FicWad

As the days before the Christmas holidays drew closer, the excitement among the students seemed to crackle with tangible energy. There was less grumbling in classes, there was more cheer going around, and it seemed no one could contain himself or herself the night before the Hogwarts Express was due to take those students home, who were leaving for the holiday break. The Gryffindor dormitories were no different.

As Ginny busily packed her trunk to take with her, a few of her fellow fourth year students were doing the same, exchanging excited stories of their various plans for the holidays, friends they would see, and gifts they were hoping to receive. Ginny, however, seemed more content to listen, than to contribute. The past few months, and more so the past few weeks, had become stressful, and she was mostly looking forward to the break away, to relax in a safe environment, where she didn't have to worry about walking into a conversation concerning, but not including her.

Until her outburst outside the Great Hall that revealed the identity of the life whom she had saved earlier in the year, most of those in her House were trying to figure out the who and the why. But now they knew the whom, and the why became all the more important to them. Like before, she had refused to answer their questions, finding them both pointless and intrusive. Her refusal to divulge information did little to curb the suspicions, instead spurring the circulation of wild speculation and rumors.

Theories about a secret attraction to the Slytherin started, and within days, a detailed story about various midnight excursions to the dungeons to meet Draco for a secret tryst had sprung from the rumors. So widespread had this story circulated, that Professor McGonagall, Head of Gryffindor House, had to intervene to put a stop to it. That act had only made things worse for Ginny, though after having spent many years dealing with similar torment from her elder twin brothers, regarding her so-believed hidden affections for Harry, she merely let these recent events roll off her without a second thought.

She had finally drifted off to sleep, and had just started in on a wonderful dream, involving her, Harry, and a deserted tropical island. But before things could progress, there was a third person, an unwanted and rather odd intruder to the island. Professor McGonagall.

"What do you want?" she demanded, more curtly than she would normally have preferred. But this was her dream, and professors had no right to be in them.

"Wake up, Ms. Weasley!" McGonagall demanded.

"I will not!" Ginny was quite defiant.

"Wake up!" There was something unnatural about the tone of the professor's voice. It seemed louder than it should have been. There was urgency to it. Then the ground started to shake. Before she could steady herself, she was woken up, being shaken by the very professor who had invaded her dream.

"Professor?" she blinked, sitting up in her bed.

"Put your robe on, Ms. Weasley, and come with me." McGonagall ordered.

"What? Why?"

"There is no time to waste. Your father has been injured. Hurry, please."

No sooner had the words reached her ears, Ginny leapt out of bed, grabbing the robes that hung beside her bed, slipping her arms into it. Following the Head of House, she was led down to the common room, where Fred and George were already waiting.

"What's this about Dad? Is he alright?" Fred asked.

McGonagall shook her head, trying to usher them out the portrait hole. "No, I'm afraid he's not. But the Headmaster will tell you more. You all will be returning home within the hour."

Ginny exchanged worried looks with her brothers, and without another word, followed the professor through the corridors to the Headmaster's Office. It was no help, finding no answers, other than Harry had some kind of nightmare that Arthur was attacked. She had learned to trust Harry in matters like this, but there was something eerily familiar in how he was behaving.

Answers, it seemed, would have to wait. The group of Weasleys, and Harry, were transported via Portkey to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. Their mother was doing her best to be strong, though there was no comforting anyone tonight. Fred, George and Ron sat glumly around the table, joined by Lupin and Moody. Harry and Sirius sat at the opposite end, speaking in hushed tones. Mrs. Weasley was doing everything she could to keep herself distracted. Leaving Ginny alone with her thoughts.

Under normal circumstances, her strength would have served her well. But after weeks of constant grating, her strength was sapped. She couldn't think, she could barely feel...even looking at Harry did nothing to lift her spirits. She was numb inside, neither upset nor content. She was tired. Tired of everything, and everyone. Wanting some time alone, she excused herself from the table, and relocated upstairs, laying upon her bed in the dark.

The weeks leading up to Christmas holidays brought many changes to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Snow had fallen upon the grounds, blanketing everything in white. The temperature dropped, bringing a cold chill to the air. But that cold paled in comparison to the isolated environs Draco had found himself.

He would often find himself sitting alone during meals, the rest of his House leaving a noticeable space between him and the nearest occupied seat at the Slytherin table. No one would volunteer to pair with him in classes, leaving him to designate a partner in Crabbe or Goyle, both of whom seemed less content to blindly follow his orders these days. Even in the Slytherin Common Room, Draco would find himself excluded from the majority of conversations, except for the odd snide remark towards him.

