Chapter Text
Chapter Fifteen - Weighty Matters
Neville sat near the window, the afternoon sun warming his back. The common room was quiet for once, just the faint rustle of pages turning and the soft murmur of conversation. He glanced outside absently, watching a pair of owls circle above the castle. The breeze stirred the curtains a little. It was a peaceful moment, the kind that didn’t come often lately.
When Ron entered, Neville noticed right away. There was something urgent in his face as he looked around briefly then made a beeline toward him. Neville closed the book he hadn’t really been reading. He straightened a little in his seat, curious what had the other boy so agitated.
“Hey, Neville, have you got a few minutes?”
“Sure. What’s up, Ron?”
Ron glanced around. There weren’t many people nearby, but he still didn’t like what he saw. “Not here. Dorm.”
This was becoming more and more mysterious by the moment. “Okay. Lead on.”
The boys dropped their bags and sat heavily on their beds. “What’s on your mind?” Neville asked.
Ron took a few moments to answer. “Girls.”
Neville blinked. He and Ron weren’t exactly ‘best mates’ by any definition. Their topics of conversation seldom got deeper than Quidditch (no interest), meals, and classwork. Even the Yule Ball had barely been cause for discussion. “Can’t say I was expecting that. Trouble with Romy?”
“Not exactly. Maybe. I don’t know.” Ron pushed his hair back with both hands. “So, I thought things were okay with her. Then this summer, Parkinson started talking to me.”
“Pansy?”
“There any other Parkinsons in the castle?” Ron asked crossly. “Since when do you call her by her first name?”
“Considering you’re bringing her up, you ought to be grateful I do,” Neville shot back.
Ron sighed. “I am. I could use some advice. You’ve had dates with girls, you’re not terrified of them anymore, and now you even brag about calling one by her first name. A Slytherin, no less.”
“When did you see Pansy?” Neville knew from meetings of the Order of the Basilisk over the summer but was curious to see how much detail Ron would provide.
“She was a guest at the wedding.”
“Whose guest?”
“Potter’s.” As if it was the most vile word ever spoken.
Neville had to laugh. “Harry was at your house?”
“Since when do you call him by his first name?” Ron demanded.
It was a good question that Neville couldn’t rightly answer. “I guess a while now.”
“Potter, Parkinson,” Ron said darkly, “If you tell me you call Malfoy by his name, I’ll punch you.”
Neville shook his head. “You were asking about Pansy?”
“Right, right, well, she’s been acting really weird lately.”
Neville tried not to roll his eyes. Ron’s description was completely unhelpful. Girls were all weird and in all different ways. “Weird how?”
Ron hemmed and hawed. “Well, nice and stuff. Not like the harpy she usually is.”
“And why would she suddenly be nice to you?”
“Well, I did sort of save her life last June. I pulled her out of the path of a Killing Curse. She was grateful.”
Neville knew this story too. “Okay, so what’s the problem? Seems like she owes you.”
“The trouble is how she’s decided to pay me back.” Ron visibly braced himself to say his next words. “She wants to help me find a wife.”
It was all Neville could do not to laugh at Ron’s tragic tone. “A wife?”
“Yeah. She wants me to find the witch who will make me happy for the rest of my life.” He paused. “And she might have settled on herself.”
Neville blinked hard. Pansy was chatting him up at the same time she was telling Ron she wanted him to be happy?
Ron continued, “She’s saying all sorts of things about my relationship with Romy, and some of them even sound true.”
“What sort of things?”
“That it’s shallow. That we’re not going to last. Romy’s a girl when I need a woman. Mental stuff, you know?”
Neville nodded without agreement. Pansy was many things, but mental was not one of them. She had her head on as straight as anyone he’d ever met. It wasn’t brave to stand in her way, merely foolish.
“And I just don’t know what to do about her,” Ron said with exasperation. “You fancied her a bit last year. What should I do?”
“I am hardly a font of insight as it regards Slytherin’s queen.”
“Is anyone?” Ron put in.
