Stepping In

Naturally, Malfoy was livid. Or at least, he appeared to be. In reality he was incredibly surprised at just how amusing he had managed to find the supposedly humiliating events of the previous day. Still though, he had lost face with his fellow Slytherins when they had learnt of Weasley's triumph. He decided to avoid her as much as possible, and exact revenge at the earliest opportunity.

He managed to stay completely out of her way over the rest of the weekend, but on Monday he had no choice but to leave the Slytherin dungeons and attend classes, and risked seeing her everytime he turned a corner. He had not been this internally unstable in as long as he could remember, a potent mix of the still smarting loss of his parents mingling with his uncertainty over Ginny Weasley, making him withdrawn and jumpy. He disliked being so out of control, and it was having an effect on his ability to concentrate in lessons.

He had been perfectly fine before his parents' deaths. True, there had been a certain chilliness to life, knowing that the rumour concerning his activities on the night of Dumbledore's death had been investigated, but no one really knew the truth about that night, besides Potter and his friends, and they'd told no one.

The three months since he'd watched that frail old man tossed from the roof of the Astronomy tower like a silver-haired rag doll had seemed like an eternity to Draco, and he had never discussed what had happened in the interim with anyone, nor was he about to start. Potter, his friends, and the Order of the Phoenix were keeping his activities just as quiet; letting the truth be known would lead to a lot of questions about how Draco had found his way back to Hogwarts, questions whose answers could be dangerous to him.

It was the Order who had saved him in the first place, though Draco was still not sure why they had bothered. He didn't expect he would ever find out.

"Mister Malfoy!" a voice snapped, dragging him from his thoughts. His eyes found those of Professor McGonagall, staring hawkishly down at him.

"Professor?" he queried, blinking at her.

"You've got five minutes to pack away, Malfoy, then fourth lesson," she repeated irritably. She'd been constantly irritable since Dumbledore's death. He nodded, bowing his head and muttering "Yes, Professor," in hushed tones, as the noises of the rest of the class scaping out their chairs to tidy up filled his ears.

He shoved his wand inside his robes and dropped his books into his bag after the lesson, then sat down again and waited for the bell in the corridors to ring so that the class could leave. The waiting, between moments of occupation, was the worst part of his day. There was never anything interesting enough to distract from regurgitating memories. At least not usually.

There was a knock at the door.

"Professor, if you're nearly done, can I have a word before the rest of the Gryffindor's arrive?" Draco's head snapped up, searching immediately for the source of the voice. It was Ginny Weasley, standing before McGonagall, a look of determination on her face.

McGonagall glanced around the room, then, deciding that she could spare the time while the seventh years were packing away, nodded to Ginny. Draco watched as Ginny took McGonagall by the elbow and retreated to a corner. He couldn't, from here, hear what was being said, but contented himself by watching the redhead's eyes glinting with the thin light seeping through the high windows.

Before long McGonagall and Ginny broke apart and the Professor dismissed the class. As Draco gathered his feet up under him, he felt a nudge at his side. Ginny was staring openly at him.

"What?" he asked.

"You're in my chair," she said. "C'mon, I haven't got all day."

"What were you talking to McGonagall about?" he asked, as he grabbed his bag and stood up.

"You," she said, with a slight smile. "But don't worry, you'll find out why soon enough. And it's nothing bad. Now, if you'll excuse me-"

She nodded pointedly at the chair he was standing in front of.

"Have it," he hissed, leaving the room.

Confusion did not begin to cover it. Why was Ginny talking to McGonagall about him anyway, and why wouldn't she tell him why? She'd said it was nothing bad, but he couldn't think of a single thing about him that McGonagall or any of the other teachers would find good. He sighed, and took off for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

---

Food hadn't tasted right since his Mother had died, and it continued to be nothing more than a way of marking the continuing passage of time for him as he sat down at the Slytherin table and spun his plate idly, staring blankly into his glass of pumpkin juice. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He was all too familiar with the sensation, which usually meant someone was watching him, and he turned away from his glass to glance around the room.

No one seemed to be looking at him. Not even Weasley, he thought, spotting her deep in conversation with another Gryffindor girl. Unfortunately he kept his gaze on her a little too long, and she looked up too. She blinked, then smiled briefly at him, before turning back to her friend. Malfoy suddenly found he was strangely envious of the blonde Gryffindor who held her attention.

He pulled his eyes away and forced himself to listen into the Slytherins' conversation, cursing himself for allowing his thoughts to wander unchecked towards, of all people, a Gryffindor. Except that he was, in his mind, finding very little resistance towards the entire house. His parents had always told him never to trust a Gryffindor, Gryffindors were weak, Gryffindors were the enemy. Then again, they'd also told him that the Dark Lord was so powerful that he could keep them safe and strong forever.

"Draco?"

He started, looking around to see Pansy Parkinson. "Hmm?"

"Where were you earlier? You were meant to meet me before lunch," she said huffily, crossing her arms across her chest.

"I... had other things on my mind," he said quietly. It was true; he had, but he had a feeling that if he told her his mind had been, once more, following the red-headed Gryffindor Ginny, he was probably not going to make it back to the Common Room in one piece.

