shook her head and looked up. "That's a good idea, actually."

Harry nodded and forced a smile. "I guess we can start tomorrow."

"After Quidditch practice though," Ron said. "We have a game next week."

CHAPTER 8

Ginny trudged to the top of the stairs and let her bag drop to the floor with a satisfying thunk. She was certain that her brain was going to explode; she just hoped it would hold out long enough to make it through her O.W.L.s. She ignored the happy chatter from her roommates and stripped off her clothes. She reached into her trunk for her nightshirt and came up with the thin t-shirt Draco had left in her room. Ginny stared at the shirt and blinked. Draco. Draco's shirt. She had stuffed it to the bottom of the trunk, and here it was, popping up again. They hadn't exchanged any words it all since the day in the dungeon, exactly four week and 2 days ago. Ginny had tried not to think about him, which was easier than she had imagined; she just studied and studied and if he began to cross her mind, she studied some more.

It was hard to see him in the corridors though. He was always alone with a scowl attached to his face, quick to hand out detention to anyone in his way. Hermione said he didn't even hardly speak in classes anymore, not even in Hagrid's class.

"Are you okay?" Zoë's voice rattle Ginny out of her thoughts.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

"You were just standing there." Zoë looked worried so Ginny forced a smile.

"Really." No, no, no, no. "Really." Ginny dove into her bed without pulling any clothes on. Why am I crying?

"Ginny!" Zoë and Bianca exchanged quick glances and Zoë jumped on the bed. "What?"
"Here." Bianca shoved Draco's t-shirt at her. "Here's your night clothes."

Ginny began to cry harder. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired. Stress, I think."

Bianca nodded. "You just need some sleep."

"I know," Ginny sobbed. "Would you mind handing me a different shirt though? This one is . . . uncomfortable."

"Sure." Zoë handed her a long sleeved hand me down flannel shirt of Bill's. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Ginny nodded, wiping her eyes. "It's perfect." She pulled the curtains around her and gasped for air. I miss Draco. Ginny shook her head. She couldn't miss Draco. There was no way. She barely knew him. All they had done was go to a dance together and nothing else. He was horrible, selfish, a snobby, self centered git and she had no intentions of letting him get to her. Except he already had. Some days he looked so alone she wanted to throw her arms around him, brush his hair out of his silver eyes, and kiss him. Kiss him. Michael Corner was a bit on the sloppy side. Dean Thomas was okay. But Draco, Draco could melt her. She couldn't understand why his lips pressing against hers sent thrills through her body and made her feel so incredible. I miss Draco.

***

Ginny slowly became aware of a noise that was keeping her from sleeping, nothing terribly distracting, but something that was just not quite right. She kept her eyes shut and listened to the darkness. Uneven breathing. Someone wasn't asleep. Who? It was coming heavily and it was . . . She listened carefully. Oh dear Merlin. It was coming from her bed. Ginny let out a scream, but was cut off by a hand clamping down on her face. She tried to sit up, but it drove her back into her pillow, and suddenly she remembered that neither she nor Hermione had bothered to take the silencing charm off her bed. No one could hear her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them, Draco's face was only inches from hers.

Ginny didn't know whether to cry or laugh or hit him. Slowly he removed his hand from her mouth. She sat up and stared at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Taking you up on your offer!" he snapped, glaring at her.

"My offer?" she repeated weakly. Why was he here? Why did he have to see her, looking so pathetic with red puffy eyes from crying herself to sleep and with his t-shirt at the end of her bed like a shrine?

Draco drew his knees up to his chest and suddenly looked so dismal and sad. He buried his head in his knees and rocked back and forth, back and forth.

Ginny stared at him. What was she supposed to do? Draco Malfoy was having a nervous breakdown on her bed, and the last time she'd been alone with him, he had physically forced her from the room. "Draco? What happened?"

He began mumbling to his knees, and Ginny had to scoot closer to hear.

"I just got a letter from my father and he thinks this would be an ideal time for me to start following around that stupid Muggle born who calls himself the Dark Lord."

Ginny didn't know what to tell him. She sat perfectly still, waiting.

"I'm not. I am not going to do that," he hissed, looking up. "I am not going to slave away to someone else like my pathetic father!"

"How can you be a Death Eater?" Ginny asked quietly. "You're still in school."

Draco let out a single, bitter laugh. "He wrote that the Dark Lord understood that I was still in school, so I couldn't join in all the festivities, but I would be immensely helpful as a spy inside the school."

He put his head back in his knees and began rocking himself again.

Ginny carefully scooted over until she was next to him and put her arms around him. "It's okay. It's okay." Please don't cry. I don't know what to do with boys who cry.

"I'm not going to do what he wants me to. For once, I'm going to do what I want to do," he said finally. He liked the way Ginny fit neatly against him, her hands in his, her sides pressed against his own, her lips on his. She fit him. He let go of his knees and used his hands to cup her face. "I've missed you."