Neville had to chuckle. “Fair. Though now that you’re her friend, you’ll be able to discover that insight for yourself.”
Ron’s face blanched. “I’m her friend?”
Neville nodded. “She told me so the other night at duelling club.”
Ron buried his face in his hands. “I’m never going to live this down.”
“They’re really not so bad once you get to know them.”
“And have you gotten to know them, Neville?”
“I think so, yeah. Ever since Harry made me a Leftenant in the Duelling Club, I’ve gotten closer with him. He’s a decent chap.”
Ron blew out an explosive breath. “As much as I hate it, he is. The past couple of years, he’s been almost a normal bloke, you know. But Parkinson, I still don’t know what to do about her.”
“You can’t resist her. If she’s set on you, she’ll get you.” Neville couldn’t help but feel a bit sad at the idea. He did fancy her, after all.
“I guess it can’t be so bad if you’re hanging around them. If I got involved with Pansy at least I wouldn’t be alone in enemy territory.”
Neville coughed. “They’re not the enemy. Just a different sort of friend. You may have missed it, but a lot of people have crossed House lines. You’ve got two siblings who’ve gravitated towards Slytherin. Professor Black and former Professor Lupin are Gryffindors who’ve backed Harry.”
“They were friends of his father. I’m not sure that counts.”
“Have you ever actually talked to Ginny or Percy about it? Or have you just yelled at them?”
Ron flushed. “I’ve tried, but I just can’t seem to help it.”
“Maybe try actually listening instead of talking.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Ron said, glancing at the clock. “Hey, we’ve got to go!”
Defense class was always interesting.
Their lessons thus far had been concerned with truth. Professor Malfoy had spent a week on various truth potions. He had covered every facet in excruciating detail. He had delved into the nature of memory when talking about Legilimency and pensieves. He had even taught them about Auror investigative technique, how they checked a suspect’s wand for prior use of magic. It was all stuff Neville had learned with the Order of the Basilisk over the summer.
There was only one topic left.
“Torture,” Professor Malfoy said ominously. “Deliberately hurting a person who is helpless to stop you. It may be Death Eaters wanting information about Ministry officials. It may be Aurors trying to find a Dark hideout. Regardless of what hat a wizard wears, it is still torture.”
Neville had known this was coming, but he wasn’t as bothered as he expected to be. Apparently he had gotten over his qualms with Cruciatus in fourth year.
“Now, I know what you’re all thinking. ‘Does torture work?’ And the answer is yes. Torture is very good at obtaining information. You might think that it doesn’t work because a prisoner will say anything to make the pain stop. And so they do. That is the first time they will break. But when the torture continues, that’s when they break again and start telling only truth. It’s grotesque but it does work. Aurors are not permitted to do it except in special circumstances. They were granted that power during the last war. Many of them won’t do it. Mad-Eye Moody doesn’t hesitate, and neither will the Death Eaters.”
As Professor Malfoy lectured, Ron leaned over to Neville. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah. Why do you ask?”
“You’ve got a look on your face. I just wanted to see if things are going too far for you. This is even more than Moody did with the seventh years. You remember those stories, right?”
“I’m fine,” Neville said. And he was. Getting strong enough to take down Bellatrix had meant getting over his squishy feelings about the curse that had taken down his parents.
“If you say so, mate.”
Pansy left the Defence lesson and headed directly for the Transfiguration classroom where the sixth years were finishing up a gruelling lesson with Professor Black. She waited patiently while a certain blonde packed up her things and went on her way.
She stopped in her tracks when she saw Pansy. Her breath caught, her eyes widened, and she looked like she would rather be anywhere else.
Pansy smiled invitingly. “Hi, Michelle.”
“H-hi, Pansy.” The younger girl had been jumpy all term. Despite Pansy’s best efforts, she still flinched at every loud noise.
“Walk with me.” It was a command, though Pansy couched it gently.
Michelle clearly didn’t know what to make of the invitation. “S-sure.”
They fell into step, Michelle’s hesitant footfalls not quite matching Pansy’s confident strides.