Pansy didn't look satisfied with his response, but he refused to elaborate further, and started scooping strawberry ice-cream onto his plate in an effort to change the way the conversation was headed.

"I'd have thought you'd have enough to think about already, Draco," Pansy said icily. "What with one thing and another."

He didn't reply, perfectly aware that she was talking about his parents. He waited for her to offer him support, offer to listen if he wanted to talk about it. He knew she wouldn't, but he waited all the same. Suddenly, (and he was surprised by how slowly the thought had come to him) he realised that she had, in a heavily masked way, just used his parents' deaths in an effort to make him feel guilty about forgetting their meeting.

"You what?" he said dangerously. "What did you just say?"

Pansy's look of annoyance melted into one of hardened determination. "I don't understand," she simpered stonily.

"Like Merlin's beard you don't, Parkinson," he spat. He leaned forwards, eyes glittering, his fists balled tightly on the wooden table top. "Don't you ever," he hissed, "let me hear you say anything like that again. Do you understand?"

She nodded, a faintly frightened look in her eyes.

"Good," he growled. "Shall we go?" he added to the rest of the group around them. They all nodded in agreement, and he led them towards the Great Hall's doors, feeling strangely unfulfilled: usually telling off Parkinson - or anyone else for that matter - was a source of great pleasure to him. Oh yeah, he thought bitterly, I forgot - nothing's the same anymore.

He strode out into the Entrance Hall, his gang of Slytherins close behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw groups of students milling around the edges of the Hall, there were no teachers in sight. He felt it before he saw it.

Pansy, bitter perhaps after her telling off, had faltered in her tracks, her dull eyes pinned on the back of Granger's bushy brown head. Draco knew, by instinct, that something was about to happen. He could sense Pansy's body tense, her mind clicking, her frustration and anger with him bubbling under the surface.

"Granger!" she yelled, before he could fix enough of a glare on her to discourage her. "What did you think you were doing in Potions the other day?"

The girl turned around. Malfoy watched her face change from anxious curiousity to hardened resolution. Potter and Weasley snapped to attention behind her, but Malfoy knew that no amount of ease and politeness was going to put off Parkinson. She was set, and there was nothing they could do about it. If only she realised she was picking fights from nothing...

"Pardon?" Granger said lightly. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Ah, but that's pretty unusual for you, isn't it Muggle? Normally you've got an answer for everything!" Pansy cried. Draco heard the hostility in her tone, but he wasn't about to get in the way, not for Granger.

"Potions?" Granger repeated. "What exactly am I meant to have done? I haven't had Potions for a week."

"Your Eau de Bultubex," Pansy spat. "You made Draco look like an idiot."

His eyes widened involuntarily. "Pansy, leave me out of this..." he breathed quietly. He saw Granger's eyes flash at him, and Ron and Harry stiffen. Then, from the edge of his vision, he noticed Ginny staring at him, her eyes glinting with calm curiosity.

"You couldn't just leave it be, could you Mudblood? You had to go out of your way to show him up!" Pansy was really beginning to worry him now - what in Hell did she think she was going to achieve from this?

Granger smiled, a reaction he knew would further anger Parkinson. "It's not my fault if he was having difficulty with his Bultubex," she said. "I just did what the book said."

He glanced at Ginny, unable to help himself. She was looking at him intently.

"You went out of your way to make him look like he didn't have a clue," Pansy hissed. "Even though everyone knows he's the best brewer in our year!"

Ginny was still staring, but this time her gaze was so intense he found it difficult to look away. Her eyes were telling him, without words, Step in. Step in, stop her, she's making a fool of herself.

He blinked, and looked back to Pansy and Hermione Granger. Pansy was fuming, she was one wrong word away from erupting. He glanced at Granger's slightly worried expression, but saw her eyebrows lift a little bit.

He saw it then, as Ginny nodded towards the two girls, a look of encouragement on her face. He wanted nothing more at that second than to make her proud, fond...

He didn't even hear what Hermione replied. All he saw was Pansy's hand plunging inside of her robes towards her wand, but before she could mutter any spell, curse or incantation, he had his own wand out and it was training on her, on Pansy's astonished face.

"I told you," he hissed, "not to damn well bring me into this."

Pansy looked for a second like she had swallowed a very large, very sour lemon. Her eyes darted between Granger, himself, Potter, and the two Weasleys. Then she lowered her wand, and stalked off towards the Dungeons.

The crowd that had gathered began to disperse, muttering. Granger, Potter and Ginny's brother looked at him, stunned for a second, glanced at Ginny, then to him again, before turning up the marble staircase and climbing towards the Common Room. Eventually only a few stragglers remained to witness the extraordinary sight of Ginny Weasley crossing the Hall towards Malfoy.

She looked up at him, a faint smile on her face. After a very small hesitation, she raised her hand and patted him gently on the shoulder. His whole body was flushed with a strange warmth.

"Nice leg-up, Draco," she said, smiling at him.

He wasn't sure what to say. So he shrugged, trying and failing to repress a grin creeping onto his face. He watched her turn and follow the others, her hair shining in the candle light.

Gods, what was happening to him?he thought, as he wandered numbly back to the Dungeons, his smile still resolutely in place.

---

R & R please!