It was completely unsettling to be an outsider among his fellow housemates. His name and his family had always commanded respect and admiration, a kind of infamous reputation and power that afforded him many covetous privileges. But in the weeks since the near brawl outside the Great Hall, there seemed to be a stigma attached to the blonde wizard.

Having taken a walk through the school corridors, noting how the gatherings of Slytherin went out of their way to distance themselves from him, and how the other Houses gawked and stared, whispering between themselves as he passed, he stepped into a deserted bathroom, closing the door behind him. Resting his back against the door, he closed his eyes, fighting down the urge to scream in frustration. What had he done to deserve this? Was being rescued by a girl really so bad?

Another sign of contempt interrupted his self-loathing. A giggling voice. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and looked towards the closed doors that housed the toilets. He thought was alone, but there certainly was someone giggling at him. Laughing at him! His anger rose, bubbling like a cauldron overflowing. He pushed away from the door, moving deeper into the room, seeking out the source of the humiliation.

"It's not at all pleasant, is it?" a meek, sad female voice asked.

Draco turned, frowning a little. Expecting to find a girl, he was surprised to find one... coming out of the wall near where he was just standing. But this was no ordinary girl. She wore the Hogwarts uniform of Ravenclaw House, with her long dark hair in a pair of pigtails on either side of her head, and a pair of thin glasses perched upon her nose. But the most notable trait of this girl...was she was transparent.

"They can be quite mean, can't they?" Myrtle said as she drifted lightly towards him.

"Who? What are you talking about?" Draco had never met Moaning Myrtle before, although her stories were known among the school.

"The other students. They're avoiding you. They talk about you when you aren't around. I hear them, you know. The things they say. Oh, but they haven't the courage to say them in front of you." She giggled a little, circling around him, as if examining him from all sides.

"I don't care what they think," he said defiantly

"Oh, but you do. Why else would you be in here by yourself?" Her voice was soft, almost gentle, though her gaze was almost sharp, peeling away the layers of his mind. "You, who were their favourite, their chosen. Now, their disgrace."

"I am not a disgrace!" His voice, in contrast, was sharp, ripe with humiliation.

"Oh, but you are. The mighty Draco Malfoy...reduced to a laughing stock. Owing his life to a blood traitor, they say."

Draco's brow creased. "Would they rather I have been killed?"

"You could have come and shared the hallways with me." The glee in her voice was hard to miss. "But why would anyone wish to kill you?"

"Because of my father. They thought killing me would have exacted some revenge for their own losses." He had not forgotten the words said to him by his assailant's months ago, words that came very close to being the last ones he ever heard.

"And if not for the red-haired girl, you would have died?"

"Obviously." He failed to see the humor in the situation; despite the fact this dead girl could barely contain her increasingly annoying giggles.

"Then you should be thankful she was there to help you."

"Thankful? She's ruined my life! You said it yourself. I've been reduced to a laughing stock. I've lost everything because of her."

Myrtle floated in front of him, gazing into his eyes. "And so you take to sulking in bathrooms?"

He raised an eyebrow at this. "I am not sulking...I'm just..." he couldn't come up with a decent lie on the spot. Myrtle smirked at him, tilting her head slightly as she regarded him.

"What is it that bothers you so? You don't seem the type to be burdened by the reactions of others."

Draco had to think on that a few moments, not having a quick answer for her. Most students had always shunned him anyway, being who and what he was. Why should this be any different? He couldn't quite put a finger on it, and that made it all the more frustrating. "I think...it's that she actually believes I was worth helping. I can't stand her, her friends, or even her family. But yet, she saved my life, and for what?"

Pacing a little bit, back and forth across the bathroom, he tried to piece it all together. "She said I was innocent...that my hands are not stained. I am despicable...but human..." He looked down into the palms of his hands, before slowly clenching them into tightly balled fists. "She doesn't know anything about me!"

Letting him vent his anger, Myrtle remained where she was, watching him with interest. Draco rested his hands upon the sinks, staring down into the porcelain tub. She floated towards him, sliding through the sink beside him. "The Dark Prince has a glimmer of light within him after all."

He lifted his head in disbelief. "What did you say? The Dark Prince?"