“How are you doing now that things have settled down?” While for most people it would be small talk, Pansy genuinely cared. Harry had made it clear that Michelle was to be re-integrated, and Pansy was best suited to make it happen.
Michelle shrugged. “It’s okay. Everyone is being really nice. I’m not used to it, and I don’t plan to get that way.”
“It’s not going to change, Michelle.” Pansy’s tone was sincere and as earnest as she could make it.
The blonde’s lips curled derisively. “Yes, it is. As soon as I don’t have Harry’s protection anymore, I’ll be an outcast again. I know where I really stand with people.”
Pansy giggled politely. “You think people will be willing to cross him even though he’s not a student?”
“That’s still people being nice to me because of him and not me having friends,” she pointed out.
Pansy gave her a sympathetic look. “Did you feel you were true friends with your dormmates, even before the Yule Ball?”
“I thought so. I guess I overestimated them. Okay, I admit I could have handled things a lot better. But no one stood up for me when Laine went on her vendetta. Sarrah and Shawna were too scared of her, and none of the upper students cared.”
“You weren’t the only one with Yule Ball problems,” Pansy said tightly. “I almost murdered Draco that night.”
“I would have had a much more tally night if you had.”
Pansy snickered. “Me too. Anyway, I told you once that I didn’t know if Laine had overreacted on you. But she did. The treatment wasn’t too much, but it went on for far too long.”
Michelle scowled at the memory. “I still want to know who stole my phial of Felix Felicis.”
“Actually, I can tell you that. It was Jamie Davis. She stole yours and Tracy’s.”
“That’s why the Death Eater attack was successful, isn’t it? My luck potion helped them.”
“You’re very insightful. Yes, and that’s why you were questioned that night. We did suspect you of being a spy. We were wrong, but there really was one.”
“I know. Is that why Tracy is on the outs this year? She a Death Eater too?”
“We can’t prove she isn’t. For all we know, she gave her phial to her sister.”
“That’s twisted. And she tortured me why? For kicks?”
“Who can fathom the Dark mind? I know things got out of hand last year,” Pansy said gently, “and that’s why I’m here. Today’s Defence lesson was on torture.”
She gulped. “Torture?”
“Yeah. Lots and lots of talk on it, too. And I didn’t want you walking into it without a warning.”
“Thanks. I do appreciate it.” Michelle looked away. “Cruciatus?”
“And other ways. It was pretty disgusting at some points.”
Michelle was already turning green. “Great.”
Pansy thought fast. Maybe there was a way out of this. “Let’s go find Professor Snape.”
“Why?”
“No time.”
Their Head of House was just exiting from the Astronomy tower to the castle proper when they caught him.
“Sir, may we have a moment?”
“Of course, Miss Parkinson. I always have time for my Slytherins. Walk with me.”
Pansy broached the subject. “Michelle needs to ask for something irregular, sir. She needs to be excused from Professor Malfoy’s next lecture.”
Snape didn’t react. He never did. “And what is the reason for this excuse?”
Michelle couldn’t get the words out. She looked pleadingly at Pansy.
“There are reasons, sir,” Pansy replied firmly. “I know what they are, and they’re valid.”
Snape considered her words for a long moment. “Very well. I will speak to Professor Malfoy this very evening. Miss Holt, consider yourself excused.”
“Thank you, sir,” she squeaked out.
“Most welcome. Know that you can confide in me at any time, Miss Holt.”
“I know, sir.”
On the way down to dinner, snatches of conversation could be heard as the students merged into bigger and bigger groups. It was all praise for Professor Malfoy and his Defence class. Everyone was chattering about how they were getting real lessons.
“Enjoy your meal,” Snape said as they entered the Great Hall. “A good evening to you both.”
Snape went to the Head Table while Pansy and Michelle moved toward the Slytherin table.
“Thank you, Pansy.”
“For what?”
“For vouching for me to Professor Snape. He’s letting me out of the lesson just because you say so.”
“I’m trying to spare you distress, Michelle. I’m never afraid to put my reputation on the line for a good cause.”
