FicWad

Passion. It lies in all of us. Sleeping, waiting, and though unwanted, unbidden, it will stir. Open it's jaws, and howl. It speaks to us, guides us. Passion rules us all, and we obey. What other choice do we have? Passion is the source of our finest moments. The joy of love, the clarity of hatred, and the ecstasy of grief. It hurts sometimes more than we can bear. If we can live without passion, maybe we'd know some kind of peace. But we would be hollow. Empty rooms, shuttered and dank. Without passion, we'd be truly dead.

In the solely condemned passage that leads away from the Head Boy's dorm-an area that few knew about- there sits a boy upon a bench, gazing out into the shadows of the empty room. His long hair sweeps his neck and his bangs fall in straight wisps down to the start of his cheekbones; his eyes were silhouetted against the faint light that fell onto his body, which was hunched over a rather large object, his pale-spidery fingers moving across the keys serenely. He was frowning in concentration as a soft tone had ricocheted off of the walls and it grew louder and steadier as the minutes went by. This was his secret that no one knew. Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, played the piano, and he was damn good at it. He had been doing it ever since his fifth year, when he had found the room, after his father's incarceration. He had spent so much time here that he was actually falling behind in his work. He had to lie once, as he was to meet Pansy for a date and told her that he was sick, whereas he came to play and think about everything. His jaw tensed and his eyes darted over the keys as he played his favorite song. It was a soft, sad, somber melody that he remembered from his childhood; his mother had always played her best when she was at her worst, for some strange reason. On the nights Lucius would come home completely shitfaced, he sought out his wife, blaming her for things that she knew nothing about. He hit her and forced his son to watch.

"Never again..." his voice was filled with spite as he growled out the words and turned his head quickly towards the door. Someone was standing in the frame and staring at him. "Who the hell are you and how did you get in here?" The shadow had disappeared when he blinked and he tilted his head before his fingers slipped off of the keys and he stood. He made his way down the steps and crossed to the door before staring out into complete darkness. Something brushed against his leg and he smiled before reaching out and touching warmth; he walked back to the wall and brought his hand up to curl around the unseen object and he tugged gently at mid air. What fell to the ground was a silvery material, a cloak, one of Invisibilty. Tendrils of soft fiery hair fell onto his well-built shoulders and brown eyes lingered in his gray ones before he frowned. "You've followed me." His eyes glistened and she smiled carefully before he bent close to her ear, his breath warm as he whispered, "What in God's name are you wearing?" He stood back and surveyed her for a moment. She wore a red silk dress-nightgown, he assumed- that clung so delicately to her curves, the thin straps slipping away to give him a view of milky white flesh. "You look,well, let's just say that I'm finally feeling the tingles I've heard people talk about." He dipped his head down and caught her lips in a searing kiss; she felt her body respond immediately as she moaned and writhed against him, her arms going instantly around his neck as he trailed his tongue along her bottom lip very slowly that he felt, as his hands went around her lower back, her move her hips into his and he groaned before loosening his tie briefly. He growled her name huskily, "Ginny..." He brushed the hair from her eyes with a swift hand, just as he had done on that rainy night three years ago.

*
Concealed in the shadows was the girl that was always talked about; they'd whisper in the halls as she passed with her head down, whispers would circle her head until she stood and shouted, only to get herself in deeper with the Professors. Snape was delighted when she had dared raise her voice in his room. She had to suffer through a week's detention. On Friday morning, she had walked into the common room to find it so quiet. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were looking terribly distraught by the fire. Hermione had been crying. Ginny looked up. "Gin...I'm so sorry." Harry's voice was tired and weak. What had happened? Ginny stared at him blankly and Ron looked at her; his eyes were puffy and he looked deathly pale.

"Ron-what-?"

"They're..." Ron's voice faltered and he crushed the parchment he was holding.

"I think you should sit down." Harry said softly. She sat down next to her brother who was shaking slowly.

"Gin...we've been sent a letter..." Hermione said quietly, her voice cracking gently. "...There was an attack b-by Death Eaters...Fred and George..." Ginny's eyes widened and she stood so fast that everyone stared at her. "Oh Ginny..." Hermione reached a hand out and the girl stepped back. She was ghostly and swaying slightly before she grabbed a nearby chair for support.

"Shut up." Ginny whispered dangerously. She was holding her head and staring at her feet. "This is a sick joke. Why would you do this?" She shot them all a vemonous glare. "I can't understand why ­you'd go along with this." Her eyes settled on Harry and Hermione, they shifted uncomfortably.

"It's not! Here, come and look for yourself." Hermione had pulled her unwillingly towards them, thrust the paper in which Harry had pried out of Ron's hands, into hers. Ginny's eyes scanned the handwriting, found it to be Professor Dumbledore's, and sunk to her knees. After sitting there for what seemed like an eternity she stood and, without a word to anyone, went out into the hall. It was extremely desolate except for the sunlight that crawled against the floor and illuminated the corridor ahead of her as she walked carefully down it. She tried to pull herself together but came up with nothing to help her through what she had heard and seen. It's not true...But she knew, with a sickening pain, that it was. She could feel her eyes stinging slowly as she edged her way outside. She went down the steps that led onto the ground and reached the lake within minutes, setting her back against the giant oaktree planted before the water.

"I suppose you've just heard about the attacks?" She was startled back to her reverie by a masked voice. She stared up to find his gray eyes narrowed. "My father should not have done that." Draco Malfoy looked out at the lake with a somber expression. Ginny had turned fully around now, her long fiery hair spilling over her shoulders as she eyed him skeptically. "He was ordered to take an item from Knockturn Alley, instead he killed thousands, including your brothers."

"Were you with him?"

"No. I've been here." She stared incredulously at him before frowning.

"Prove it," she glared challengingly "and I won't have to murder you myself for what you did." Why she was even considering this she didn't know. A slow smirk pulled at his lips and he stepped towards her and started to roll up the sleeve on his left arm, all the way to his elbow.

"What do you see?" He asked softly. Her eyes roamed over the pale flesh and widened.

"Nothing."

"That's right. It's quite hard to hid something like the Dark Mark. So, you can put all your suspicions to rest." He said lightly and sat down beside her. "Don't you remember I got my wand confiscated the other day?"

"Because you had gotten into a fight with Harry," Ginny said simply "I remember."

"Professor Snape has my wand. I'll get in back at Potions this afternoon. What--why are you smirking?"

"It's just funny how he shows favoritism to you then he takes your wand away."

"It is not funny!" He replied hotly and glared at the ground. A less uncomfortable silence came and settled between them. The wind blew softly through the trees. "Is this weird?"

Is this weird? It's impossible for one event to change your outlook on someone-especially since they've been the same for seven years of their life.