Myrtle smiled, with just a hint of affection. "You, who follows in the legacy of those great wizards before him...the Prince who is shrouded in the shadows of their wake...the Dark Prince."

"You really have an odd sense of things." Draco smiled a little. It was the first time he had smiled in the past few weeks. Myrtle returned the smile, moving back away from him with a girlish giggle "I should let you get back to your not-sulking. But if you ever decide you need not to sulk again, you are welcome to return to my bathroom." With a laugh, she arched up into the air, and dove down into the toilet, causing the water to splash and spray onto the floor, leaving a slightly confused Draco.

The best Christmas gift for the Weasley clan was the return of their father to Grimmauld Place. Released from St Mungo's, Arthur was under orders to take it easy. The wizard healers were able to save his life, though it was through the swift act of Harry, raising the alarm. As soon as he stepped through the front door, the mood in the entire house lifted, as though the clouds parted, and the bright sun shined down upon them all.

Ginny was in better spirits, even helping to decorate the house for the holidays. Hanging colored balls on the tree, helping her mother prepare the feast, unlike anything the family had seen before. Fred and George were up to their old tricks, having captured a gnome from the garden, binding it with a body-bind curse, and painting it gold, before perching it atop the tree, wearing a pair of wings.

Christmas eve was full of merriment, the older members of house drinking Fire whisky, the younger ones enjoying bottles of butterbeer. There was singing, storytelling, jokes and food. For a few joyous hours, it was almost as if the outside world ceased to exist. No dark wizards, no evil Ministry headmistress, no self-absorbed Slytherin. Just family and friends, joined together for the holidays.

The next morning started off early. Breakfast was served by the time the sun had crept up from beneath the horizon. The last person out of bed was Harry, who had never had a Christmas quite like this. The Dursley's never invited him home for the holidays, and any present they sent him would have been better left in the backyard where it was found. The Weasleys showed him an entirely new way to celebrate the season.

He joined them in the kitchen, to eat the hearty breakfast, and even offered to help Mrs. Weasley clean up, but she wouldn't hear of it. As far as the family was concerned, Harry was the hero of the day. Arthur found it very hard to stop thanking Harry, who after the hundredth time of being told how fortunate it was he let Ron join him on the Hogwarts Express years earlier, had discreetly tried to keep a bit of a distance between them.

Ginny found it all very amusing, giggling at Harry's growing discomfort. She had tried to get some time with him, as they had few chances to do get together alone. But it seemed every time she thought she might have him cornered, either Ron or Mrs. Weasley would find some reason to intrude and keep them apart. While finishing up the dishes, he thought he might finally get his chance, as she hung back to lend a hand. But right on cue, Ginny's mother poked her head into the kitchen.

"Come on, you two. We're ready to open the gifts." She smiled sweetly, though the look in her eye gave way to the fact her arrival could not have been better timed.

As gifts were exchanged, there were the usual run of sweaters, hand-made by Mrs. Weasley herself, and each one bearing the initial of the intended victim. There were chocolates and candies from Ron, fireworks from the twins, and Mr. Weasley was the happy recipient of a muggle trinket to dismantle and play with. Hermione had sent gifts ahead of time, books of various topics, depending on the person receiving it. Just as everyone was preparing to move into the kitchen, Mr. Weasley reached to the back of the Christmas tree, and produced a final gift, wrapped in gold paper.

"Seems we forgot one. But I don't recognize it." He examined it slightly, before reading the attached card. "To... Ginny?"

Ginny blinked, reaching for the package. The card didn't name whom it was from. Curious, she tore open the paper, and opened the box within. It only took a moment for her mind to register what was contained inside, and another moment for the color to drain from her face.

"What is it, Gin?" Ron asked, noting the look upon his sister's face.

Whether it was disbelief, or whether it was an unconscious attempt to answer the question posed to her, she removed the lid fully, and lifted a dress from the box. But it was not just any dress. It was a dress made of silk, and coral beads. It was a dress far too expensive to be a gift from anyone in her family. It was a dress that she had spotted in the window of Gladrags, in Hogsmeade.

"Oh my stars!" Mrs. Weasley gasped, seeing the dress as it was pulled out of the box. "Whoever could have sent that?" Mr. Weasley, just as surprised, let out a short whistle "That's a mighty fine dress, Ginny. Very nice."

Ron looked at the dress, his mouth hanging open in amazement. But his eyes shifted from the dress to his sisters. "Don't tell me it's from... HIM?!"