“I appreciate it.”
Blaise rose from his seat. “Everything well?”
“Not really,” Michelle replied. “Can we just eat?”
Pansy didn’t think much of Blaise. Not that it was a negative thing. She simply didn’t think about him. But she certainly did not approve of the way he had moved in on Michelle. The poor girl was recovering from a lot, and she didn’t need this smooth-talking French transplant confusing her.
“Come on, Michelle,” Pansy offered. “We’ll talk over dinner, and then afterward we can work on your Astronomy.”
Michelle looked a bit startled. Pansy could understand why. She hadn’t mentioned needing help with her homework, even though she did.
“Umm, thanks. That would be great. Sure.” She looked at Blaise. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
It was not okay, judging from the scowl that flashed across his face. “Sure. Later.” He gave her a peck on the cheek.
Michelle smiled as he sat back down. “I’m ready, Pansy.”
“Over here.”
Pansy led her to where a prime seat had been saved for her. “Move down, Arse.”
Millie’s younger brother sighed and scootched down the bench as much as he could. “You really shouldn’t be able to order team members around this way,” he groused.
“Shut up,” Millie said, cuffing him. “You could do a lot better about following instructions.”
Pansy patted the bench, and Michelle sat down.
“Anyway, as I was saying before, you won’t have any trouble next year. I’ll say a few things to a few people.” Pansy did not make promises lightly.
“And what is the cost of these ‘few things’?” Michelle asked suspiciously, putting down her fork.
Pansy shook her head. “No cost. Just trying to help make things right.”
Michelle still looked sceptical.
“Don’t listen to her, Shelly,” Arcen suggested. “Pansy always wants something.”
Pansy wasn’t sure when Arcen had started using nicknames like Blaise Zabini did, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t any less irritating when he did it. She gave Millie a significant glance. Her brother was soon regretting his very existence.
The fireplace in the staff room crackled, throwing shadows across the carved ceiling beams. A half-drunk teapot sat cooling on a tray, ignored. Dinner had come and gone, and now some teachers held office hours, while others preferred to be done with students for the day and retreated to a place not even the Head Boy or Girl could access.
Severus Snape sat in the far corner, cloaked in shadow even without trying. He had a paper in one hand—an Astronomy essay about lunar tides and werewolf physiology—and a glass of something sharp in the other. The man claimed to seldom drink, but it seemed he often needed one while dealing with student work.
Across from him, Sirius Black sprawled in an armchair that had become “his” by informal tradition. His boots were kicked off, and his sleeves rolled to the elbow. He had a mug of coffee balanced on his knee and parchment scattered across the arm of the chair: sketches for a new practical Transfiguration challenge involving armoured hedgehogs and defensive transformations.
Lucius Malfoy was the last to arrive, robes immaculate despite the advanced hour. He walked with quiet purpose, but a faint crease of thought was visible between his brows.
He took the chair closest to the fire, exhaled slowly, and folded his hands in his lap.
Snape cleared his throat. “Before I get distracted, Lucius, you will excuse Michelle Holt from the next lesson.”
“I will?”
“You will.”
“Very well. May I be so privileged as to know why I will do this?”
“No. I myself do not know.”
Lucius cocked one eyebrow, the only movement in his face. “You don’t know?”
“I do not. She and Miss Parkinson came to me before dinner and made the request. Miss Parkinson affirmed the need.”
“Done then.”
“They’re raving about your latest lesson,” Sirius observed with amusement. “Defence is the only class that gets name-dropped without someone groaning.”
Lucius inclined his head, a small, reserved smile appearing. “Yes. I’d heard.”
Snape made a noise low in his throat somewhere between a scoff and a sigh.
“Enjoying the adulation, Lucius?” he asked, not looking up.
“I am, actually,” Lucius said without hesitation. “I didn’t expect to. I assumed the post would be a manner of atonement.” He glanced at the fire. “A penance. But I find myself looking forward to lessons. The challenge of distilling dark and dangerous knowledge into something useful. It's...” he paused, “cleansing.”
“Cleansing,” Snape echoed, finally setting the essay aside. “That’s one word for it.”
“Not your preferred one?” Lucius asked, tone even.
Snape leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “I find teaching tolerable. Occasionally rewarding. But only when students show they want to learn. There are few greater joys than a sharp mind eager for understanding. There are also few greater torments than fifty dull minds dragging their feet through basic theory.”
Sirius snorted. “You always had such a way with children, Snivellus.”
Snape gave him a look that could have frozen milk. “And you, Black? Still playing the golden retriever in front of your adoring crowd?”
“They laugh at my jokes,” Sirius said, unbothered. “And they do the work. That’s all I ask. I like the job, surprisingly. It’s honest. And I’d rather teach them well than have some Ministry drone undo everything we managed to accomplish.”
He sipped his coffee and gave Lucius a look—not unfriendly, but edged.
“Didn’t expect you to be good at it, Lucius. No offense.”
“None taken.” Lucius tilted his head slightly. “Neither did I. But I find I’m quite suited to it. Defence requires more than spells—it requires history, instinct, psychology. Teaching it demands precision and moral clarity. The irony is not lost on me.”
Snape gave a single dry laugh. “No, I rather imagine it wouldn’t be.”
They fell silent for a moment, the fire crackling pleasantly.
“Still not a long-term plan for me,” Sirius said eventually, stretching his legs. “I’ll give it a couple of years. Help finish reshaping the place. But I’m not a fixture like Slughorn.”
“No one is a fixture like Slughorn,” Snape muttered.
Sirius grinned. “The man practically is a wing of the castle.”
Lucius smiled faintly, but his voice was thoughtful. “I don’t know yet whether I’ll stay beyond necessity. But I don’t see myself leaving soon.”
“You enjoy it that much?” Snape asked.
Lucius gave a small nod. “It gives me something I didn’t expect.” A pause. “Usefulness.”
Snape refilled his glass from the decanter with a practised flick, the silence stretching just long enough to become intentional.
“Usefulness,” he repeated. “A far cry from the old ambition.”
Lucius inclined his head. “Ambition is for those who still need to prove themselves. I’ve already secured what matters.”
Sirius raised a brow. “Have you now?”
Lucius didn’t bristle. “Elan’s taken over the estate. He’s managing our holdings with a steadier hand than I ever had at his age. And only a few months ago, he and Bridget gave us a grandson.” A flicker of something pride-adjacent touched his mouth. “Gaius Armand Malfoy. My legacy is intact.”
“Well done,” Snape said, though his tone was airless.
Lucius gave him a measured glance, not unkind. “You disapprove?”
“I’m merely tired of the aristocratic pastime of cataloguing progeny like prized hounds,” Snape said smoothly. “Congratulations, of course.”
“Don’t let him get to you,” Sirius muttered, half into his coffee. “He gets like this any time someone mentions a birth announcement or a wedding invitation.”
Snape sniffed. “I get like this because it’s dull. And because it always turns into euphemistic posturing about bloodlines and dynasties.”
Lucius lifted one brow. “You’re not wrong. But there’s nothing euphemistic about it. We come from long, tangled lines. Better to be honest about what we pass down.”
“I’d rather pass down nothing than poison,” Snape said sharply.
Sirius stirred his drink and exhaled through his nose.
“Funny thing,” he said quietly, “I used to agree with you.”
Snape turned his head, faintly surprised. “And now?”
Sirius’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile. “Now I wonder. After raising Harry these past couple of years. After watching him build something real. Maybe it matters what we leave behind, who we leave behind. Maybe it doesn’t all have to rot.”
Snape’s expression hardened.
“Don’t give me that look,” Sirius said, meeting it. “I’m not turning into a Black family portrait. I’m just saying maybe the old bloodlines got one thing right. You shape the next generation, or you let someone worse do it.”
Lucius nodded, solemn. “Well said.”