There was no denying the accusation in Ron's tone, and while those from Hogwarts understood what was being referred to, her parents had questioning looks upon their faces. Ginny returned the dress to its box, looking less than pleased. "You have all the tact of a dung bomb, Ronald."

"Forget about tact, Ginny! What is he doing sending you gifts like that?"

"That's none of your business!"

Mr. Weasley felt the need to interject and was just as curious as ever. "Who sent that, Ginny? What's your brother talking about?"

Ginny felt her face flush, her eyes not leaving Ron's, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. "It's not important. I'm not accepting it."

"Bloody right you're not!" Ron nodded, "I didn't want to believe what they were saying about you and him...but this really looks like they were right all along."

"I don't care what they are saying! It's not true, and you know it!" Ginny's face was nearly as red as her hair.

"Ronald! Ginevra! Stop this, right now!" Mrs. Weasley commanded sternly. Both her children fell silent but continued to exchange heated glares across the room. Knowing this was not over, Ginny rose to her feet, and took the box containing her dress, and marched up the stairs to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

"Ron...you really shouldn't have said that.." Harry said quietly, not wanting to seem he was taking sides in the argument. But he couldn't agree with it, either. He had wanted to yell just as much as Ron, though he couldn't bring himself to say so.

"You know what they are saying, Harry. You don't send gifts like that if it's not true!"

Mrs. Weasley looked to her youngest son, wanting to know the details of what was going on. "Would someone please tell us what is going on?"

Between Ron and Harry, they explained what they knew. About the attack on Draco in Hogsmeade. How Ginny had arrived just in time to save his life. How Ginny was being hounded and teased at school. And how the rumor about a relationship between them was circulating. The news didn't sit well with the elder Weasley's, both of them looking visibly concerned.

"We'll let her calm down first, and then we should have a talk with her." Mr. Weasley said to his wife. "I'm sure Ginny is smart enough to know better than to get involved with a Malfoy."

Trying not to look uncertain, Mrs. Weasley nodded, before excusing herself to start dinner preparations. It may have been Christmas morning, but things had certainly turned un-merry in a hurry.

The Weasley's were not the only family discussing unpleasant business on Christmas Day. In the pristine and elegant bowels of Malfoy Manor, Draco sat in the front room with his parents, Lucius and Narcissa. Word had reached them the same day in October that their son was ambushed and nearly murdered. They were also quick to learn that the savior of their only child was the daughter of one of the Malfoy family's most despised opponents, the Weasleys.

It was Lucius' idea to cover up the truth, obscuring the facts so that the identity of the girl' involvement in Draco's miraculous escape was removed altogether. To hear Lucius tell the story, Draco had not only evaded the killing curse, but had single handed overpowered his attackers, and if not for the sudden arrival of authorities from the Ministry of Magic, would have finished them off himself.

Draco did not find this amusing at all. Nor was he particularly in a rush to discuss the change in atmosphere at the school towards him. He was, however, not surprised to learn they had already known of that too, no doubt through some of the other parents who were in the good graces, or trying to get into them, of Lucius Malfoy.

"You have let this get out of hand, Draco." Lucius said sternly, looking towards his son with clear disappointment. "You should have dealt with this right away. Now, everyone knows that filthy little witch had a role in your escape. There are reasons we do not move about alone. So that we are not left at the mercy of some pitiful and weak-hearted blood traitor!"

"At least he's safe, Lucius. That's what is important." Narcissa said softly, laying a hand upon her son's shoulder.

"If he keeps making foolish mistakes like this, he won't stay that way for long." His eyes stared down at the bowed head of his only son. He could see so much of himself in Draco, and it was that which bothered him most. After a few seconds of silent contemplation, Lucius turned to his wife again. "Leave us. I wish to speak with him alone."

Narcissa turned her head up, looking at him in concern. With a nod of her head, she rose, running her fingers through Draco's blonde locks. "When you are finished, come join me, my son. It's the holidays, and we should spend them together."

Draco nodded, trying not to look up at his father. He could tell he was disappointed, and now that he was alone with him, he braced himself for what he was certain to be a most unpleasant chiding. At first, Lucius did nothing more than pace the room, back and forth in front of Draco, who hung his head once more, his mind conjuring up every possible remark his father could come up with. So it was with some confusion that his father started with a most surprising statement.