“Besides,” Sirius went on, more to the fire than the others, “maybe it's time. I'm not twenty. Narcissa keeps setting me up with every eligible witch from Kent to Kensington.”
Lucius gave a soft, knowing hum. “She believes in stability.”
“She believes in marriage,” Sirius muttered. “Bloody ancient concept. But…” He paused, drumming his fingers on the porcelain rim. “Maybe not so bad. If it came with the right person. And the right kind of chaos.”
Snape didn’t hide his smirk. “Terrifying thought: more little Blacks running through the castle.”
“Better than more little Carrows,” Sirius retorted. “Though Amycus and Alecto would likely breed with each other and reduce the chances of their particular insanity spreading.”
Lucius looked down at his hands, which had gone still in his lap.
“It’s not about blood,” he said quietly, more to himself than them. “It’s about what you teach them with it. What you temper into them. Gaius will inherit our name, yes. But I’ll be damned if he inherits our sins.”
Snape stood abruptly, letting the marked essay fall to the ground, refilling his glass again—just a splash too much this time.
“You two can compare moral philosophies of parenthood if you like,” he said, biting off the words. “I’ll remain the one man at this school not driven by foolish concepts of legacy.”
“Are you?” Sirius asked softly.
Snape looked over, sharply.
“You’ve got no children, no siblings, no wife,” Sirius said. “But I’ve seen the way you look at some of the students. The clever ones. The ones who truly seek to learn.” A beat. “We all carry someone.”
Snape said nothing.
Lucius didn’t interrupt.
Finally, Snape turned back toward the window, watching the stars behind the mullioned glass.
“‘One need not be a chamber to be haunted’,” he murmured. “We all have our ghosts. Not all of us talk to them over tea.”
No one spoke after that. The fire popped softly, an ember scattering on the floor.
Eventually, Lucius rose and adjusted his cuffs.
“Please excuse me, gentlemen. I have an appointment to keep. A good evening to you.”
Romy’s hand in his felt familiar and nice as they left the Great Hall and strolled through the corridors. It excited him because he knew there would be snogging. But Ron was dreading the time they would spend talking before they got to it.
Ever since Parkinson had pointed out the multiple ways their relationship was shallow, he’d felt a certain sense of agony every time Romy started sharing her gossip. He had always tuned her out after a few minutes. Now he couldn’t, because all he could think was how much he didn’t want to listen to her.
“How were your classes today?” she asked as they walked. They usually started their conversations with academics. She had struggled at times, and he was strangely in a position to help her. No one would normally think of him as a tutor, but he was two years beyond the material.
“Defence was over the top, as usual,” he groused. While he normally liked having someone there to listen while he complained about his classes, this year he had elevated things to a new level.
“Professor Malfoy took things too far again?”
Ron scowled. He would never admit that he found the teachings of a Death Eater to be valuable, but the man did know the Dark Arts well. Professor Malfoy was very effective. Ron was enough of a strategist to recognise his wisdom, but by Merlin’s trusty staff, did it irk him to have to use that title with the man, especially in front of the younger Malfoy.
While he never acted other than a perfect angel in his father’s lectures, in the corridors was another matter. Ron had needed to walk away to avoid punching the ferret in his pointed nose on more occasions than he could count, and they’d been in classes for a mere two weeks.
“What was it about?” Romy asked. “Is he making you cast the Unforgivables on each other yet?”
He had predicted that happening on the first night when they’d learned the identity of their new teacher. “Not yet. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. He talked about torture, sodding expert that he is on that. Said it really works if you do it hard enough.”
“That sounds distasteful.”
“Disgusting. I nearly puked.”
A worried look crossed her face. “Even with your constitution? My word.”
“I was worried about Neville, you know? With his mum and dad the way they are because of torture, it just seemed rude. But he was okay. I was talking to him after class.”
Romy sighed wistfully. “That’s so awful what happened to his parents. He’s so brave. I can’t imagine facing the world every day. That’s so cruel of Professor Malfoy to do that to him.”
Girls are so soft, he thought witheringly. “He was tough about it. A real man, you know? He’s gotten hard since he’s gotten to know the Slytherins.”
“What’s this now?” She perked up.
Of course she’s interested in the gossip.
“He was hanging out with Potter and his gang all summer. Potter subverts everything that’s good and decent,” Ron said morosely. “I wonder how badly they’ve corrupted him. They’ve corrupted Ginny. I barely even know her anymore.”
“How do you mean?” Romy sounded worried.
“Dark magic,” he spat. “Potter’s been so good at Defence this year. He must have been working over the summer, and I’ll bet a pouch of Chocolate Frogs it was with Malfoy Senior. I wonder what sort of Dark spells they practiced.”
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Isn’t Dark magic just a matter of symbolism and intent? I think we learned that in class.”
Ron was too worked up to be derailed. “By Merlin’s saggy y-fronts, I can’t stand him! He’s Head Boy and Duelling Captain, and he’s got entirely too many people listening to him. He’s gaining so much influence! He was having private meetings with the Minister a couple of years ago. He spoke to the press in support of some Ministry bill. He's probably a Special Advisor to the Minister by now! My father has told me how Malfoy bought influence and power with all of his ‘donations’ and ‘gifts’. Legal bribery, he called it.”
His ranting was cut off as Ginny suddenly came around the corner. Her timing, he absently noted, was terrible. Still, he’d learned the futility of fighting with her. He swallowed his invective and tried to smile at his second sibling to re-sort to Slytherin.
“Hey, Ginny.”
Her return look was guarded. “Hey, Ron.”
“What’s up?”
“Not much. You?”
“Not much.”
Ron really wished she would clear off so he could get the most out of his time with Romy. But maybe this would be a good chance to try talking to her the way Neville had suggested.
“Where are you off to then?” he said casually.
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”
“Just asking after my little sister. I’m allowed to show I care for you, aren’t I?”
“Depends what you want.”
“I don’t want anything. I just want to catch up. It’s late. Have you got a pass from a professor or something?”
“Do you?” she countered. “I’d love to see that. Two passes for wandering and necking after curfew.”
Ron flushed. “Off for a clandestine meeting of your own then?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know? And wouldn’t you love to tell Mum to pay me back?”
Ron nearly bit his tongue to keep from continuing the argument. “Are you up to something, Gin? I barely saw you all summer, and now you’re one of the best in Duelling Club. Have you been sneaking off with Potter and his group?”
She stared at him. “Group?”
“His gang. Malfoy, Nott, and the rest. Neville said he’d gotten to know Potter a bit better and that he’s not a bad sort. I think Nev’s been hit with a Confundus, but he has gotten sharper with his spells. You and him been sneaking around?”
Ginny rolled her eyes. “You are so stupid. Yes, we’ve gotten better. We’ve been practicing, same as you.”
“Is that what you were doing all summer? We never saw you. Off with Potter and the Junior Death Eaters?”
“Good night, Ron,” Ginny said by way of reply. “Good night, Romy.”
She breezed away up the corridor.
“It was nice to meet her again,” Romy said brightly.
“Ugh,” Ron griped. “It’s impossible to talk to her anymore. She has this huge chip on her shoulder. Every conversation ends in a fight.”
“Do you think she likes me?”
“I don’t know. She’s barely mentioned you except to take the mick. She told our mother about you.”
Romy brightened. “I would so like to meet your mother properly. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about her, but we didn’t formally meet at your brother’s wedding. Would you be able to introduce us on the next Hogsmeade weekend?”
Ron’s pulse jumped. He gulped. Introducing a girl to his mother was a big step. Even he knew that. “Umm-“
“Do you think she would be willing to teach me to cook?”
“Sure. She taught Fleur, and she hates Fleur. Lynn already knew how.”
“That would be wonderful. I’ll have to know how to take care of you.” She smiled enticingly. “And taking care of you is what I want to do.”
Ron had been with Romy long enough to know when she was flirting with him. Now the conversation was leading somewhere interesting.
“Where do you want to go?” she asked.