"This reminds me of a time when I was young. After the year I started to attend Hogwarts. I had gone out to play with some friends, and there were a group of other children, slightly older, who had decided to pick a fight with one of my friends."

Draco hard a hard time imagining his father as a young man, much less engaged in 'playing' with anyone. No doubt those friends were the same people who had sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord along with his father. Lucius continued on with his tale.

"My friend had refused to give them what they wanted, and the older boys started to beat on him. They were merciless...jeering and laughing the more he cried out." The memory seemed to stir up some unpleasant emotions in Lucius, as his grip tightened around the head of his walking stick, until his knuckles nearly turned white. "The rest of us tried to get them to stop, but they pushed us aside. I had my wand in my pocket, and had pulled it out, ready to jinx the lot of them. But the boys turned their wrath upon me. They laughed and taunted me, calling me names like 'Freak' and 'Monster'. It wasn't until a taller boy arrived that the group dispersed."

Draco didn't quite see the connection, although he did not have to wait long. His father turned to face him, kneeling down, so that he could look his son in the eye before he spoke. "That boy... was the young man who would become the Dark Lord. It was that day, when He saw how the others had treated me, He took me into his confidence."

Draco's eyes widened at the revelation. Never before had his father shared the details of how he had come to know He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. He was eager to hear more, however, as he still did not understand.

"But...what does this have to do with me?" Draco asked, the fear of his father's wrath subdued by burning curiosity.

Lucius smiled slightly as he replied. "It was a few years later, after He had formed a loyal group of students, willing to support him. He was smart...He knew things they refused to teach us in that pathetic school. He showed us some of those secrets, but only enough to ensure our loyalty. Promises of power and reward to those who remained faithful to him...we would become his Death Eaters. I'm sure you recognize this?"

Drawing the sleeve of his left arm up, Lucius exposed the tattoo of the coiling snake and the skull, still writhing on his wrist like a living entity. "The Dark Mark. Bestowed upon the most faithful of His followers. Each of us had to prove our loyalty..prove we had earned the right to bear His mark."

Draco's eyes gazed upon the tattoo on his father's wrist. A sense of longing, of want, filled him. He wanted to be one of them. To serve the Dark Lord, and take his rightful place in the ranks of the most powerful dark wizard England had ever known.

"Before I could earn my mark, I had to perform a test. A display of my unwavering devotion to the Dark Arts, and to He who would rule over the country." Lucius pulled his sleeve down again, covering the mark once more. Draco looked up at Lucius, though he did not have to ask the question that was on his tongue.

Lucius met the gaze of his son. "On that night, the Dark Lord brought me before the group of followers. He told me he had selected a very special task for me. One of his most devout pupils. My friend, the one who had been assaulted the day we met all those years ago, was also called forward. My task...was to kill him."

Draco blinked, his face paling at the task. "Kill...? He wanted you to kill your friend?"

Lucius rose to his feet, resuming the position of authority as he looked down his pointed nose towards Draco, who remained seated. "My friend...that boy...was not worthy. It turns out the group of boys who had assaulted him that day, were nothing more than weak, pathetic, Muggles! He should have been able to defend himself against them, but instead, he submitted to their savagery. The Dark Lord deemed him unfit for his favour."

Lifting his head, he recited the words the young Tom Riddle had said to him as he laid out the task. "There are two kinds of wizards in this world. Those who embrace the power they possess...and those who fear to use it." His eyes turned back to Draco, his gaze cold once again. "I had to purge this aberration, to show I was worthy of the blood that runs in my veins. I had to kill the boy."

"And you did..." Draco nodded, understanding the decision his father had to make.

Lucius' lip curled, canting his head once in acknowledgement. "You have painted yourself with the same brush as that boy. If you wish to serve the Dark Lord, you need to purge this aberration from your record."

Draco lifted his eyes, looking up at his father. "What do you mean?"

"The Dark Lord has mentioned to me he will be asking you to do a task for him. He, too, is aware of what transpired in Hogsmeade. He knows about the girl. It is possible he will make the same demand of loyalty of you, that he asked of me."

Blinking, Draco's already pale face, paled even more. "He will demand...that I kill her?"

Lucius' head nods one final time. "Yes."

"But...what about the life debt I owe her?"

It took only a moment for Lucius to come up with an answer. If it wasn't the answer that sent chills down Draco's spine, it was the tone in which it was delivered. Words, spoken in a tone that would echo in his head for years to come.

"The dead cannot collect."