“It’s a nice night. Fancy heading up to the Astronomy tower?”
Romy grimaced. “It’s not safe anymore. Don’t you remember I told you Brooke got caught by Snape the first weekend back?”
He really didn’t. “Oh yeah. Sorry. How about the trophy room?”
“Too far.”
“Empty classroom?” He really didn’t care.
“Sure. Just as long as you can cast the Privacy Charm correctly this time.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
The torches had burned low, their flames yawning and twitching with every faint draft that slipped through the castle's stone bones. It was well past curfew, but Ginny stood in the middle of the practice ring, breathing through her nose, fists clenched at her sides. The air smelled of chalk dust, iron, and something faintly bitter—burned into the stones from years of darker use.
Lucius Malfoy circled her, wand in hand. Where she was soaked with sweat and her duelling robe was torn in a dozen places, his robes looked fresh and immaculate. He could have just come from a Ministry function.
“You’re still bracing too early,” he said, voice dry and not quite bored. “You’ll tire yourself before the curse does.”
Ginny didn’t answer. She didn’t like speaking to him unless she had to. The less she gave him—voice, eye contact, breath—the better.
He raised his wand. “Ingravis!”
The spell hit her low, just beneath the ribs. A shimmer across her skin, invisible to the eye but unmistakable in sensation—a clenching that began like a tight bodice laced by someone careless. Then tighter. Then worse.
She dropped one knee before catching herself and straightening back up.
“Don’t fight it head-on,” he said, moving to her side. “Let it pass through you.”
She snarled a breath. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one—”
“—suffocating? Drowning in yourself? No.” His tone didn’t shift, but there was something in his eyes—almost clinical interest. “You are. Because you asked to.”
The pressure ratcheted up again. Her joints began to buzz. Not pain—not yet—but the kind of nerve-deep sensation that warned of bones grinding in their sockets.
“Concentrate,” he murmured.
She shut her eyes and tried to find the rhythm. Beneath the spell’s constant worsening, there was a pulse to it, like a drum muffled under wool. She stopped clenching. Let her arms fall to her sides.
The curse pressed harder.
Her knees quivered. Her ears filled with a static hum, like distant applause in a cavern. Her vision narrowed to a tunnel, edges flickering.
“Good,” Lucius said softly. “Now push back. Let it build and then push.”
She hissed through her teeth and found it, the thread of resistance he’d talked about for weeks. Not strength, exactly. More like slippage. She gave the spell a place to go, and it poured sideways through her instead of down.
Her spine snapped straight. Her breath returned like a sudden drop in altitude. She was soaked in sweat, and trembling, but upright.
Lucius watched her for a long moment. Then lowered his wand.
“You’re learning,” he said. “You’ll need it. And I owe you that much. If I can teach you to survive with the tools that damned me, perhaps they’ll be worth something after all.”
Ginny glared at him, chest heaving.
“I’ll be better than you,” she said. “Eventually.”
He gave a faint, humorless smile. “I should hope so. Otherwise I’d be wasting both our time.”
“If you’ve been wasting my time,” Ginny said, voice low and ragged, “I’ll make you regret it.”
Lucius tilted his head slightly. He didn’t raise his wand, didn’t laugh. But something in his expression shifted. Not surprise. Not offense. Something colder, flatter.
“I believe you,” he said after a pause. “It’s no less than I deserve.”
She stepped forward. Her hands were still shaking, but she didn’t bother to hide it. She wanted him to see. “Don’t mistake my cooperation for gratitude.”
“I don’t.” His eyes moved to her wand, still clutched tight in her hand. “You’ve never said thank you.”
“I never will,” she promised.
A breath passed between them. The room was silent except for the faint crackle of a guttering flame and the steady, unhurried drip of water behind the far wall.
Lucius finally looked away, brushing nonexistent dust from the cuff of his sleeve. “Then let’s not waste more time.”
He turned his back to her—deliberately inviting attack—and walked to the far end of the ring.
“Again,” he said.
She raised her wand.
This time, she cast first.